At Last, Patagonia / Ls 
close to the sea once more, we agreed that our best 
plan would be, after taking a refreshing bath, to 
follow the beach on to the mouth of the Rio Negro, 
where there was a pilot’s house. An hour’s walk 
brought us to the hill. Climbing to the top, what 
was our dismay at beholding not the open blue 
Atlantic we had so confidently expected to see, but 
an ocean of barren yellow sand-hills, extending away 
before us to where earth and heaven mingled in 
azure mist! I, however, had no right to repine 
now, as I had set out that morning desirous only of 
drinking from that wild cup, which is both bitter 
and sweet to the taste. But I was certainly the 
greatest sufferer that day, as I had insisted on 
taking my large cloth poncho, and it proved a great 
burden to carry; then my feet had become so 
swollen and painful, through wearing heavy riding 
boots, that I was at last compelled to pull off these 
impediments, and to travel barefooted on the hot 
sand and gravel. 
Turning our backs on the hills, we started, 
wearily enough, to seek the trail we had abandoned, 
directing our course so as to strike it three or four 
miles in advance of the point where we had turned 
aside. Escaping from the long grass we again 
found gravelly, undulating plains, with scattered 
dark-leafed bushes, and troops of little smging and 
trilling birds. Armadilloes were also seen, but now 
they scuttled across our path with impunity, for we 
had no inclination to chase them. It was near 
sunset when we struck the path again ; but although 
