SAILING THE SEVEN SEAS 



667 



Buenos Aires is the 

 Paris of South America, 

 and at carnival time it is 

 a riot of life, color, and 

 gayety. We will not tarry 

 here to add anything to 

 the many descriptions 

 which have already been 

 written of the Argentine 

 capital,* but hurry on to 

 some of the more inac- 

 cessible places. 



ST. HELENA, WHERE NA- 



POEEON WAS EXIEED 



AND DIED 



En route for St. Helena 

 we met some of our ice- 

 berg companions of 

 farther south and passed 

 near Gough Island, that 

 lonely, uninhabited spot 

 in the middle of the 

 South Atlantic Ocean 

 which seems to be one of 

 the homes and breeding 

 places of the wandering 

 albatross. 



These regal wanderers 

 along the ocean air lanes 

 seem to care nothing for 

 distance, for we have met 

 them and have had their 

 company in all our 

 cruises in the oceans 

 south of the Equator, no 

 matter how far from land. 



As one approaches St. 

 Helena, it seems a barren, unattractive 

 pile of lofty mountains, divided by deep 

 valleys, with its seemingly inaccessible 

 coast-line guarded by cliffs 600 to 1,200 

 feet in height, giving no glimpse of the 

 beautiful woodlands and green meadows 

 of the upper plateaus. 



The harbor at Jamestown is an open 

 roadstead facing the north, and the town 

 is picturesquely located in the narrow 

 valley that makes its way down to the sea 

 between huge masses of overhanging 

 rocks. 



Automobiles are not allowed in St. 

 Helena; so, taking horse carriages, we 



* See "Buenos Aires and Its River of Silver," 

 by William R. Barbour, in The Geographic 

 for October, 192 1. 



Photograph by J. P. Ault 

 MAKING THE JIBS EAST IN HEAVY WEATHER 



were soon wending our way leisurely up 

 the winding road leading to Longwood 

 Plain, and the view of the town and fer- 

 tile valley below became increasingly won- 

 derful as we went higher. 



In the center of this plain, some 1,800 

 feet above sea-level, in the midst of pleas- 

 ing rural scenery, is Longwood House, 

 where Napoleon lived and died. It is a 

 rambling frame structure of about 35 

 rooms. It is without a single piece of 

 furniture, except that in the front room 

 there is a bust of Napoleon, mounted on 

 a pedestal, to mark the spot where he 

 died. 



He was laid to rest in a beautiful shady 

 glen, surrounded with cypresses and lofty 

 Norfolk pines, near a cool spring, where 



