Horses are also raised in great numbers in Argentina. One who sees the fine draught horses in Buenos Aires need not be told that Argentine horses are of good breed and quality. The average Argentinian thinks that he knows more about a horse than anything else. Pedigreed stallions have been imported by the hundreds, and the very best blood has been brought in. One will find as good horses in Argentina as anywhere. They are generally well taken care of, too, for lean and skinny horses are very rare. During the Boer-English war fortunes were made out of horses, for the British government bought thousands of head and paid fancy prices. They were beaten, too, in many a bargain by the shrewd estancieros. Pig breeding has not been developed much as yet, although considerable stride has been made in some sections, but the export of pork does not amount to any considerable sum. Great hopes are, however, entertained by the Argentinians for this industry also.

All agriculture is on a gigantic scale. The rapid development has been a surprise to even the most hopeful estanciero. Railways have, in many instances, been almost unable to cope with some of the crops, and trains have been run night and day to carry the grain to the exporting centres. The wheat accumulates at the shipping points until vast stacks are piled up at the various stations in the wheat lands. One company’s cars cannot run over another company’s tracks, and this further adds to the congestion. The wheat is carried to the stations on huge carts with wheels eight feet high and drawn by from ten to a dozen oxen. A load of several tons may be balanced between these two lofty wheels. As the carts move forward they are accompanied by an awful screeching noise which is ear-splitting. The carter does not care to use grease, as he says that the noise encourages the oxen. The cry goes up each year for more labourers to care for the crops, and the need still exists. Because of the lack of elevators and granaries the grain must be quickly gathered and threshed. Women and girls, men and boys all work from early morning until late at night for the few harvest weeks. The grains are generally more profitable than stock, and in some districts have crowded the latter out. Corn is one of the most profitable crops at the present time.

During the harvest time the Camp is a busy place. Clouds of dust all over the horizon denote activity in the grain fields. Managers and overseers are kept busy riding from one group to another. Thousands of Italians come over for the harvests and then return to their native land. The harvesting machines are usually propelled from the rear, either by steam power or animals. Attached to the side of the “strippers,” which simply cut off the heads of the grain, is a large harvest cart into which the grain drops. Four roads will be cut from a central point at right angles to each other, which run to the outer edge of the wheat field. In the central point the oblong stacks are formed. By this system the fields of golden grain rapidly disappear before the onslaughts of the cutting machines.

Thirty years ago Argentina was a wheat-importing nation. Some of the knowing ones said wheat could not be successfully grown on the pampas. Since then the grain-producing area has been increased each year and the beginning of the end is not yet in sight. At first it was thought that only the land between the Paraná and Uruguay Rivers was available, but now it has spread south into Patagonia and west to the Andes. The available wheat land has been estimated at more than 200,000,000 acres, of which only a small per cent. is at present under cultivation. This wheat land is mostly a rich black loam, from a few inches to three feet or more deep, surmounting a subsoil of clay.

There are few rivers or lakes on the Camp and there is little surface water. The old-fashioned wells sunk very deep in the ground, in which the buckets are raised by horse power, are still quite common. Windmills of American make add a picturesqueness to the landscape. Ponds are banked up into which the water is pumped, and from them the troughs are filled. These wells seldom go dry even in the severe drouths in that land.

The midday siesta is almost universal in the Camp, for the sun beats down unmercifully hot for a few hours. The languor of these hours is all-pervading. Stock huddle together and put their heads in the shadow of the bodies of the others. The mosquito is very much at home on the Camp and sometimes makes the nights unappreciated.

One fearful disease is the anthrax, which is taken from cattle. The first symptom is a red mark on the skin, which is irritating. If unattended to this will develop into a blue boil surrounded by little blisters. After a while the sensitiveness disappears and no pain is felt. The blue is more pronounced and a full-fledged case of anthrax is developed. Something must be done promptly. The common treatment, when no surgeon is near, is to heat a wire red hot and burn out the infected spot clean from the surrounding flesh. This is a decidedly painful operation when performed without anæsthetics, and requires a remarkable degree of stoicism. The affected spot is absolutely without feeling. If this or another effective operation is not performed by the third day the chance of recovery is very slight, it is said. The gauchos are the principal sufferers.

Like his counterpart, the cowboy of the western plains, the gaucho is a unique character, and his individuality is probably the result of his environment and the life he has led. The freedom of the plains and lack of refining society have made him a man with a rough exterior which, however, oftentimes clothes a tender human heart. The gaucho of Argentina is generally of mixed blood. The blood may have become mixed centuries back, when the first Spaniards came to this country, but it still shows in his swarthy features. For centuries these people have lived an easy-going, care-free existence on the great plains of that republic. If there is one thing the gaucho loves, it is his freedom, and it is difficult to accustom him to the restraint that becomes necessary as development and private ownership proceed. In the centuries past the gauchos have always been engaged in the wars and revolutions which were common. The side they fought on did not matter much, for it was victory only that was sought. When there were no public disturbances to furnish excitement, they got up feuds on their own account, and fought each other. The Camp is full of tales of the gauchos and their deeds or misdeeds, many of which savour of real knight-errantry. It is these tales that has given the Argentinian plains an individuality. The old-time lawless gaucho has generally disappeared in the march of civilization, but the modified character remains and works for the ranch owner. Many of them have intermarried with the Italian and Spanish colonists who have migrated there. The railroad has perhaps been the greatest enemy of the gaucho, just as it was of the cowboy on our own western plains, because settlers have everywhere followed the iron horse.

The costume of the gaucho has not changed. It still consists of a broad sombrero, a shirt and the bombachos—wide Turkish trousers that range in colour from black to snow-white, and which fall to just above the ankle, where they are enclosed in a pair of tight-fitting boots. The poncho, a blanket which is placed over the shoulders in cool weather, varies from the most sombre hues to the boldest colours—brown and black to brilliant scarlet or purple. The effect of such a brilliantly-clothed apparition coming upon you unawares in a remote district can better be imagined than described. A great broad knife is almost invariably stuck in the belt, many of them a foot in length and of fantastic pattern. It is generally encased in a leathern, but sometimes in a metal, scabbard. This knife is intended not only for defence, but it is his principal aid in eating lunches out on the Camp. His favourite food is asado con cuero, beef roasted over the fire without removing the hide, and he is an expert in preparing this luxury. Dressed in all his finery, and mounted upon a saddle inlaid and ornamented with silver as many are, with fancy stirrups and huge clanking spurs, the South American gaucho is a sight worthy to behold.

The gaucho is a born horseman. From earliest childhood he has been accustomed to a horse’s back. Before his legs are long enough to reach the stirrups of a saddle the gaucho rides bareback, and an occasional tumble does not seem to be minded, for they are determined to ride. Caution or fear concerning horses is not known among them—such sentiments are altogether incomprehensible to their understanding. I have seen contests between the gauchos and American cowboys in Buenos Aires, and, although the latter are quicker in saddling and mounting a pony, they cannot stick on a bucking broncho any better than the former.

The gaucho is a rather taciturn individual, and is not given to many words. At the same time he is easily offended if any sense of superiority is shown. He may not show resentment on the surface, but a volcano may rage underneath a placid and immobile countenance. If there is, in his opinion, sufficient provocation, he will probably bide his time for revenge and await it patiently. It is not always done in the open, either, since he does not want a chance for failure. If he likes his employer his devotion is admirable, and he will serve with a commendable faithfulness. When roused by liquor the gaucho is often very troublesome, and then it is that he starts out to avenge real or fancied slights, and he sometimes commits serious crimes. Money does not appeal to the gaucho in a strong sense, and crimes as a rule are not committed for that purpose, but they are to avenge slights or real wrongs for which he thinks personal reprisal is the only adequate remedy. To requite a wrong with him is a point of honour. The gauchos are natural gamblers and, besides ordinary games of the Camp, there is scarcely anything that is not made the subject of wagering, and the average gaucho’s money soon disappears. It is doubtful whether education will make the gaucho a more efficient ranch hand, though it will make him a better and more intelligent citizen of a republic.

The work of the gaucho is generally confined to the care of stock, of which such vast herds swarm the pampas in almost every direction. The mustering of cattle in Argentina is called a “rodeo.” Viewed from a distance, one will see a line strongly marked wind its way over the level plain, with a dust cloud hanging over it, which is visible long before the animals come in view. As the armies of red, white and dun animals approach nearer one will see the picturesque gauchos riding here and there like officers of an army bearing commands.

When the place of rendezvous has been reached the cattle are kept tramping around a central point, as they are not near so likely to get frightened or stampeded if kept on the move. When the inspection or count is ended, the different herds are gradually separated by the gauchos and driven back to the feeding grounds. If a count is intended a line is formed through which the cattle are driven, and the cattle are numbered as they pass through the line. This is sometimes a difficult operation, and especially is it so if they aim to divide the herd into two or more bodies. One animal is driven to the right, another to the left and so on. This sometimes leads to a great deal of excitement and confusion among the cattle, and stampedes are easy to happen under such circumstances. Stockyards have been built on many ranches, where a narrow passage is constructed through which only one animal is able to pass at a time. This greatly simplifies the counting or dividing process. Furthermore, there is less danger of the animals injuring each other in their excitement. The gauchos are clever with the lasso, but cannot equal the American cowboy with that rope. Altogether the gaucho is a very useful and a very necessary man on the cattle estancias of Argentina, and his services are generally appreciated.

CHAPTER IV
THE RIVER OF SILVER

The Rio de la Plata, the “river of silver,” is one of the great river systems of the world. That name is properly applied only to the month of the system, which reaches just a little above the city of Buenos Aires, a distance of a couple of hundred miles from the Atlantic. From there it receives the name of the Paraná, which has its source in the wilds of Brazil. Where it pours its waters into the ocean this wonderful river is one hundred and eighty miles in width, and at Montevideo it has narrowed down to sixty-five miles. Opposite Buenos Aires it is still twenty-eight miles from shore to shore. The La Plata, as it is generally called, discharges the water from a basin much larger than the Mississippi, and the volume of water brought down by it is said to be exceeded only by the Amazon. It drains the greater part of the fertile pampas, reaches up into the coffee lands of Brazil, and carries down to the Atlantic the melted snows of the loftiest peaks of the Andes. The basin is in the shape of an immense horseshoe, and includes, besides the two above counties, all of Paraguay and parts of Bolivia and Uruguay.

The Uruguay River, which flows into the La Plata almost opposite Buenos Aires, is one thousand miles long and is navigable for several hundred miles, the Paraná for almost two thousand miles, and the Paraguay, from its junction with the latter stream, floats boats of shallow draft for fifteen hundred miles farther. Altogether these various streams furnish thousands of miles of navigable waters on which regular communication is furnished by large and commodious steamers. Nicolas Mihanovitch is the undisputed king of this river traffic, and dozens of vessels plying on these rivers bear the white letter M. with a black background on the funnel. They furnish a nightly service between Montevideo and Buenos Aires, and weekly or semi-weekly service up the Paraná and Uruguay Rivers.

Vessels drawing sixteen feet of water can proceed as far as Rosario, but ocean-going steamers seldom ascend any farther, as the water becomes shallower beyond that city. Boats of twelve feet draught can proceed as far as Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, eight hundred miles farther inland. The waters carry much mud, and the channel sometimes changes its course by the formation of mud banks. Hundreds of islands have formed, some of which probably started from a submerged tree, about which the sediment was deposited. In truth the Paraná plays with islands and sand banks as a lesser stream does with pebbles. A recent scientific writer has given some interesting facts concerning its eccentricities. Says he: “A schooner which sank nine years ago off La Paz swiftly developed at its tail an island a mile long, now crowned by willows. My photograph of the old port of Paraná town in 1902 shows an island eight hundred and eighty yards long by four hundred and ninety feet wide fronting it; in December, 1907, only one hundred and sixty feet of the island remained. Thirty years ago a market gardener made a shallow ditch cut-off opposite Ibicuy River (Lower Paraná), to take his produce down the river. The Paraná elected to take his work in hand, and now ocean steamers pass through this channel on their way down from Rosario.”

In the rainy season the Paraná spreads out for dozens of miles over the level land and forms an inland sea so wide that the banks are almost invisible. This flood season lasts for three months in the year, generally from March to June. At this season the Paraguay pours a mass of water twenty miles wide and twenty feet deep into the Paraná. Added to this is the water of the Alta Paraná, and the Lower Paraná then spreads itself out over the low lands of the western bank.

to use the words of Kipling. Because of the slight fall it takes three weeks for the flood waters to flow from Asuncion, a thousand miles upstream but only two hundred and three feet above sea level, to Buenos Aires. It is estimated that this river brings down a cubic mile of soil in twenty-two years. This soil is deposited on the western shore of the La Plata, and, were it not for the work of man, would soon convert Buenos Aires into a landlocked harbour. As it is, the dredging charges entailed by this yearly increasing mass of deposit are very large.

In places the banks of the Paraná are lined with reeds and willows, but farther up the trees become larger, and there is a forest growth. In one place may be seen gigantic reeds twenty feet high, then a solitary palm tree with a crest of fan-like leaves, and again a dense forest of various growths may crown the bank. Gnarled trees with clusters of beautiful crimson flowers occasionally add a contrast of colouring. Masses of weeds and grass are continually floating by. One cannot help but think of the voyage of Sebastian Cabot up this unexplored stream, in 1526. In a small vessel of only a few hundred tons he ploughed through these waters, avoided destruction on the islands, and ascended to a point above the site of Asuncion. He was months in accomplishing that voyage, which is now made twice a week in five days. It is not a hard trip, except that the scenery becomes rather monotonous. Otherwise the accommodation is quite good, the fare is cheap, and, as a rule, the cabins are comfortable and are kept very clean.

By steamer it is nearly three hundred miles from Buenos Aires to Rosario, the second city in the republic, and takes just about a whole day. The great delta of the Paraná, just above the metropolis, is very interesting, for it is studded with numerous islands. There are several ports on the left bank where large frigorificos, meat-freezing plants, are located, where vessels may be seen at the docks at all times waiting for their loads of beef and mutton. The largest of these is at Campaña, only fifty-one miles from Buenos Aires, where the River Plate Meat Co. has its freezing works. At Zarate is the freezing plant of the Las Palmas Produce Co., and at San Nicolas is another large frigorifico. At last Rosario, which used to be an unimportant place, is reached, but that designation would not answer for the hustling city of to-day.

Soon after leaving Rosario the river passes through the rich wheat belt, with the province of Entre Rios on one side of the bank and Santa Fé on the other. For a distance the banks of the Paraná are quite high on one side, but they gradually become lower. At length the town of Paraná, a city of twenty-five thousand inhabitants, and the capital of the province of Entre Rios, is reached. It is the distributing point for quite a large section of country and a shipping port for the products as well.

Opposite Paraná is the city of Santa Fé, capital of the province of the same name, which is of about the same importance as its rival on the other side of the river. The river leads up past La Paz and Esquma, at which latter place the province of Corrientes is entered. The city of Corrientes contains a population of about twenty thousand, and is a distributing and shipping point for that province. It is not a pretty city at all and has nothing to distinguish it. Here a change must be made to boats of lighter draught, for there are rapids between this city and Posadas that will not permit a draught of more than three feet in the dry season. It is only about twenty miles to the junction of the Paraguay River, and is two hundred and twenty-five miles from Corrientes to Posadas, the capital of the territory of Misiones. It is the collecting depot for the up-river trade above this point, and is a thriving little city of about six thousand inhabitants.

The Paraná becomes grander and more picturesque the farther up one ascends it. Its quiet picturesqueness grows upon the traveller. It is hemmed in between the hills of Paraguay, on one side, and those of Misiones on the other. Its width, hitherto anywhere from two to five miles, suddenly shrinks to two-thirds of a mile, and its depth increases. The well-wooded ranges of hills slope to a current running five knots an hour. A graceful line of waving bamboo marks the mean height of the river and is only broken by the many streams which come tumbling down. You are travelling toward the equator, and the vegetation changes. The trees become still larger, and the grass is more luxuriant. Many varieties of palms make their appearance. A thousand miles from Rosario is the junction with the Iguassú River, and a few miles from its mouth are the famous falls of the same name. They are on the boundary line between Brazil and Argentina, and only a few miles away from the border of Paraguay. At some imaginary point on the broad Paraná, in the midst of these vast solitudes, these three republics meet.

The Falls of the Iguassú, which here lie half concealed by the crowding forests, are a worthy rival of Niagara. The scenery surrounding is, in its lone loveliness, in harmony with the solemn grandeur of the cataract. The roar of the waterfall is all the more impressive because of the solitude that reigns in these primeval forests. These falls cover a wide area, as they are nearly two miles in length. They are so great that they must be viewed from several points before their full magnitude dawns upon the traveller. They plunge out of the hidden recesses of the forest in many places, for numerous islands have been formed which are now densely wooded. Nature here seems to have revelled in perfect abandon in producing this wonderful spectacle. It is like another Niagara set out in the midst of a wilderness, where the hand of man has done nothing to add to or detract from what nature has here prepared for the delectation of mankind.

The falls may be divided into two sections, the Argentine and Brazilian cascades. The Iguassú River is very wide just above the falls where it takes a very sharp turn prior to making the first plunge. It makes a series of three leaps, the last being a drop exceeding two hundred feet. The unequal erosion of the rock has given the falls a horseshoe shape very similar to Niagara. Below the falls the water passes through a narrow gorge where the depth is so great that a hundred fathom line has failed to sound it. The natives call it bottomless. In 1905, during an unusually severe rainy season, the water rose so high here, because of the narrowness of the gorge, that for five days it was backed up to the total height of the lowest falls, two hundred and ten feet.

Ascending the Alta Paraná, another one hundred and twenty-five miles, one reaches the smoking cataracts of La Guayra. So scored are the river’s banks on either side by cascade and torrents that it might be called “waterfall land.” The Falls of La Guayra are another series of mighty cascades on the border between Paraguay and Brazil. Above the falls is a great lake all of the waters of which must pass over these precipices and through a narrow gorge. At one point it is only two hundred feet from cliff to cliff. The current piles up in the centre with a corkscrew motion which forms a maelstrom, with which the famous Whirlpool Rapids are a quiet pool. The total plunge of these falls is three hundred and ten feet. Above the La Guayra the Alta Paraná widens out and the hills retreat. At a distance of four hundred miles, or a total distance of one thousand six hundred and forty miles from Buenos Aires, are the Uberaponga Falls, another frantic water power awaiting the harnessing by man. One can follow this stream on up to its source in a flat, swampy section, which is also the source of one of the principal affluents of the Amazon. It drains a very large section of Brazil, for, because of the range of mountains which follows the coast line in Brazil, water falling within a few miles of the Atlantic turns its back on the blue waters of the ocean and journeys from fifteen hundred to two thousand miles before entering salt water by means of the La Plata.

The route up the Uruguay River is much more picturesque than that up the Paraná. This majestic stream is about six miles wide at its junction with the latter river. It is somewhat less obstructed by islands here, so that both banks can usually be seen. And yet this great stream has moods, as well as other rivers. The current in its main channel will oftentimes change. It will encroach here and recede there, submerge an island in one place and form a new one in another. After a long drouth navigation must be conducted with caution, but the normal depth is generally sufficient for all purposes. During times of flood all kinds of strange small animals and vegetation are brought down by the Uruguay. The water is decidedly clay coloured. On one side is the flat Argentine plain, and on the other the undulating shores of Uruguay, for this river is the international boundary line between these two republics. Small topsail schooners may be seen coming down the river loaded with timber or fruit, and bound either for Montevideo or Buenos Aires. Farther up the stream contracts and one gets a more intimate acquaintance with the country. The banks shrink back and reveal a glimpse of flowering shrubs, willow trees, and an occasional palm. A stretch of bright, sandy beach may occasionally unfold itself. It is sometimes difficult to distinguish shore from island. Buoys mark the channel, which is very much zigzag. The sunsets on these broad waters and flat pampas are really wonderful. They paint the clouds in every colour and shade of rosy pink and brilliant red, and the waters become of a bluish hue. The cliffs on the Uruguay side are tinted in many colours, while the Argentine bank is nothing but a straight, black line.

The boats stop on either side. One hundred and thirty miles from Buenos Aires, and on the Uruguay side, is the town of Fray Bentos, where the great Liebig’s Extract Factory is located. On the opposite side and a little further up is Concepcion del Uruguay, which is an interesting little town. The busiest and most important town of Argentina on the Uruguay River is Concordia, two hundred and seventy miles from the metropolis. It is a town of perhaps fifteen thousand inhabitants, and has railway communication as well. Because of a falls and rapids at this point the large river steamers cannot proceed beyond Concordia, although light draught boats can ascend considerably farther.

Between the Paraná and Uruguay Rivers lie the two goodly-sized provinces of Entre Rios and Corrientes, and the territory of Misiones. The two provinces are each about the size of Indiana, and are rich in agricultural lands. Wheat was first successfully cultivated in Entre Rios, and these provinces still produce large quantities of grain as well as much stock. Each one has a population of about a third of a million and it is increasing each year. A number of colonies have been established there which have been quite successful. Corrientes contains several swampy lakes which cover many hundreds of square miles. A part of the year the greater part of these lakes is dry and then furnishes excellent pasturage. Their worst feature is that they are the breeding places of the tick and other pests to stock. A good system of drainage might make these lands invaluable. It also possesses one large body of water, called Lake Ibera.

Misiones is a little larger than Massachusetts, and has a population not exceeding thirty-five thousand. Its lands are fertile, but the climate is more tropical and it has not been developed so rapidly as the other sections of the country. It is the only province in Argentina that shares the tropical conditions of Southern Brazil. The name was derived from its settlement by the Jesuits after they were expelled from Brazil. For a time their colonies were very prosperous and thousands of Indians were gathered together at Apostoles, Santa Ana and San Ignacio. The work was all done by the Indians under the direction of the priests. The ruins of San Ignacio, which was established in the sixteenth century, and which can still be traced in the forest growth, show the solidity with which the place was built. Many ruins of the houses can still be seen, each one with a niche in which was placed the statue of a saint. New settlements of Russians and Poles have recently been established in this territory which give promise of success. There is much rich virgin land awaiting development in forest-covered Misiones. Yerba maté, tobacco, mandioca and sugar-cane grow in great abundance.

Proceeding up the Paraguay River from its junction with the Alta Paraná it is about two hundred miles to Asuncion. The river twists around over its wide bed in a very capricious manner, and in flood times spreads over thousands of square miles of the llanos, or plains. One can travel several hundred miles farther by small steamers up into the great state of Matto Grosso, Brazil, which is twice as large as Texas, and perhaps of equal fertility. The unoccupied grazing lands of that state will, some day, support millions of cattle that will be demanded by earth’s teeming millions.

Flowing into the Paraguay River from the west in Argentina are two rivers, the Bermejo and Pilcomayo, the latter of which is the international boundary line with Paraguay for a long distance. Each of these rivers is more than five hundred miles in length. The Bermejo River is entirely within Argentine territory. It is exceedingly tortuous and its actual length is about three times as great as the real distance between its source and its mouth. Small steamers can navigate it for at least half of its length.

Between these two rivers and extending across the Paraguay River into Paraguay lies what is known as the Gran Chaco. This is a broad plain, alternating with forest, which includes thousands of square miles of territory. It is the least known of Argentine territory, because of the difficulties of travel, and also because of the fact that wild and savage Indians who lead a nomadic existence are still to be found in certain sections. It was a mysterious and strange country to the early explorers. Into this wilderness the natives fled, and both fancy and imagination peopled it with all manner of strange wild beasts. The territorial boundaries were never definitely settled, until President Hayes, acting as arbitrator, fixed the boundaries between Paraguay and Argentina. These vast leagues are now divided into two territories, Formosa and Chaco. The former is almost as large as Ohio and the latter equals Illinois. In the two territories the reported population is about one person to each five square miles. There are many curious phenomena in the Chaco. The edges between plain and woodland are as clearly cut and as straight as if a surveyor had done the work. In fact the line of demarkation is drawn with remarkable exactitude. On one side will be a forest, and on the other the smooth plain stretches out with not a tree upon it to break the severity of the contrast. In other places there will be only palm trees, with not a single specimen of another species for variety. It is a land of strange watercourses. Broad streams that have ploughed all the way from the Andes in the full light of day burrow beneath the ground in the Chaco and continue their course underground. During heavy rainfalls it is claimed that small fish descend from the clouds. Fish eight or ten inches in length will be found in pools after showers, where there had been no water, and the ground had been in a parched condition for months. Do they lie imbedded in the earth like frogs? Are these fish amphibious? These questions have not yet been answered. It is a fact that there are many odd phases of nature in this little known section of Argentina; the same character is found in a goodly part of Paraguay, and it even extends up into Brazil.

The forest section of the Chaco is not a dense growth like the tropical forests. The trees do not stand close together; and the spaces between are not impenetrable, although some underbrush and tall grasses impede the way. Yet a man on horseback can easily thread his way through them. The only inhabitants are the Indians and half-breeds, the latter of whom are only partially civilized. Their homes are mud huts of a single room where the entire household, irrespective of age and sex, lodge. The Chaco abounds in game of many kinds. Partridges, wood-pigeons and snipe are very plentiful, and almost every species of water fowl in addition. A species of wild turkey is also to be met with, which affords most excellent sport as well as eating. The osprey, whose plumes are so much in demand, is a native of this land. The tapir, ant-eater, wild pig, jaguar and the lone wolf—a creature that has never been known to live in captivity—are found here in their native wilds. Poisonous snakes are very common, and huge pythons are occasionally encountered in the swamps. It is the innumerable insects, however, that make life almost unbearable for the white man, for he is subjected to both diurnal and nocturnal torture by the hordes of these pests.

At the present time this section is chiefly exploited for the quebracho wood. This is a very hard, fine-grained and tough wood. It was so named from the words quiebra-hacha, the axe-breaker, and was well named, for it does defy ordinary axes and saws. It is a tree found only in the Chaco. There are two varieties, the colorado (red) and blanco (white), of which the former is the most valuable. From this tree are made railroad ties which will last for thirty years, and it is the richest in tannin extract of any tree yet discovered.

The quebracho tree usually stands out by itself and is easily discernible at a distance, both from the character of its bark and the peculiar formation of its branches. Four or five trees to the acre is about the average yield. The tree is tall, two or three feet in diameter, and is crowned by a rather thin, oval mass of branches and leaves. The leaves are oval, smooth and shiny, and it is only partially deciduous. It lives to a great age, but also grows quite rapidly, so that it can be cultivated in the future as necessity demands. Formerly this tree was sought only by the railroads for their sleepers. About fifteen years ago it was found to be full of tannin, and, as oak bark was becoming scarce, this demand was rapidly developed and now forms the principal use for quebracho. Not only the bark yields tannin, but the sap and wood as well. The bark contains about eight per cent. of tannin, the sap three or four per cent., and the heart of the tree will yield as high as twenty-five per cent. of this essence so necessary to the tanner. It is a difficult and expensive product to market because of the remoteness of the forests and scattered character of the trees. In many places narrow gauged railroads and spurs have been run out through these trackless wastes in order to bring the logs to the mills or rivers. Otherwise it would be slow work, for during a large part of the year the roads are almost impassable and oxen suffer much from the climate and insects. These light railways have been found to be by far the most economical means of getting the logs to market. One company owns four million acres of the Chaco, and is prepared to cut logs into sleepers, make fence posts, or prepare it into tannin extract, whichever offers the most profit. There is a big and constantly increasing demand for all. The increase in construction of the Argentine railways makes a demand for sleepers, and failure of other sources of supply gives an ever widening market for the tannin extract.

Some of the railways in the Chaco end at the rivers, where the logs are loaded on boats and taken down to Rosario or Buenos Aires. Small sawmills are now found way out in the Chaco far from civilization. Other companies have their factories in the Chaco district, where the whole work is done and the extract prepared for shipment. This substance is known in the markets as “Quebracho Extract.” It is easily manufactured where the proper machinery has been installed. The wood is passed through a machine which cuts it into shavings and the smallest possible chips. These are collected into immense kettles, where it is treated by chemical processes until all the tannin has been removed. After this the fluid is reduced by evaporation to a thick, jelly-like mass which is poured into sacks, where it is finally dried into the substance sold in commerce. Some of the companies engaged in this business have been capitalized for very large sums, and considerable towns have grown up around their establishments. Civilization and development have followed the construction of the railroads here as everywhere.

In 1895 the first exportation of quebracho extract is recorded from the River Plate. In that year it was four hundred tons only. By 1902 it had reached nine thousand tons, and now the annual export exceeds thirty thousand tons. Of this enormous export the United States takes fully sixty-five per cent.

There are several thousand Indians who live in the Gran Chaco, and they comprise a number of tribes, all of whom, however, have the same general characteristics. These Indians are absolutely unlettered, and they have developed no civilization or institution of their own. Furthermore, they have the reputation of being treacherous and cruel, and many small parties of whites have been treacherously murdered. They are perhaps the most barbarous of any Indians in South America. Others of the same tribes inhabit the Chaco of Paraguay. It is said by those who have made a study of them that these Chaco aborigines are more ignorant and much less tractable than any of the natives of Patagonia.

They dwell along the rivers in this great wilderness in the simplest kind of abodes, and away from the settlements wear practically no clothing whatever. One distinguishing feature is the habit of tattooing the skin, which is very common. Not only the warriors, but the women as well, indulge in this custom, which, in their opinion, beautifies them. At first glance these tattoo marks oftentimes resemble the markings of smallpox, but a closer inspection shows that it is all in geometrical design. It is effected by pricking the skin with a big thorn, dipped in an acrid milky substance obtained from a plant that grows near there, and which leaves an indelible mark wherever it touches. It is absorbed by the epidermic tissue. This juice is obtained by breaking off the clusters of flowers of the plant, called the iguoqui, and this milky substance then exudes from the stem. It is used as it comes out of the stem, for it must be fresh. The Indians are also almost hairless on the face and body, due to the habit of depilation of the skin. This latter characteristic is in common with our American red men, and the tattooing takes the place of paint.

Horrible tales are told of these Chaco Indians and their murder of travellers. On the other hand numerous instances are known where they have saved the lives of white men and tenderly ministered to their wants. They have been accused of being cannibals, and probably were in the past. “I have seen them drink the blood of animals killed for our use with avidity,” says an Argentine writer. They do not live exclusively on meat, but also eat roots and wild fruits, and the wild honey which is found in abundance. From fruits and honey they also make fermented drinks, of which they are very fond. They are nomadic, and wander from one place to another in quest of game and fruit. They have few domesticated animals, such as the dog and horse. They neither understand nor practise agriculture, although they sometimes plant little patches of corn or sugar-cane, which they have learned from the priests. They barter a little among themselves, but of trade in general they know nothing, and so they beg of travellers whom they meet instead of offering to trade. It is said they cannot even count above four. In medicine they resort to sorcery and incantations rather than to any curative herbs.

Polygamy is permitted among these Indians, but is not commonly practised. The portion of women is very much as with the red men, for to them falls the hard work of the home. If her husband dies the wife mourns for a year, and it is not proper for her to marry again during that time. She even refuses to converse and walks apart from all the others. The dead are burned by some tribes and buried by others. Those tribes who bury always place a gourd of water by the grave. This is both for the deceased and his friends, who come to visit the grave, and is probably due to a fraternal and hospitable idea in this land where a drink of refreshing water is sometimes more welcome than food.

CHAPTER V
THE GARDEN OF THE REPUBLIC

The second city in Argentina is Rosario de Santa Fé. It is the Chicago of Argentina, for it is the chief wheat market, and is about as far inland as Pittsburg. It is connected with Buenos Aires by two branches of the Central Railway, as well as river communication. Rosario is to a great extent a replica of the national capital on a much smaller scale. The streets all cross each other at right angles. One-storied buildings predominate everywhere, and I do not believe that there is a structure which exceeds three stories in the city. Even in the business section one story is the general rule. In the way of municipal improvement Rosario is up to date, and contains all the advantages of the metropolis except population. There are a number of plazas after the usual style, and a beautiful park adorns one section of the city. Electric light and cars serve the entire city, so that in physical comforts Rosario is not behind similar cities in Europe, or North America. There is quite a considerable foreign colony and each one boasts its club where the members can meet, eat, drink and be merry. Although Rosario is almost two centuries old, it was an obscure little village up to a generation ago. In the past ten years it has doubled its population.

As a commercial centre Rosario is of great importance. Tapping the greater portion of the rich provinces of Cordoba and Santa Fé, it receives enormous quantities of wheat and other cereals as well as live stock. It is accessible to ocean-going steamers, and hundreds of vessels leave it each year loaded with food for the millions of Europe. The Paraná River at this point is nearly a mile wide, and is an imposing, if not beautiful, stream of water. The river has cut its channel down into the soil to such a depth that the bluffs upon which Rosario is built stand about sixty feet high. Warehouses line these bluffs, and the wheat is transferred to the waiting vessels below by gravity. Each warehouse has a long chute running down to the river bank through which the grain is poured. It has been bagged on the estancias and is shipped in the same bags to Europe. As soon as a bag touches the chute it speeds down the inclined plane into the waiting vessel. The bags follow one another in quick succession. At harvest time the wheat often becomes congested at this port.

Large port works have been constructed so that the docks have accommodation for a goodly number of boats, although not comparing at all with Buenos Aires in extent. From here the river lines carry passengers up and down the Paraná for hundreds of miles, and then they branch off to the Paraguay and Alta Paraná. Quite a network of railway lines also converge at Rosario, and altogether it is a hustling and busy place.

The large and rich province of Santa Fé is second in importance only to that of Buenos Aires. It is long and narrow, being several hundred miles in length from its northern to its southern boundary, and is almost as large as England. The capital of the province is the city of Santa Fé. For a long time this little city was an unimportant place, even though it was the provincial capital. To-day it is, after almost three hundred and fifty years of existence, a place of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants. It is proposed to deepen the channel so that ocean-going steamers can reach this port, but this project will not be done before “to-morrow.” The northern part of this province partakes of the character of the Chaco and is undeveloped. At least three-fourths of the state, however, is rich land, well suited for the cultivation of cereals, which form the principal product, and have contributed most to the wealth. There is usually sufficient rain in this province, but its nearness to the Chaco makes it subject to a visitation which is almost equal in its destructive qualities to that of the drouth.

The farmer everywhere thinks that he has his full share of troubles. But the American farmer has never had to contend with the locusts to the extent that frequently befalls the Argentinian. One who has never seen a plague of locusts can scarcely appreciate the troubles undergone by Pharaoh when the clouds of locusts appeared as a punishment for his disobedience. The farmer in Argentina, however, can heartily sympathize with the Egyptian king, and, like him, would be willing to do or promise almost anything to secure relief from this enemy to his peace and prosperity. During the past season these abominable insects destroyed millions of dollars’ worth of grain in that republic, and roused the people to greater efforts than ever to find some means of exterminating them. In travelling across the country last winter, which is their summer, I saw thousands of acres of corn absolutely stripped of all the leaves, and millions upon millions of the winged locusts were visible from the train, so thick in places as to almost cast a shadow.

The locust is blessed, or cursed, with a voracious and unquenchable appetite. This appetite is perhaps equalled in extent only by the hatred with which it is regarded by the farmer. Prior to 1905 Argentina had not had a scourge of locusts for several years, but since that time they have come almost every year. The first intimation of their approach is usually in October, when a few flying locusts will appear coming from the north. These seem to be the advance guard, for in a few days they are followed by increasing hordes, until the clouds of insects are so thick that they obscure the sun like passing clouds. Although these locusts are so numerous they do not do so much damage, as they are migrating and do not stay in one place long. A farmer may wake up some nice morning and find his beautiful shade trees stripped almost bare by the locusts that have alighted during the night. But in a day or two these will be gone, although others may follow. Future trouble has been laid up for him, however, for eggs have been laid by the millions. These are usually deposited in a small hole which has been bored down in a bare space of ground.

With the advent of the young locusts about six weeks later the real troubles of the farmer have begun, and matters begin to wear a serious aspect. The little gaudy-coloured creatures, with their yellow, green and black bodies and red legs, are shaped very much like grasshoppers. They cannot yet fly, and for that reason remain as the guests of the landowner for several weeks while they are awaiting their final development. They pass slowly along, jumping in grasshopper fashion from stem to stem, or leaf to leaf. They cling in clusters to each leaf and stem like a devouring army, and stay there until it is absolutely bare. The extent of the damage which they are able to inflict can be seen by inspecting a corn field after their visit. The transformation is as marvellous as it is tragic. Every shred of the rich, luxuriant leaves and tassels has disappeared, and only the thin, bare stalks, shivering and desolate, remain. Even the houses will be invaded by these unpleasant creatures (beasts, the Englishman would say), and to say that they are unwelcome but mildly expresses the real feeling of the farmer who sees the fruit of his toil thus disappearing before the hordes with insatiable appetites. The only vegetable growth that will not be touched, except as a last resort, is the Paraiso tree. They will eat everything else first, and only fall back upon the leaves and bark of this tree when all other food has failed.

In about six weeks the wings have developed and the “hoppers” become “fliers.” Their bodies have waxed fatter, but their colouring has become sobered. Then flights will again become noticeable. A swarm will sometimes resemble a vast smoke-cloud from a burning city or straw stack. They will oftentimes settle on the boughs of limbs in such quantities as to cause the limbs to bend and crack beneath their weight. Carriages, trucks and the fronts of locomotives will be thickly coated with the fragments of the bodies of the insects, which they have killed. In such armies, where numbers are countless, casualties go for nothing. A trifling loss of a few thousand or a few millions is only a drop in the ocean. You might as well try to stop a cloud passing across the sky by shooting at it as a swarm of these insects.

One newspaper account, which I saw, reported: “The north and centre of Entre Rios are simply covered with locusts both in the hopper and flying stages. The city of Paraná was invaded by a swarm calculated to be nine miles in front and several miles in depth, and so thick that the sun was partially obscured. Other cities are hurriedly being enclosed with screens in order to keep the locusts at bay. In places they have completely devastated the vineyards, orchards and maize. In many places a cry of desperation is heard. In the province of Santa Fé swarms of fliers passed Santa Isabel bearing east; enormous swarms passed General Lopez proceeding west; Monte Vera reports the passage of fliers towards the north and south. The work of destruction goes on successfully. To-day between Zarate, Pilar and Campaña were destroyed sixty-eight thousand kilos (more than seventy-four tons) of saltona (hoppers).”

The farmer is in a quandary what to do. If he had only a hundred acres to look after it would not be so difficult, but none of them have fewer than thousands of acres. How to secure the labour to drive these locusts is a difficult problem.

The government has passed laws requiring each landowner to maintain men to fight the locusts, on the basis of about one to each thousand acres. If this is not done the owner is fined. The general method is to dig pitfalls three or four feet deep, the outer edge of which is protected by overlapping sheets of corrugated iron. These traps run out for some distance. The locusts, while still in the hopping stage, are driven towards this trap until these pits are oftentimes nearly filled up with their bodies. They are then covered up with a coating of earth, and they die very quickly. If this work is thoroughly done it is quite efficacious, but it is oftentimes difficult to get sufficient labour, for it is unpleasant work because of the nauseating odour from the bodies of the crushed locusts. Unless the work is systematically and thoroughly done, however, it does not have much effect, for a few millions will not be missed. If one man does his work well, and his neighbour is indifferent to his duty, then his work is for naught, as they will soon swarm over his land again from his neighbour’s fields. United effort alone is efficacious, and that is what the government is endeavouring to either induce or compel the people to do. It has a commission at work studying this and other insect pests, and the best way to exterminate them.

The source of these insects is not positively known. They come from the north, in what is known as the Chaco, which is a vast wilderness little known, and covering tens of thousands of square miles. Some think that they come from the state of Matto Grosso, in Brazil, which is an empire in itself just north of the Chaco. Accurate knowledge of the location of their hatcheries is yet wanting. The insect is fortunate in having chosen the wild and unexplored portion of the country for its home. The wisest and surest method of getting rid of these locusts, in my opinion, would be to search out this place and destroy them there. In that way it might be possible within a very few years to absolutely rid the country from this scourge of locusts as it is to-day.