Tschiffely’s Ride: Ten Thousand Miles in the Saddle from Southern Cross to Pole Star

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Text originally published in 1933 under the same title.

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Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

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TSCHIFFELY’S RIDE:

TEN THOUSAND MILES IN THE SADDLE FROM SOUTHERN CROSS TO POLE STAR

BY

AIMÉ TSCHIFFELY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

DEDICATION 7

FOREWORD 8

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 9

INTRODUCTION 11

THE FIRST DAY 15

TOWARDS ROSARIO 17

THE ROLLING PAMPAS 20

THE DESOLATION OF SANTIAGO DEL ESTERO 26

TUCUMAN, THE ARGENTINE EDEN 28

ENTERING THE ANDES 30

PREPARING FOR ROUGH MOUNTAIN TRAVEL 33

THROUGH MIGHTY QUEBRADAS AND OVER WINDSWEPT MOUNTAINS TOWARDS THE 34

BOLIVIAN BORDER 34

INTO THE LAND OF THE QUICHUAS 44

A LONG FORGOTTEN SPANISH GOLD TRAIL 46

POTOSI, THE OLD MECCA OF GREEDY SPANISH CONQUISTADORES 49

AMONG THE AYMARA INDIANS 50

TOWARDS LAKE POPO 51

OVER THE VAST AND BARREN BOLIVIAN ALTIPLANO TOWARDS LA PAZ 56

LA PAZ: THE HIDDEN CITY 60

TITICACA, THE SACRED LAKE 62

ON PERUVIAN SOIL 70

TOWARDS THE ANCIENT CAPITAL OF THE MIGHTY INCAS 75

GLORIOUS OLD CUZCO 77

INTO THE HEART OF THE ANDES 81

CIVILISATION AGAIN 91

LANDSLIDES, A DETOUR AND A MOUNTAIN STORM 94

A FAMOUS INDIAN MARKET—THE ROOF OF THE WORLD—DOWN TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN 98

LIMA, THE STATELY OLD CITY OF KINGS 100

THE SANDY DESERTS OF THE PERUVIAN COAST 107

THE HIGHLAND OF ECUADOR 128

QUITO 140

CROSSING THE LINE 141

COLOMBIA 142

A LONG AND EVENTFUL SIDE-TRIP TO BOGOTÁ 147

THE GREAT SWAMP BARRIER 152

MAGDALENA, THE RIVER OF MUD AND CROCODILES 154

ADIÓS SOUTH AMERICA! 160

MANCHA SUFFERS A SLIGHT ACCIDENT 163

WESTWARD HO! 165

INTO THE GREEN LABYRINTH 175

AN UNMARKED BORDER IN THE MIDST OF JUNGLES 177

CLIMBING UP TO THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD 180

CIVILISATION ONCE MORE 185

SIDESTEPPING A REVOLUTION 188

SAN SALVADOR 189

GUATEMALA, THE LAND OF THE QUETZAL 194

GUATEMALA CITY 195

OLD GUATEMALA 196

VOLCANIC REGIONS OF SINGULAR BEAUTY 197

TOWARDS THE MEXICAN BORDER—A GLORIOUS VIEW—DESCENT INTO STEAMING TROPICAL LOWLAND 201

THE LAND OF THE CHARROS 203

A DIFFICULT STRETCH 209

OLD TEHUANTEPEC 221

OAXACA 227

IN THE SIERRAS 229

MEXICO CITY 234

THE MEXICAN MESA 237

OVER BARREN PLAINS TOWARDS THE RIO GRANDE 243

TEXAS AT LAST—AND VICTORY! 245

BUSY DAYS 246

FAREWELL, U.S.—BACK TO THE PAMPAS 248

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 250

DEDICATION

To

MANCHA AND GATO

FOREWORD

Let me start this foreword with an apology. I am well aware that critics may, and probably will, find fault with the style of writing. For that I apologise, but it is unavoidable. I have no pretensions to being a writer, and have only done my best to give an accurate description of the countries through which I passed and the many and varied types of people I met.

I rode some 10,000 miles in two and a half years. From Argentina I came north, over cold, barren 16,000-foot ranges; then down into steamy jungles, across the Isthmus of Panama, up through Central America and Mexico, and so to the United States.

I reached Washington with the same two horses with which I started—ponies that were 15 and 16 years old when my ride began.

Remote from cities and seaports—far from white men’s haunts—ran much of my lonely trail. One night camp might be pitched far from any human habitation; again, I ate and slept with ancient Indian tribes in stone villages older than the Incas.

Of high adventures, hair-breadth escapes, and deeds of daring, there were few; yet in all the annals of exploration I doubt if any traveller, not excepting Marco Polo himself, had more leisure than I to see and understand the people, the animals and plant life of the countries traversed.

Naturally an expedition of this nature was bound to entail a certain amount of adventure and risk, but I have purposely endeavoured to avoid anything that might give an arm-chair voyager the idea that I was exaggerating for the sake of effect.

What is particularly gratifying to me is the knowledge that I have been able to prove that the Argentine Criollo (Creole) horse is worthy of the reputation he has always held among the few that really know him, namely, that of being second to none for continuous hard work under any conditions. My two pals, Mancha and Gato, have shown powers of resistance to heat, cold, hunger, and every hardship imaginable that have surprised even the most sanguine admirers of the breed, and Dr. Emilio Solanet, who presented them to me, must indeed feel proud of them.

I sincerely hope that nothing I have said will hurt the feelings of any reader, for although it may seem that in some cases I have been unduly harsh in my criticism of people, that is not so; rather otherwise. Where I have apparently been severe in my remarks I have in reality been mild, since the whole truth would in many cases be absolutely incredible to anyone who had not seen it with his own eyes.

Let me say in conclusion that I cannot properly express the gratitude I feel to those countless friends whom I met on the journey, whose hospitality knew no bounds, and whose help and encouragement enabled me to carry through to a successful finish.

A. F. TSCHIFFELY

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The Author, A. F. Tschiffely

Mancha, the stained one and Gato, the cat

Breaking in a wild Argentine pony

Mancha and Gato in the shelter of an Argentinian country police station

A mountain man from near Tucuman, Argentina

A peasant riding trail through the Quebrada de Humahuaca

The youngest son of this old man of the mountains was ninety

Chicha, the native beer, can be found almost everywhere

An old Aymara Indian

Mancha and Gato appraising an ancient idol at Tiahuanaco

Carvings on the Gateway of the Sun at Tiahuanaco

Mancha and Gato on the shores of the Sacred Lake of Titicaca

Young goat-herders among ruins near Cuzco, Peru

The author wearing a mask for protection against sand and saltpeter particles

Swaying root-and-fibre bridges made river crossings difficult

Up these formidable canyons and over giddy chasms puff the trains

The Lima bullring: Villalta, the famous Spanish matador, making a paso alto

Gato is being led by an Indian over this Peruvian chasm

Crossing a ridge near the Apurimac River in upper Peru

It is unsafe to try to cross Peruvian deserts on foot

I had heard many terrible stories about this sandy wilderness...

A typical dizzy suspension bridge in upper Peru

The pack was kept to an irreducible minimum

The horses had to walk very slowly and measure every stride

At the border (Ecuador-Colombia) customs officers, wearing dirty clothes, stopped us

A wayside cross and symbols near a Peruvian town

The Magdalena River: We were on the slow-moving boat for three days

The old dungeons of Cartagena are now inhabited by the poor

Mancha passes a pack ox on a Colombian trail

Midday rest in a hot valley of southern Colombia

A public market in a Colombian village near the Ecuador border

San Salvador: We had the luck to find a ferry-boat, the first and only one we used on the whole trip

Antigua, Guatemala: Before the town was destroyed, nearly two centuries ago, it had 80,000 inhabitants and no fewer than forty-four churches

Guatemala: Marimba bands entertained visitors

Oaxaca, Mexico: The tule tree I saw here is the biggest I came across, and it is claimed that this cypress is over 5,000 years old

Through the thinly peopled Sierra Madre region of Mexico

The women of Tehuantepec enjoy the reputation of being the prettiest in Mexico

The first welcome at Queretaro, Mexico

INTRODUCTION

Impossible! Absurd! The man’s mad!

In this way many people stated their opinions, some publicly, some privately, when the news came out that somebody was going to attempt to ride from Buenos Aires to New York with two native Argentine horses. And it cannot be denied that they had good grounds for their opinion. Those who know the topography of the country between Buenos Aires and the States might well doubt the ability of man or beast to undertake such a trip. Overland travelling is hard enough at the best of times, but in an undertaking of this nature the difficulties are so numerous and varied. Will there always be a sufficiency of food and water for the rider and his animals? Can the horses be expected to cross the vast mountain ranges and sandy deserts, and endure the severe variations of heat and cold? What about unfriendly Indians, rainy seasons, insects, fevers?

Nevertheless I continued with my preparations. It was not a sudden impulse on my part, but the result of several years’ contemplation, although I had not mentioned the idea to anyone until I had actually determined to make the attempt.

After completing my education, I had spent some time teaching in England and had then come out to the Argentine, where I spent nine years in the largest English-American school in the country. For a long time I had felt that a schoolmaster’s life, pleasant though it is in many ways, is apt to lead one into a groove. I wanted variety: I was young and fit; the idea of this journey had been in my head for years, and finally I determined to make the attempt.

As a result of various enquiries I went to the office of La Nacion, the leading newspaper of the Argentine, and put forward my idea. When once they were convinced that I was not one of the many who come to them for funds to assist in some imaginary exploit, but that I wanted information and nothing more, they received me with the greatest courtesy and gave me every possible assistance. At length I was put in touch with Dr. Emilio Solanet, a most enthusiastic breeder of the Creole horse and one of the greatest authorities on the subject, and to whom I shall always owe a debt of gratitude. He eagerly took up the idea and undertook to supply the two horses for the trip.

A few words on the origin of the Creole horse may help the reader to understand the reasons for their powers of resistance. They are the descendants of a few horses brought to the Argentine in 1535 by Don Pedro Mendoza, the founder of the city of Buenos Aires. These animals were of the finest Spanish stock, at that time the best in Europe, with a large admixture of Arab and Barb blood. That they were the first horses in America is borne out by history, by tradition, and by the fact that no native American dialect contains a word for horse. Later, when Buenos Aires was sacked by the Indians and its inhabitants massacred, the descendants of the Spaniards’ horses were abandoned to wander over the country. They lived and bred by the laws of nature, they were hunted by the Indians and wild animals, drought would compel them to travel enormous distances in search of water, the treacherous climate with its sudden changes of temperature killed off all but the strongest, and, in short, they were forced to obey the natural law of the survival of the fittest.

The fitness of the race has been amply proved. During the War of Emancipation and the various Indian wars, the Creole horses performed marches that would appear incredible were they not established facts. Dr. Solanet, in an admirable speech delivered at a conference of the Agricultural and Veterinary Faculties said: Their marches for months during the War of Emancipation are not reckoned by kilometres but by leagues: a hundred, two hundred and more was the distance frequently covered in these wonderful raids, which terminated at the ranks of the Spanish soldiers, valiant it cannot be denied, since they are of our own race. And the horses of the Patriots arrived with sufficient energy to drive home a victorious charge. Afterwards, the same night, they would rest, feeding on whatever they could rustle. Without covering they endured frosts, and on the following day, instead of a massage and grooming, came the violent hot gale that scorched them and lashed them with burning sand.

The two horses given to me by Dr. Solanet were Mancha, who was at the time sixteen years old, and Gato, who was fifteen. They had formerly been the property of a Patagonian Indian Chief named Liempichun (I have feathers) and were the wildest of the wild. To break them in had been a task that taxed the powers of several of the best domadores for some time, and even when I took them over they were far from tame. I may state that even now (at twenty-two years of age), after a journey of over ten thousand miles, Mancha will not allow anyone except myself to saddle him. These two animals had, a very short time previously, come up to the estancia with a troop from Patagonia and had performed a road march of over a thousand miles, in the course of which they had lived on what they could find, which was not much. To an American or European horse-lover they would appear, to put it mildly, curious. Mancha is a red, with heavy irregular splashes of white; white face and stockings. In the United States and in England this colour is sometimes called pinto, circus-horse, or piebald. Gato is more or less of a coffee colour, a sort of cross between a bay and a dun, what the American cowboys used to call a buckskin. Their sturdy legs, short thick necks and Roman noses are as far removed from the points of a first-class English hunter as the North Pole from South. However, I am willing to state my opinion boldly that no other breed in the world has the capacity of the Creole for continuous hard work. As the reader who stays with me throughout this book will in imagination be travelling with Mancha and Gato for two and a half years he may be interested to know something about the characters of the two horses. From the very first days of our acquaintance I noticed a real difference in their personalities; and as I travelled with them I found this difference more and more marked.

Mancha was always alert, an excellent watch-dog, he distrusted strangers and would let no other man but myself ride him. Whenever he wanted something he nickered or neighed, or rubbed his forehead against me, sometimes even giving me a sharp nip with his teeth. Mancha completely bossed Gato who never retaliated. He had fiery eyes, white rims showing, ears always moving. He held his head high, and with dilated nostrils and keen eyes would look towards the horizon. He was very fond of being spoken to and often turned his head to look at me through the corner of one eye when I was riding him. He obeyed word of mouth better than spurs to which he objected, showing his disapproval by bucking. If strangers approached him he gave a fair warning by lifting one hind leg, laying back his ears and showing that he was ready to bite. However, he was not vicious and never hurt anyone.

I remember when Will Rogers was introduced to him at Meadowbrook before the international polo match between the U.S. and Argentina. I warned Mr. Rogers that Mancha was in a bad temper, too many people having worried him, and when—in spite of my advice to be careful—Mr. Rogers approached, the horse kicked wildly in his direction, which ended what was intended to be a friendly greeting on the part of the humorist. Obviously Mancha did not appreciate Will Rogers’ sense of humour, or perhaps was the other way about.

Gato was a horse of quite a different colour. He tamed down much quicker than his companion. When he found out that bucking and all his repertoire of nasty tricks to unload me failed he became resigned to his fate and took things philosophically.

Unlike Mancha he was not very talkative. Of the two he was the more willing, being the type of horse that, if ridden by a brutal man, would gallop until he dropped dead. His eyes had a childish, dreamy look, seeming to observe everything with wondering surprise. He had a rare instinct for bogs, quicksands and deadly mud-holes. Owing to his overconfidence on giddy mountain trails he gave me several frights without apparently worrying himself.

Of the two he was the daintier eater, and unlike Mancha, who never ate too much corn or oats—things they did not often get—Gato’s allowance had to be carefully measured out lest he overeat and suffer the consequences.

When going along a narrow trail, especially in dense jungles where riding was impossible and where I had to go ahead on foot to cut interfering creepers, twigs and branches with the bush-knife, Gato always had to follow behind his companion who never allowed him to take first place.

If my two horses had only the faculty of human speech and understanding I would go to Gato to tell him my troubles and secrets. But if I wanted to step out and do the rounds in style I’d certainly go to Mancha. His personality was the stronger.

The horses obtained, there still remained many other points to be considered, primarily the question of riding and of pack saddles. For riding I chose the type of saddle used in Uruguay and the northern parts of Argentina. This consists of a light framework, about two feet long, over which is stretched a covering of hide. This sits easily on the horse, and, being covered with loose sheep-skins, makes a comfortable bed at night, the saddle forming the pillow. I used the same saddle throughout the trip, but was obliged to change the pack saddle in the mountainous regions. To take a tent was, of course, an impossibility, owing to the weight, so I had to be content with a large poncho for covering when sleeping out. A big mosquito-net in the shape of a bell tent was taken, as it folded up into a very small space and weighed practically nothing.

I then had to spend several weeks getting into riding condition and accustoming myself to long expeditions. As a schoolmaster I had had perforce to be content with riding during vacations and consequently a considerable amount of practice was necessary.

When the preparations were nearly complete, the horses were sent up to Buenos Aires and lodged in the fine premises of the Argentine Rural Society. This was not easy. Let the reader imagine the feelings of two savage warriors from the interior of Africa suddenly dumped into Fifth Avenue or Broadway. The nearest approach to a town that either of them had seen was an Indian village composed of a few toldos—tents made of posts and raw hide. To bring them across the city, which was done in the early hours of the morning and by the least frequented streets, and finally to persuade them to enter the stables was a labour worthy of Hercules himself. The very streets and houses scared them, not to mention the automobiles. They turned up their noses at the most luscious alfalfa, barley, oats, etc., with which they were provided, and devoured with relish the straw put down for bedding. In this respect, however, they soon changed, and began to realise what was good. As they gradually filled out on good fodder, so did their spirits, none too tame before, rise, and exercising them became a really interesting, not to say exciting job.

When all was ready the press heard about the undertaking. Some comments were encouraging, others frankly sarcastic. One paper even went so far as to accuse me of cruelty to animals. The writer apparently did not have sufficient grey matter to realise that a man who was going to entrust his life absolutely to two horses would make their comfort and welfare his first consideration. Many who fancied themselves experts on the subject tried to put me off, others, and in particular a few members of the Rural Society and some prominent sportsmen, backed me up solidly and gave me all the encouragement in their power.

I had originally intended to take as companion a Belgian police dog which had been presented to me by a friend. On the first day of the journey, however, the dog came nearer to one of the horses than the latter approved of and received such a severe kick on the hip that I was obliged to leave him behind. This was in reality a blessing in disguise for the dog because, as things turned out, he would not have survived the journey. Lack of water affects dogs more than horses, their feet will not stand the wear and tear of stony roads, and the fact that a dog carries his nose so near the ground would render the journey across sandy deserts a matter of great distress. Besides there is the question of feeding. A small dog that could, when necessary, be carried on the pack-horse might have made the trip, but even that is doubtful.

I must state that I do not pretend to be an infallible authority on the various countries through which I passed. Naturally I learnt a lot about their customs, history and traditions, but to know a country thoroughly requires years of residence. I shall only attempt to describe what I actually saw and what actually happened to me, without floral embellishment.

THE FIRST DAY

I propose to tell the story of the first day’s trip at some length for various reasons: it naturally impressed itself on my mind as the start of a great adventure: it contained enough variety to satisfy anyone; and it may give the reader a slight idea of some of the conditions prevailing in Argentina.

Early in the morning of St. George’s Day I left my hotel and drove off to the premises of the Rural Society, accompanied by my dog, who seemed to scent disaster and had to be tied to a lead before he would accompany me. Trouble began early; the horses strongly objected to being saddled, each part of the saddle seemed to annoy them more than the previous one, and for a long time we were just a whirling mass of kicking horses and cursing stable-boys. At last, however, everything was ready, and the horses, having expressed their opinions of the girths by a vigorous display of bucking, became more or less quiet. I was ready to start.

By this time some press photographers, who had in some mysterious manner learnt that I was setting out, had arrived, obviously regarding the whole thing as a huge joke. The shutters clicked, and the gentlemen of the press bowed and retired, with ill-concealed chuckles at my idiocy. I felt strongly tempted to quote to them the saying, Let fools laugh, wise men dare and win, had not a doubt assailed me as to which of us really was the fool.

I rode Gato, he being the quieter of the two, leading Mancha, who did duty as pack-horse, and we were accompanied by a stable-boy to show the best way out of the town. This lad was mounted on a big thoroughbred which made my stocky little animals look more diminutive than ever. The dog followed, but very unwillingly. After about an hour we came to a newly-made dirt road with a wire fence on each side and my guide, having informed me that by following this I would get to the main road, returned home. His thoroughbred was steaming with perspiration while the two Creoles showed no signs of having travelled at all. Recent heavy rains had converted this road into a river of soft mud into which the horses sank deep at every step. Mancha had evidently decided that he would much prefer to go back to his stable, and I had to haul him along by main force. To make matters worse, a fine rain began to fall and, with one thing and another, I came to the conclusion that this was the worst bit of road in the world. This judgment was to be corrected by later experience.

Disaster came soon; I heard a dull thud followed by a squeal of pain, and saw the dog fly through the air and land in a pool of water, where he lay as though dead. He had approached nearer to Mancha than the latter approved of and had suffered accordingly. On examining him I found that he had received a severe blow on the hip and that his shoulder-blade was broken. Here was a situation worthy of a cartoonist’s pencil. Far away from any habitation, stuck in the mud, the rain soaking into my skin, with two half-wild horses and a crippled dog: hardly an encouraging start. I did not want to shoot the dog, much less leave him where he was, and as there was about as much chance of meeting any vehicle on that road as there is of seeing Polar bears in the Sahara Desert I decided to carry him to the main road. It was no easy job to carry the heavy dog some two hundred yards, deposit him by the roadside, return to the horses and drag them along, and repeat this over and over again. At last we reached the road and I sat down to await a passing motorist. Presently a car came along and the two gentlemen who were in it readily consented to help me, and carted the dog oft to a village where I decided to put up for the night. My first act on reaching there was to telephone to a friend, asking him to look after the dog, and when I returned after over three years’ absence I was delighted to find him in the best of condition.

The next job was to look for board and lodging for the horses. One would imagine this a simple matter so near to the capital, but it was no such thing. All available stabling was occupied, but at length I obtained permission to leave them at the Police Station for the night, and having, after a lengthy search, purchased a bale of hay, and carted it on my back to the corral, I was free to look after myself. Accordingly I had a fairly respectable dinner and retired to bed, fondly imagining that my troubles were over for the day. The hotel was of a pattern almost universal throughout the Camp towns, as country towns are called in the Argentine. The rooms are built round a square patio, or courtyard, and have large double doors but no window, consequently no through ventilation. Each room has two, three, or four beds, and happy is the man who gets a room to himself. I was not happy, for I had hardly retired when another man was shown in, and shortly afterwards two more. As is the custom of many of the lower class Argentines, my companions insisted on the doors being shut, thus cutting off all ventilation, while to make matters worse the two last comers started to smoke, dividing their time impartially between puffing and spitting. At last with many grunts and groans they composed themselves to sleep.

I was just about to do the same when I felt—something. At first I took no notice, but when that something began to multiply itself by hundreds I got up and struck a match. My bed was like some plain during army manœuvres—regiments, army corps, marching to and fro and scuttling to take cover from the light. I switched on the lamp and hurled the mattress on to the floor, awakening one of the sleepers in so doing. He was interested and even amused at my excitement, and assured me that the bichos were quite harmless, and that I was very delicado to make such a fuss. After a strict search into dug-outs and trenches in the frame I lay down on the wire and slept, disturbed only by a few individual attacks and by the snoring of my sleeping companions.

TOWARDS ROSARIO

Once the city bounds are passed the traveller finds himself in the wilds, the dividing line being very slender. This can very easily be understood when the relation of population to area is considered. The area of the Argentine Republic is roughly 1,200,000 square miles; the population is eleven and a half millions, of which two and a half millions are in the city of Buenos Aires, Rosario holding another half million.

Between these two towns (180 miles) and indeed right on to the Andes the country is dead flat. As far as the eye can reach there is nothing visible but large herds of cattle grazing in the potreros (paddocks), or vast expanses of crops, chiefly wheat and corn. Wire fences and windmills are everywhere, trees being conspicuous by their absence, except round the estancia houses and in a few isolated patches of monte (scrub). The roads are either very dusty or very muddy, being simply dirt-tracks bordered by wire fences and running dead straight from one right-angled turn to the next, a curve being practically unknown. In the neighbourhood of a village skinny horses and cows belonging to the poorer inhabitants pick up a scanty living from the grass on the roadside, and if an animal dies on the road it is left to be devoured by chimangos (a kind of hawk) or stray dogs.

During the harvest season one frequently sees grain-carts, with enormous wheels up to ten feet in diameter, drawn by an unlimited number of horses. The official team of six or eight is arranged in a fan-shape formation, but when the roads are heavy as many extra horses as are available are attached to any part of the vehicle to which a rope may be tied, the other end of the rope being fastened to the cinch of the horse. It is heavy work for the animals, but they are for the most part willing labourers.

The further I went from Buenos Aires the worse became the roads. Constant rain had reduced them to soft mud, and progress was necessarily slow. The pack-saddle was constantly slipping; the only sounds to break the monotony of the splashing horses through the mud were the blasphemous screech of a prairie-owl sitting on a fence-post and the whistle of the wind through the telegraph wires. Occasionally, to my astonishment, an automobile would come plodding its way through the mud, and more than once I was asked to assist in pulling one out of a mud-hole, a request I was obliged to refuse as my horses were not accustomed to such work. I grew to hate automobiles. The drivers showed very little consideration for me and seemed to delight in seeing the horses rear and plunge when they passed us. Being only human, I must confess that while driving about in a comfortable car I hold other views about them, but I am speaking here from the point of the horseman.

Miles away from the next village I was caught in a heavy storm and was very pleased to arrive at a small wayside ranch where guests were received. The horses were turned loose in a good field and with feelings of relief I went inside to shelter and warmth. This ranch, or hut, was a small two-roomed place and several men were inside drying themselves at a good fire. When I had introduced myself in the proper manner, i.e., by shaking hands with everyone, I was given a seat near the fire and presented with a mate. This is a pear-shaped gourd with an opening at the narrow end, which is half-filled with yerba (Paraguayan ilex tea) and filled up with hot water. The resulting infusion is sucked up through a metal tube (bombilla). It is very refreshing and stimulating and is the national drink. No peon starts his day’s work until he has had three or four mates, which, with a piece of galleta (hard biscuit), keep him going until he has had his breakfast, which is taken about midday. Only one mate is used for a party; the host usually takes the first brew which is supposed to be inferior to the others, and is sometimes just sucked up and spat