CHAPTER VI
NEW EXPERIENCES
"LEVANTESE! Levantese!" came Jose's voice to Francisco's ear, just asthe latter was lassoing a llama he had been pursuing on the back of anostrich.
Francisco rubbed his eyes and woke from his dream to a babel of voices,and the train was not in motion. Where could he be?
As he rubbed his sleepy eyes again his uncle took him gently by theshoulder.
"Wake yourself, Nino. We are in Rosario; come, follow me."
Francisco followed him through the long hall of the compartment car outinto the big station where insistent porters and shouting cab-men madefrantic grabs at them and their baggage, only to be beaten off by Jose,whose language as he scolded and berated them was not what is known as"polite Spanish."
Selecting a victoria from the long line of waiting ones, they entered,Jose sitting with the driver, and were soon before the lighted portalsof a large hotel.
The building was two stories in height and perfectly square; the secondstory bed-rooms all opened on to a porch or corridor, which rancompletely around and overlooked the central court on the first floor.The entrance was very imposing with marble staircases and marblepillars; and Francisco's sleepy eyes opened wide in astonishment. Theywere just in time for dinner; already the marble tables in the _patio_were filling with men and women sipping their afterdinner coffee in thecool open air.
As this was Francisco's first dinner in a hotel it might be interestingto know what he ate. Being an Argentine, he always ate several differentkinds of meat, and began this meal with a platter of cold meats: tongue,pressed chicken and jellied veal. Second, a vermicelli soup with gratedcheese; third, fried _pejerey_, the most popular fish of the country;fourth, partridge fried in oil; fifth, asparagus with melted butter;sixth, macaroni with tomato and garlic sauce; seventh, roast mutton;eighth, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes; ninth, a sweet jelly in winesauce; tenth, fruits; and then they adjourned to the _patio_ for coffee.
While his uncle smoked and talked with friends, whom he had chanced tomeet, Francisco slipped away and Jose helped him undress for bed, as hewas very tired.
He remembered no more after Jose turned off the electric light until heopened his eyes into the full glare of the sun, the next morning. Itwas nine o'clock and Jose was laying out clean linen for him. After arefreshing shower bath, he returned to his room to find his rolls andcoffee on a table beside his bed.
"Why, Jose, I'm not a lady that I must have my _cafe_ in bed!" exclaimedthe lad. "Mother and the girls always do that, but I'm a man and I wantto have mine in the dining-room with Uncle Juan."
Jose explained that in hotels one must always take one's morning coffeein one's rooms; and he talked on while Francisco ate and dressed.
"_El Coronel_ will be busy all of the day and he has placed you in myhands. Rosario, I know like a book, and together we will see it."
"Oh! that will be great fun, Jose. Where shall we go first?"
"Would you like to see them load the vessels? This city is where much ofthe wheat of our country is brought to be loaded into the vessels forEurope. The river is so deep here that the largest ocean-going vesselscan come up to the docks."
They walked through crowded, busy streets until they came to a highbluff, and from the edge of this they could look down on the very topsof the long rows of steamships below, all being loaded with wheat.
This was just the beginning of the busy season, for the harvest wasscarcely under way. In January and February the whole city of Rosariowould seem nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.
Francisco saw all of this with deepest interest; he was beginning tocomprehend the resources of his own country.
They sat watching the course of the wheat bags as they shot down thelong chutes from the high bluffs to the vessels below, until Francisco'seyes grew tired and even when he closed them he could see long lines ofbobbing bags, like yellow mice, chasing one another into the water.
So they walked along the bluff, counting the flags of the differentnations displayed on the boats beneath them; English, French, Italian,Dutch, German and a few that Francisco had never seen before.
For a while they watched the _lavaderas_ or washer-women pounding theclothes of the city on the rocks at the edge of the water; and spreadingthem on the higher rocks behind them to bleach and dry.
Steam laundries are uncommon in South America and all of the washing isdone in this manner. The _lavaderas_ carry the soiled linen from thehouses to the river on their heads, balancing huge bundles as easily asthough they were trifles, their arms folded across their breasts.
As they stood watching this cleansing process Francisco spied araft-like boat piled high with small logs tied on securely.
"It looks out of place here, Jose, among all these enormous freightsteamers. What does it carry?"
"Willow, Senorito, and see, there are others coming down the river. Itgoes to Buenos Aires to be made into charcoal, the principal fuel ofthat city. Great quantities of it are raised above here; it is quick ofgrowth and needs only to be planted so," and Jose demonstrated by takinga short twig and sticking it into the earth.
"Behold! and in seven years, it is as you see it there on the raftsready for market. They use the twigs for making Osier baskets. But _hacecalor_[13] let us go to the cool shady _patio_ of the hotel and there Iwill tell you a story of some charcoal burners until the Uncle comes."
But the Colonel reached the hotel before they did, for Francisco muststop to see this thing and that as they sauntered along. The mid-dayheat meant little to him while so much of novelty challenged hisattention. Jose was always ready to answer his questions, and hefrequently drew the boy's notice to something that would escape any onebut a keen observer, and this the Indian was.
The sun was almost in midheaven, and the daily _siesta_ was beginning insome parts of the city. Workshops were being closed, and under everytree some cart driver had drawn up his horse and stretched himself onthe grass under its shade; even the beggars were curled up on the churchsteps fast asleep.
"Why do some of those ragged beggars wear metal badges, Jose?"
"They are licensed beggars, Senorito. The city has authorized them tobeg, and when you help them you may know you are helping no rogues."
Francisco drew his nose up into a prolonged sniff. "I believe I'mhungry, Jose. What smells so good?"
"Step here on to this side street and I'll show you."
The street was being torn up to be repaved, and the _peon_ workingmen atthis noon interval of rest were eating their _almuerzo_. Gathered inlittle groups, they sat around something that was cooking and emittingodours of stewing meat, potatoes and onions.
"But how are they cooking here in the street?"
"Go closer and you can see," replied Jose.
Francisco walked to the curb, and looking over their backs into themiddle of one circle he saw--the stew cooking in a shovel.
"They buy these things at the market and use their street shovels forstewpans, as you see."
"Ugh! I hope they wash them first," laughed Francisco.
They were now passing the market, an enormous affair covering the bestof a large block. But the scene was no longer animated for thechattering and bargaining were beginning to cease; and the merchants,themselves, were nodding over their wares.
Along the curbing were piles of merchandise; here, a stack of peaches,pears, apricots, figs, nectarines, grapes, and plums; there, an array ofearthen ware, in curious shapes; here, a stock of readymade clothing,aprons, trousers, _ponchos_[14] and shoes. The vegetables were heapedhigh in piles; tomatoes, beans, lettuce, cardon, celery, potatoes,cucumbers, and onions in long ropes, their stems so plaited togetherwith straw that they can be sold by the yard; or, in that country'smeasure, a _metro_.[15]
Many of the stalls offered cooked foods; roasted partridges andchickens; pates of jellied meats; cleaned and cooked armadillo, whosemeat tastes like tender roast pork. The Argentines are very fond of themand they consume thousands every month.
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br /> Around the curbing, at one end of the market, stood great carts, withwheels fully eight feet high. These, Jose told Francisco, were themarket carts that brought the produce into the city. They look rude andcumbersome, but carry several tons and often as many as a dozen oxen arehitched to them.
These interested Francisco but Jose bid him hurry as no doubt his unclewould have breakfasted. Which, indeed, he was doing, for as they enteredthe hotel Francisco caught sight of him, seated in the long dining-roomwith several gentlemen; all of them, including the Colonel, in coollooking white linen suits. Francisco joined them and was introduced tothe strangers.
They were wealthy _estancieros_ but not Spaniards. One was anEnglishman and the other a North American, owning ranches near Rosario,and they were negotiating with Colonel Lacevera for some pedigreedhorses which he owned.
They talked partly in Spanish and partly in English; for like mosteducated Argentines, the Colonel spoke some English and understood more.Francisco had studied English at school just as he did French, and hewas delighted to be able to understand some of their conversation.
Before they parted, the Englishman urged Colonel Lacevera to attend alarge sale of cattle and horses which was to take place at his_estancia_ the next day, Sunday. Patting Francisco on the head he added:
"Bring the Nino also, he may enjoy it."
So early the following morning Jose had their horses at the curb of thehotel, saddled and ready for the three league gallop.
Francisco had not ridden often, but his enthusiasm knew no bounds whenhe saw the Argentine pony that was to be his mount.
The Colonel looked at Jose meaningly, for he knew that this eagernesswould not outlast the long gallop.
At first they rode briskly in the cool morning air. Francisco held onbravely, but the Colonel noticed the firm set of his lips, and that hetalked less and less as they rode on.
They were riding through beautiful country. The turf was fresh and greenin spots where the old coarse grass had been burned off and the tenderyoung sprouts were coming up through the rich soil. They passed drovesof several thousand sheep nibbling peacefully on this succulent newgrowth. There were shepherds, with here and there a hut made of polescovered with mud; the roof thatched with asparta grass.
Francisco was so tired and his bones began to ache so desperately thathe ceased to show any interest in the things they passed. ColonelLacevera and Jose exchanged knowing looks, but dared not permitFrancisco to see them. When they came to one of these rude huts hisuncle said:
"Nino, would you not like to see the inside of one of these _prairiepalaces_?"
He admired the boy's pluck, but he feared to tax his physical endurancemore.
Francisco willingly assented, and they rode up to the door around whicha swarm of dirty, half naked children sat on the ground.
Jose called: "Ola!" and a copper-coloured woman appeared at the door,dressed only in one garment, a dun-coloured chemise.
She was an Indian, and when Jose spoke to her in her own tongue, askingfor a drink, she pointed to the square kerosene tin filled with water,beside which hung a gourd.
She said her husband was out with the sheep; and she had no chairs tooffer them, but they might alight and rest.
They stepped into the hut, the door of which was a horse's hide; thefloor was the hard earth; a box stood in the middle and served as atable, while bundles of straw in the corners served as beds. Instead ofchairs there were dried skulls of oxen; their wide, spreading hornsserving as arms to these unique seats. Francisco was glad, however, torest his weary body within their grewsome embrace and he sat thus forhalf an hour, while Jose watered the horses and the Colonel talked tothe children.
Francisco himself proposed that they start on, but Jose was obliged tolift him into his saddle. One more league and they were in sight of the_estancia_, where the sale was to be held.
The house was of the usual Spanish style of architecture, and the manybuildings grouped around it gave the place a resemblance to a village.
Senor Stanley met them and "gave" them his house, after the manner ofall Spanish hosts, and they entered to wash and rest.
As the Senor Stanley was an Englishman, his house interested Franciscoin spite of his weariness. It was fitted with every luxury of a highclass English home; the baths being supplied with cool spring waterwhich flowed through them constantly. There were handsomely furnishedparlours, a well-filled library and a billiard room. The stables werecommodious and sanitary; and the tennis courts and golf links, gardensand _patios_ were numerous.
In the corrals they found several hundred men gathered and there wasmuch confusion and noise.
It was Sunday and therefore a holiday spirit pervaded everything, forSunday is not observed in Argentina as a day of quiet and reverence; itis the day for sports, games and excursions. This sale had been set forSunday to insure a large attendance.
First, breakfast was served. Under a long arbour, formed by talleucalyptus trees, the table, fully a hundred feet in length, had beenset. At each place was a bunch of flowers and a bottle of native wine.
Despite his aching body, Francisco did full justice to the soup,barbecued meats and fowls, vegetables and fruits that were served. Butafter he had eaten he crept under the shade of one of the trees to rest.
He fell asleep and slept until his uncle wakened him at _mate_ time.
"Hello, my boy! Slept through all of this noise? You were certainlyexhausted, for such a clatter as there has been. One hundred thousanddollars and many pedigreed animals have changed hands, and it wasn'tdone quietly either. We will have our _mate_ and then ride home in thecool of the evening. Come." And the Colonel helped the stiff jointed,weary boy to his feet.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 13: It makes hot, literally.]
[Footnote 14: Blankets.]
[Footnote 15: A little over a yard.]
Francisco, Our Little Argentine Cousin Page 9