It took us two hours and a half, beating against the wind, to reach the yacht, sea-sick, and drenched to the skin. Directly we got outside the bar the sea was very bad, and each wave broke more or less over the little half-deck, under which the children had been packed away for shelter. Seeing how rough it was out at the anchorage—far worse than near the shore—Tom had quite given us up, for it was now half-past three, and was preparing to come ashore, bringing our things with him. On board the yacht we found an unfortunate French maid, and another servant, who had come off early in the morning to spend the day and have dinner with our people, but who were now lying prostrate and ill in the cabin.

Champagne and luncheon revived us a little, and Tom hurried us off to get ashore again by daylight, before the weather became worse. It was a very pleasant twenty minutes' sail to the shore, racing along before the wind, with two reefs in the mainsail—quite a different thing from beating out. The tide was high, and the captain therefore steered for the pier, where he hoped to land us. Unfortunately, however, he missed it; and as it was impossible to make another tack out, all that could be done was to let go the anchor to save running ashore, and wait until they sent out a small boat to fetch us. This took some little time during which we pitched and tossed about in a very disagreeable fashion. When the boat did at last arrive she turned out to be a wretched little skiff, rowed by two men, with very indifferent oars, and only capable of taking three passengers at a time. Tom went first, taking with him the two children, and the two poor sea-sick maids, and the boat at once put off for the land, Tom steering. It was terrible to watch them from the whale-boat, and when one tremendous sea came, and the skiff broached to, I thought for a moment that all was over, as did every one who was watching our proceedings from the pier. I could not look any more, till I heard shouts that they were safe ashore. Then came our turn. The boat returned for us, this time provided with better oars, and we were soon landed in safety, if not in comfort; and a third and last trip brought ashore the rest of the party and the luggage, Tom remaining at the tiller.

Mr. Coghlan had come down to meet us, but, seeing the peril of the first boat, had gone away until he heard we were all landed, and now returned to congratulate us on our narrow escape and present safety. After we had rested for a short time in the waiting-room, to recover from our fright and shake our dripping garments, we went to the Hôtel de la Paix, where we dined, and at ten o'clock we walked down to the railway-station, where a large number of people had already assembled, some of whom were to accompany us to Azul, while others had only come to see us off.

Everything had been most comfortably arranged for us in the special train. The interior fittings of two second-class American carriages had been completely taken out, and a canvas lining, divided into compartments, each containing a cozy little bed, had been substituted. Wash-stands, looking-glasses, &c., had been provided, and a profusion of beautiful flowers filled in every available spot. In a third car two tables, occupying its entire length, with seats on one side of each table, had been placed; and here it was intended that we should breakfast, lunch, and dine.

Monday, September 25th.—We slept soundly—speaking for the children and myself—until we were aroused at six o'clock this morning by the agreeable intelligence that we had reached our destination. Azul is about 300 miles south of Buenos Ayres, on the Southern Railway. It is a small and primitive place in itself, but is situated in the midst of splendid pastures, both for rearing sheep and cattle, of which there are large flocks and herds.

Whilst we were waiting for breakfast, we walked a little distance to see a troop of mares treading mud for bricks. It was a curious, but rather sad sight. Inside a circular enclosure, some fifty yards in diameter, about fifty half-starved animals, up to their houghs in very sloppy mud, were being driven round about, and up and down, as fast as they could go, by a mounted peon, assisted by five or six men on foot, outside the enclosure, armed with long heavy whips, which they used constantly. Some of the poor creatures had foals, which were tied up a little distance off, and which kept up a piteous whinnying, as an accompaniment to the lashings and crackings of the whips. On our way back to the station we saw a horse, attached to a light gig, bolt across the Pampas at full gallop, vainly pursued by a man on horseback. First one wheel came off and then the other; then the body of the gig was left behind, and then the shafts and most of the harness followed suit; until at last—as we afterwards heard—the runaway reached his home, about five miles off, with only his bridle remaining.

At nine o'clock the breakfast-bell rang, and we found an excellent repast spread out for us on two long tables. An hour later we started in seven large carriages, and proceeded first to make the tour of the town, afterwards visiting the bank, and a fine new house in the course of construction by a native, built entirely of white marble from Italy. Then we paid a visit to some Indians—an old chief and his four wives, who have settled quietly down in a toldo near the town. They were not bad-looking, and appeared fairly comfortable, as they squatted in the open air round the fire, above which was suspended a large iron pot, containing, to judge by the look and smell, a most savoury preparation. We next went to a store, where we picked up a few curiosities, and then drove to the mill of Azul, a new establishment, of which the inhabitants of the town are evidently very proud. There is a pretty walk by the mill-stream, overhung with willows, and close by is another toldo, inhabited by more Indians.

Indians at Azul
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