Brazil and La Plata: The personal record of a cruise

by C. S. Stewart

The weather was delightful. In the early morning the sun threatened to be hot; but afterwards a veil of gauze-like cloud, without shading too much the brilliancy of a day like June at home, prevented any discomfort from it. After clearing the line of the city walls, perceiving it to be low-water in the bay, we struck down from the ordinary road, to the hard sand of the beach, which sweeps in wide curvature in the direction of the Mount, and dashed off on a full gallop across it. Parties of native horsemen were scampering in both directions over the same ground, looking—with their ponchos and long hair streaming in the wind behind them—as wild and picturesque as so many Arabs of the desert.

At the end of a mile we turned up the bank into the highway. This is wide, level, hard and dry, with hedges of aloes and cacti on either side. There is scarcely a tree of any kind to be seen; but now and then a fruit tree, a row of trim poplars, or a clump of weeping willows just in full leaf, reminded us of home. This was especially the case with the willows, the first graceful wave of their fresh, long branches, setting me down at once beneath those at Riverside. The soil seemed to be of great richness, a black mould which bears every growth in exuberance. I never saw fig trees equal in height and spreading tops, to those passed in one enclosure. Evidences of the long civil war were every where seen in the ruins of houses, and in deserted grounds; but, occasionally, we came to a quinta or country-seat, still in good repair, whose massive gateways, tesselated courts, balustraded terraces, surmounted by vases filled with air-plants and gay flowers gave proof of the taste and elegance which once characterized the suburban residences of Montevideo.

We now came upon an open country, without hedge or enclosure of any kind. The whole surface was covered with rich verdure, brightly enamelled by ten thousand flowers of every hue, and fragrant with the perfumes of spring. As we caracoled gently along, or, again, following the custom of the land, dashed forward at full speed, groups of people, peasants and soldiers, on foot and on horseback, were passing and repassing; and not unfrequently clustered thickly around the dark and dirty entrances of the pulperias, or grog-shops, which here, as elsewhere where man is, are ever to be found—the whole presenting, in features and in form, in costume and in colors, a constant study for the sculptor and the painter.

The region of country around the bay—along the shores of which we still continued—is well watered; and we crossed two or three streams in the course of our ride. As we ascended from the bed of one of these to the general level, we came in view of another, along the gently rising banks of which, on either side, lay stretched in irregular detachments three or four thousand troops. This encampment, in all its appointments, had a most primitive and unscientific aspect. The tents, such as they were—very much of a gipsy character—did not appear sufficient for the shelter, in sleeping and in bad weather, of half the number of soldiers; and the whole equipage of the camp was as rude as that of so many Indians. The predominance of scarlet in the color of every thing appertaining to it, imparted, however, a gay and brilliant air to the whole. A park of artillery, planted on a gentle swell of ground, commanded the approaches, and had more the appearance of modern warfare than any thing else attracting the observation.

On inquiring for head-quarters, two or three tents were pointed out on a knoll, on the opposite side of the rivulet, quite separate from the general encampment. A company of lancers were clustered irregularly at no great distance in the rear of these—their long and effective-looking spears, with a scarlet pennon floating from the top of each, being staked in lines in front of them.

As we approached, we perceived the marqueé of the commander-in-chief to be distinguished from the rest, by broad stripes of white and blue, and by the artistic manner in which it was pitched. Behind it stood an immense vehicle, more massive and ponderous in its structure than the heaviest omnibus ever seen at home—the travelling carriage of his excellency, evidently fitted for hard service, by such bracings with raw-hide ropes about the springs, whipple-trees and axles, and such bindings of green hide around the hubs and spokes and wheel-tires, as would create a sensation in a civilized country. Near by, stood a gigantic cart with wattled sides, and a roof fifteen or twenty feet in height: the baggage-wagon, doubtless, for the needful provender of the general-in-chief and suite.

When we drew up, we were approached by a noble-looking adjutant, tall and stalwart, with boots to his hips, a steel-scabbarded sword, which might have served for a Goliath, and spurs of massive silver, that—in want of marbled pavement or planked floor for the effect—caused the very ground beneath him to rattle. My companions, having made known their official character and our nationality, and the desire of paying our respects personally to the chieftain, we were politely requested to dismount, our horses delivered to the charge of the guard, and our cards taken, preparatory to an announcement. Immediately on the presentation of our names, we were conducted to the front of the tent and ushered into the presence of the general. He rose to receive us with courteous salutations, and a cordial shake of the hand. The tent was small, but exceedingly neat. Its poles were bamboo, that in the centre which raised the canvas to a peak, being surrounded by a square camp table, on which lay a round black hat with the scarlet band of the confederation, a pair of black kid gloves, a riding-whip, and a magnificent bouquet of fresh flowers—a propitiatory gift, probably, from some fair hand in the neighborhood. Three tent bedsteads—one on either side and one at the farther end—one or two camp stools, and a square of ingrain carpet on the grass, constituted the furniture.

We became seated on the bedsteads at the sides, while Urquiza took a position by the table in the centre. He was in a military dress coat of blue, the collar and cuffs being handsomely decorated with embroideries in gold of the oak leaf and acorn. A waistcoat of scarlet damask, pantaloons of blue with a red stripe down the seams, and well polished boots, completed his costume. He is of moderate height, but stout, broad-chested, and finely formed, and has a Spanish roundness of face and limb. He was smoothly shaved, and without the moustache usually worn here, both by military men, and by the people in general. In feature, he is decidedly handsome, with fine mouth and teeth, large, dark eyes full of vivacity, and a complexion clear and glowing with manly health, but bronzed by exposure.

His expression is open and frank—one that a physiognomist would trust for honesty and magnanimity; and his manners and address courteous and gentlemanly, without being courtier-like or artificial. I know not when I have been more favorably impressed on a first interview, with any one, either in public or private life. Personally, he is evidently one to be admired; and, if his character, morally and intellectually, is at all in harmony with his physical advantages, I can readily perceive how the popularity he has already won, in the part he is now acting, may run into enthusiasm. He must be nearly fifty years of age; but, were it not for the thinness of his hair on the top of the head, I should say he was not more than forty.

A favorite mastiff, a noble-looking animal, lay stretched at his ease on the carpet, and attracting our notice became the first subject of our conversation. He originally belonged to another officer; but, on meeting Urquiza, left his master and attached himself to him with a pertinacity which resisted every attempt to drive him away. He has constituted himself the especial guardian of his person, and has for years been his companion, night and day. Several remarkable anecdotes, of feats in the camp and on the battle-field, told of him, paved the way for a free and animated conversation on more important topics—embracing the present state of affairs in the Republics of the Plata—the results thus far, of Urquiza’s own movements as a liberator, and purposes designed by him, yet unachieved. “It is time,” he justly remarked, “that the contracted and narrow-minded policy, dictated by the selfish views of the rulers of the Plata, should be made to give way to measures more in unison with the spirit of the age; and that the wide rivers and rich plains of these magnificent countries, should be thrown open to the commerce, and be made free to the immigration of people from all nations.”