"Oh! that will be great fun, José. Where shall we go first?"
"Would you like to see them load the vessels? This city is where much of the wheat of our country is brought to be loaded into the vessels for Europe. The river is so deep here that the largest ocean-going vessels can come up to the docks."
They walked through crowded, busy streets until they came to a high bluff, and from the edge of this they could look down on the very tops of the long rows of steamships below, all being loaded with wheat.
This was just the beginning of the busy season, for the harvest was scarcely under way. In January and February the whole city of Rosario would seem nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.
Francisco saw all of this with deepest interest; he was beginning to comprehend the resources of his own country.
They sat watching the course of the wheat bags as they shot down the long chutes from the high bluffs to the vessels below, until Francisco's eyes grew tired and even when he closed them he could see long lines of bobbing bags, like yellow mice, chasing one another into the water.
So they walked along the bluff, counting the flags of the different nations 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 the clothes of the city on the rocks at the edge of the water; and spreading them on the higher rocks behind them to bleach and dry.
Steam laundries are uncommon in South America and all of the washing is done in this manner. The lavaderas carry the soiled linen from the houses to the river on their heads, balancing huge bundles as easily as though they were trifles, their arms folded across their breasts.
As they stood watching this cleansing process Francisco spied a raft-like boat piled high with small logs tied on securely.