To turn for a moment to the personal point of view. I had landed in Patagonia with enthusiasm, and I left it not in the least damped or disheartened in that enthusiasm, but very much the opposite. I had learned many lessons of life, passed through many experiences, explored a small part of the earth's surface, and made some original observations with regard to the zoology of the country and other matters, but I am inclined to think that the most useful lesson to myself was one that sank deeper and deeper into my mind, I might say heart, with every day lived in these great solitudes—and that was the knowledge of my own ignorance. The long solitary days in the forests, on the pampas, and about the stormy fjords of the Cordillera brought me face to face with Nature. There are many voices in the silence of Nature. The stars above, the waters beneath, and the earth all spoke in a hundred tongues, and little enough of it all could I, with my lack of knowledge, interpret. "There are many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification," but so long as they spoke to me in unknown tongues how much was I the better? And there it was I learned the useful truth that, to be a traveller of any value, a man must also be an adequate interpreter.
THE AUTHOR
A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE FUTURE OF PATAGONIA
It would be possible to write a very long chapter about the future of Patagonia. I do not, however, propose to do this, but to write what I have to say as briefly as possible.
To begin with, Patagonia can boast of a fine climate, for, though the winters are certainly hard, no endemic disease exists. The country is exceptionally healthy, nor are there any poisonous reptiles to endanger life on its far-reaching pampas. There are few parts of the earth of which so much can be said.
A large portion of the land is eminently suited for the support of sheep, as the enormous and prosperous sheep-farms to be found along the east and south coasts bear witness. Cattle and horse-breeding are also successfully carried on, and although a portion of the country is unsuited for agricultural purposes, it is equally certain that large expanses of ground of great fertility and rich promise are to be found here.
The tide of pastoral life from the thriving southern farms round and about Punta Arenas on the Straits of Magellan, and Gallegos on the Atlantic coast, is setting strongly north and west. The crying want of the country is capital to open up means of communication with the interior. At present there are no railways or other settled lines for the transport of produce, although I believe a steam-launch has lately been placed upon the River Santa Cruz. In consequence of this lack some farmers have to carry wool two hundred miles by bullock-cart to the coast; a few cover even a greater distance. To send wool two hundred miles in bullock-carts means at least three weeks of travel. To go and come from the farm to the coast would thus take up about two months of a farmer's time. Peones are necessary to look after the carts, and their wage is at least £5 a month and their keep. Then carts not infrequently break down upon the rough surfaces of the pampas and in the cañadones, hence more delay. Even when the port is reached difficulties have to be surmounted, for none of them, with the exception of Punta Arenas, are served by any steamship lines. This was so at the time of my being in Patagonia last year (1901). Government transports from Buenos Aires had the whole of the coast service of Argentine Patagonia in their hands, and these could boast of only very uncertain dates of departure and still more uncertain dates of arrival.