"I ham not a bit particular what kind of a job it be," and drawing near to my ear, he let his voice drop as he spoke: "I hax no questions. If there be hanybody you'd like to put out of the way, Hi'm the man to do it."
Not many people traveling between Montevideo and Buenos Aires ever think of making the trip otherwise than on one of the palatial steamers of the Mihanovich Line which ply between the two ports in a night's run. The luxurious steamers Ciudad de Buenos Aires and the Ciudad de Montevideo, and the smaller but admirable Londres and Lisboa, are in the height of the season jammed with passengers nearly to overcrowding. Tired of gazing upon the sluggish and muddy La Plata River and eager to see the Uruguayan landscape, I decided to make the trip by rail as far as Colonia and thence make the twenty-five mile crossing to Buenos Aires on one of the smaller boats.
Colonia, capital of the department of the same name, is 153 miles distant by rail from Montevideo. Trains run thrice a week only, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, making the return trip the next day, and their running time is seven hours and fifteen minutes, the speed including stops being slightly over twenty-one miles an hour.
I left Montevideo on the Central Railroad one morning at 6.15 A.M., and thirty-five minutes later entered the department of Canelones at the large village of Las Piedras. The landscape during that short distance and even as far as 25 de Agosto, where the department of San José is entered was a monotonous succession of low rolling hills, with low, long red brick and whitewashed estancia buildings set back from the country roads, at the edge of eucalyptus and pepperberry groves. Herds of fat cattle and sheep browsed in the pastures tended by shepherd boys with long-haired dogs. Between Las Piedras and 25 de Agosto a small city was passed. Its name is Canelones and was formerly called Guadelupe. It is the capital of Canelones and lies to east of the railroad between it and a river named the Canelon Chico. The rivers, Canelon Grande and Canelon Chico give the name to the province.
25 de Agosto is nothing but a railroad junction with some repair shops. The main line of the Central Railroad runs north to the Brazilian frontier at Rivera, and is here joined by the branch that goes westward to Colonia. The department of San José which is now entered, presents a different aspect than Canelones for the trees which had hitherto been present in abundance around the estancias, had now disappeared. The country had become more rolling, and to the westward a low range of hills appeared on the horizon. As far as the eye could see, a canopy of yellow dried prairie grasses bedecked the parched and blistered soil, sweltering beneath the scorching rays of the hot February sun. All over this seething landscape, roamed at will, half wild cattle, long and gaunt. It is as much as a man's life is worth to venture on foot amidst a herd of these Uruguayan cattle. They seldom attack a horseman, knowing that he has them at an advantage, but the foot traveler should be wary, for the quadrupeds know the tables are turned, and will charge and gore him to death on sight. Birds of the genus Struthio, spoken of as ostriches, but which in reality belong to the branch named cassowaries, as they have three toes instead of two like the ostrich, and no tufted tail feathers like the latter, mingle with these nomadic cattle; so does the timid deer, unafraid and on terms of comradery, for it is only against man that these beasts have animosity.
The city of San José, one of the largest in Uruguay, whose population I imagine is about fifteen thousand inhabitants, is reached at 9.11 A.M. It is pleasantly situated on a river of the same name at the base of some high hills, which rise at the west of the city. The town itself is intersected by the railroad which in a Uruguayan city is unusual as most are generally at quite a distance therefrom. At Mal Abrigo, which is reached about an hour after leaving San José, the railroad branches out again, the other one going to Mercedes, a pleasant city on the Rio Negro, and the capital of the department of Soriano. Continuing on the Colonia line, we enter the department of Colonia and keep on till we reach a small place named Rosario which is the junction for another branch line to a La Plata port named Puerto del Sauce. Colonia is reached at 1.30 P.M. Connection is made with small boats of the Mihanovich Line which sail one hour later, making the crossing to Buenos Aires in three hours to the tune of $2.89.
Colonia is a fine little town with about eight thousand inhabitants lying directly across the La Plata River from Buenos Aires from which city I imagine it to be about twenty-five miles distant. It is cool, with a fresh breeze generally blowing and, owing to this, is much visited by the inhabitants of the Argentine metropolis as a health and summer resort. It has two good hotels, the Esperanza and the Ruso. Besides the boats that ply daily between Buenos Aires and Colonia, there are excursion steamers Sundays; also those that make nightly trips returning at an early hour of the morning. The reason for this last mentioned service is that in Uruguay gambling is permitted, and at San Carlos, near Colonia and reached by a narrow gauge railway, is another casino where the click of the ball as it revolves on the disk of the roulette wheel disturbs the nocturnal air.
My friend Packer had an obsession for this kind of pastime, and many were the nightly visits he made to San Carlos. On one of these trips, while watching the game in the casino, an Englishman had made a considerable winning, but owing to his inability to converse in the Spanish language, the croupiers were endeavoring to cheat him out of his winnings. He appealed to Packer, who helped him out and got his money for him. On the trip back to Buenos Aires that same night, he and Packer were seated opposite to one another in the dining-room. Packer tried to enter into conversation with him. The Englishman puckered up his lips and said: "I no speeka Engleesh." He deserved to be thrashed. It is a very common occurrence in most countries of South America, especially in Argentina for Englishmen to try to hide their nationality and pass off as a native. Why they do this odious act, I do not know, but any foreigner no matter how ignorant he is, can always spot an Englishman by his mispronunciation of the language he is trying to hide himself under.
