Luckily, he was perfectly familiar with the harbor, and, choosing a dark and stormy night, we succeeded in running in, without meeting any molestation.
The tempest went off during the night, and the bright sunlight of the ensuing morning saw us riding safely at anchor, not forty fathoms from the city's wharves.
Valparaiso was a city of much less importance then than now, but it was, nevertheless, a smart seaport for that remote portion of the globe. It is built right at the water's edge, with the grand mountain-wall of the Andes running so stiffly, loftily and impenetrably up behind, that you wonder how the rays of the rising sun ever reach the little city nestled at their rocky feet. At least you think they must have daylight on the level pampas beyond many moments before it surmounts those mountains to reach the narrow strip of plain between them and the sea. There is a fine cathedral in the city now, but when I was there, the largest establishment of this kind appeared to be a wooden structure. It was surmounted by a great red, wooden cross, and every morning and evening, we heard the sweet music of the Catholic service come floating to us over the waters of the bay.
We only remained in this port a few days, but, while at anchor there, I was a party in a kind of sport seldom, probably never, met with in any other portion of the globe. This was nothing more nor less than a hunt for electric eels.
Tony Trybrace and I became acquainted, while at Valparaiso, with a Chilian gentleman named Jose Gonzales. He possessed a large landed estate in the interior, and, when Tony had told him of our ostrich hunt in Patagonia, invited us to visit him at his country place, and he would promise us sport of, at least, a more novel character. Dicky Drake begged us to have the invitation extended to him also, which was readily complied with by Don Jose. And, one morning, having obtained a three-days' "leave" of Captain Joker, we mounted some fine mules, and set forth with our pleasant host. A portion of our journey lay through mountain land—the outskirts of the Andes, and we had a good opportunity of observing the inhabitants of the country.
Chili is, at present, considered, and with justice, the first of South American countries in point of everything pertaining to population; and evidences of her future were not lacking in the year 1812. The Spanish population of the mountain region were a simple and hardy race; whose hospitality alone causes the heart of the stranger to warm toward them with a kindly thrill.
We saw a great many of the llamas of the country, more condors, as well as monkeys, and many other strange and interesting individuals of brute creation.
A ride of about six hours from Valparaiso brought us to the ranch of our host. It was most beautifully situated on the fertile table-land, and made me in love with South American rural life. As we approached the mansion, we passed several black-looking pools, or lagoons, and were much surprised when told, by our host, that they were to be our hunting-grounds.
As we rode by the largest of these lagoons, which was scarcely a furlong from the ranch, Don Jose drew a biscuit from his saddle-bags and tossed it into the middle of the still, black waters. Instantly, and before it touched the surface, the lifeless-looking lagoon was filled with a strange and horrible existence. Myriads of snakes (as they appeared) rose suddenly to the surface, and engaged in a furious combat for the floating biscuit. Presently we saw the little fins on either side of their necks, and we then knew them to be eels. Some of them were very large—from six to seven feet in length, I should judge—but they averaged a much briefer length. Presently one of the larger snapped the biscuit under the water, which caused a sudden disappearance of all of them. One little fellow, however, swam around the edge of the tarn, in hopes of more food, projecting his shining head out of the water, and even climbed up the slimy bank, eying us with a peculiarly villainous gaze from his dull, leaden-colored eyes. Here was a chance for Dicky Drake, for, of course, there was no liability of a scrape that he did not seize with avidity.
"I allers wanted a specimen of that cuss for my old uncle's cabinet at hum', and here's my chance!" he exclaimed, springing from his mule, and advancing, with hands innocently outstretched; while, from the peculiar expression of Don Jose's features, Tony and I suspected that there was something in the wind.