We received from a countryman a letter of introduction to Edward Hopkins, Esq., who was about to sail in the “Asuncion” for the north side of the river. This gentleman was at the River Tigre, twenty-one miles from Buenos Ayres, and acted as agent for the United States and Paraguay Navigation Company. As there was no other way for crossing the Plata to the particular part of the coast where my friend wished to land, he decided to visit the Tigre, and embark in the Asuncion.
Having bargained for seats with the driver of the diligence that ran between Buenos Ayres and the village of San Fernando, near the Tigre, we set out one fine morning, accompanied by a native gentleman, who spoke English imperfectly.
Our cochero was a conceited fellow, and felt the dignity of office to an unnecessary degree. We had no little amusement during our journey with him in watching the phases of his character: once, when the cart of a milkman became entangled in the harness of our horses, he became so laughable in his wounded pride and impotent rage, that we had difficulty in restraining our faces to a decently sober appearance. As we became disentangled, and drove on, he, in the midst of a volley of carrambas, denounced all cartmen who had the impudence to cross the track of the mail-coach. And such, in fact, his vehicle was; but, as we noticed that the contents of the mail, instead of being confined in a mail-bag, or other suitable receptacle, were scattered here and there in various corners of the coach, some tucked beneath the cushions, and others lying under our feet, the opinion that we formed of the native postal arrangements was not of the highest.
For nearly a league we passed over a Macadamized road, shaded here and there by willows that ran along the river. We soon passed the deserted quinta of General Rosas. The house was built upon arches, the materials being brick and plaster. Around it were artificial groves, and little lakes and canals of water.
To the right of the house, on the side nearest the city, were numerous little brick buildings, where the tyrant quartered his troops. The situation was very beautiful, and the surroundings altogether were interesting.
Farther on were casas (houses) of country gentlemen, with orchards of peach, olive, and quince, which, with the foliage of many varieties of shrubs, made the prospect on all sides most beautiful.
If a well-regulated estate particularly attracted our attention, we universally found, on inquiry, that its owner was a foreigner, whom the cochero dignified by the low word gringo, which is equivalent to “paddy” in our own language; and in this estimation, I afterwards found, our countrymen and all strangers are held by the indolent and treacherous country people.
Wheat, potatoes, onions, beans, tomatoes, &c., thrive wonderfully upon the farms; and, if the whole agricultural department were in foreign hands, the country, with its fine climate, and rich and easily-worked lands, could produce almost every kind of vegetable. With the exception of a few English and Scotch, the French from the Basque provinces are the most energetic and thrifty farmers. In a few instances the Yankee plough has been used with great success, in place of the miserable wooden one of the natives.
We met large covered wagons carrying produce to the city, and troops of mules and donkeys freighted with thistles, in bundles, to heat the ovens of the bakers; also others with peach and willow trees, which had been raised for firewood, an article bringing a good price, on account of its scarcity.
As we approached the Tigre and Las Conchas, we found that the country is undulating; but beyond the line of the latter, it stretches out into the pampas as far as the vision can reach.