CHAPTER XIV.
A WINTER IN SAN JUAN.
As soon as I arrived at San Juan, I made inquiries for parties who were about crossing the mountains; but owing to a most severe snow storm that set in, the clouds of which were plainly visible from the town, I was forced to the disagreeable necessity of remaining until the snows melted. The people told me that the winter had proved to be the most severe of any season within the last thirty years. They said that after ten dry or mild winters there always succeeded a similar number of wet or severe seasons, and that the present was the first of the hard series. The apparently settled weather that greeted me was but the precursor of most severe storms in the mountains. They said I could not cross; to attempt it would be madness.
While the time hung heavily on my hands, I heard much about a strange person, yclept Don Guillermo Buenaparte, a North American by birth, and a second father to the poorer classes of his immediate vicinity. So many were the charitable deeds of this man, and so frequent were the eulogies pronounced upon his character by the natives, that I felt a desire to visit him in his own castle, which he had constructed of mud and sticks, some eight or nine miles distant, in a small villa called Causete.
Before I could find an opportunity of going, I was favored with a call from the gentleman himself, who rode into the patio of my dwelling one evening, mounted upon a powerful white horse, and covered with a long poncho, which, with a broad sombrero, gave him a truly patriarchal appearance.
Don Guillermo, having heard of my arrival in San Juan, had come to invite me to his estate in Causete, where he carried on a little flour mill, and followed a number of other occupations. A day was appointed for the visit, and when it came around I set out with a peon for a guide for the villa. We soon, on leaving the town, came upon a plain which gave support to a few stunted trees, peculiar to the travesia. With the soil was mingled the peculiar saline mineral described in a former chapter, which, with the dryness of the atmosphere (for it seldom rains in this part of the republic), made our journey a disagreeable one.
In crossing this tract the reflections of the sun’s rays upon the white surface affected my sight, and obliged me to follow the practice of my guide, and, like him, cover the face with a large cotton handkerchief, à la gaucho. The first human habitation that I saw was a rancho built of cornstalks; and here reposed a peon with his wife, children, and dogs, while a huge buck goat, with a formidable pair of horns, stood at the entrance as if to receive us.
I soon came to a place where a liberty pole was standing; and knowing that such a thing could not be the work of the natives, I concluded that I must be near the residence of my new acquaintance. I was not mistaken, for he soon appeared over a little rising ground. After greeting me cordially, he led me across the canal, that furnished his mill with water, to his house, where he introduced me to his wife and four children, the youngest of whom could not yet lisp its father’s name.
I remained through the day with them, and when night came on, so interesting had been Don Guillermo’s recital of nine years’ residence in the Argentine Republic, that I was easily prevailed upon to remain until morning. The next day came and passed, but still I was an inmate of my countryman’s house, and finally was persuaded to promise that I would not leave it until the snows began to melt upon the Cordilleras, when I must hasten to Chili, and from its principal port, Valparaiso, sail for home.
I accepted the offer of Don Guillermo’s hospitality only upon the condition that I should be of service to him by taking charge of his mill; for the natives were so dishonest that he dared not employ one in any office of trust, and I felt that it would be but a pleasure for me to aid him. I was accordingly installed, after fifteen minutes’ teaching, as molinero, or chief miller.
I felt proud of my office, though it was but a humble one. My mind was fully occupied, and I became contented. When opportunities offered, I took an old condemned English musket, which I charged with powder and a few pebbles, and made explorations in the surrounding country for the purpose of making collections in its fauna. I often captured many a rare specimen, and laid the foundation of an ornithological collection; but although I had no difficulty in getting specimens and preparing them,—for taxidermy was familiar to me,—I found one great obstacle to their preservation that I could not surmount. As my readers doubtless know, arsenic is very essential for preserving the skins of birds and mammals, and I found I could do but little without it. So one day I mounted my horse,—a present from Don Guillermo,—and galloped into town in quest of the mineral; but not one of the druggists would sell me an ounce of poison; it was a crime to vend the article. I applied to the physicians, but to no avail. I next tried some of the officers of the government, but failed again. I even offered three dollars for one pound. The doctors and officers exclaimed, “What does the boy want? He’s mad! Where did he come from?” &c.