“With four small boats, heavily laden and not at all adequate to the journey, he started from Carmen de Patagones on the Atlantic side with an escort of sixty men. This handful of whites was going to plunge into a totally unknown country, in which the most savage and blood-thirsty Indians of the Southern continent were to be found. It was from the banks of the Rio Negro that the invasions of the civilized lands of the viceroy of La Plata started; rather than invasions they were raids by dark-skinned horsemen excited by the prospect of leading off as booty the sleek cattle of the ranches around Buenos Aires. So, with his four little boats, Villamarino was going to navigate for hundreds of leagues between banks on which were ambushed numerous bands of Aucas, the fiercest and most warlike of the native tribes.
“Only those of us who know how violent the current of this river can be at times can imagine something of what that expedition must have been like, navigating against the current, in boats propelled by long poles and a bit of sail. They took along fifteen horses to drag the boats along the shore in the places where there was no way of getting through the tangle of roots, or where the rapids against them were too strong. Four different times the high winds snapped off the masts.... Yes, as don Manuel puts it, Villamarino was the last flash of that fire of courage that had burned in the Spanish Conquistadores for nearly four centuries. The expedition went on month after month. As they had no baqueano or guide, they often mistook the way and went up tributaries, so that they had to retrace their steps sometimes for many miles.... They were looking for the sea that the Indians talked about so often.... And at last, at the end of the Limay, which is a part of the Rio Negro, they came out on a sea—but an inland one—nothing more than Lake Nahuel Huapi.... But one thing is certain, and that is that until this river is cleaned up no modern explorer, not even with the boats we have now, is going to repeat the trip that the ensign Villamarino started out on a century and a half ago.”
Carried away by his patriotic enthusiasm, Gonzalez went on repeating to his hearers all that the engineer had told him; but his audience was rapidly melting away, attracted by the preparations for lunch. To most of them the sight of the tables elaborately decorated for the occasion was far more interesting than the Gallego’s rhapsodies about the young officer of the Spanish navy, and his descriptions of the ancient “River of the Willows”....
The crowd was fast increasing. An orchestra, composed of a few Italians who lived near Neuquen, began to shatter the air with the strident notes of their brass instruments. At once several couples began to dance. This struck don Antonio as a serious lack of respect for the organizer of the festivities.
“Don’t let them dance until the marquesa arrives,” he commanded to Friterini. “This party is in her honor and the señor de Canterac won’t like it if it begins before she gets here.”
But neither musicians nor dancers had the slightest consideration for don Antonio’s scruples.
Elena meanwhile, most elegantly dressed for the party, was sitting in the drawing-room at home; and she was frowning.
“Such things as this happen to no one but me,” she was thinking. “Why in the world should this news get here today, and just before the garden party? And yet some people don’t believe in fate!”
That day happened to be one of those on which the train came down from Buenos Aires bringing the mail. A short time after it had reached the house Torre Bianca, his face white and full of consternation, came to his wife’s room to show her a letter.
“Look Elena.... This is from our family lawyer....”