marines, been equally accustomed to service per mare, per terram; but, like the jollies, they were unmistakeably useful and good men. The last of the party was of the J’aria type. All were well mounted, and provided with a spare horse. We carried for provisions biscuit, charqui or dried meat, roasted wheat meal, and coffee and sugar, and were furnished with an unusual but welcome luxury, a small tent, underneath which we cared little for the bitter frost outside.

After riding over the Pampas for three or four hours we encamped for the night in a hollow by the side of a lagoon, having selected a suitable spot for pitching the tent on the sheltered slope, well out of the sweep of the wind. The lagoon was covered with black-necked swans and other wild fowl; so, as soon as the horses had been unloaded and looked after, a fire lit, and all arrangements made for camping, two or three of us went out to try and shoot some wild fowl; but our sporting endeavours were not crowned with much success, and a little before dark we returned to a supper of charqui, and after a talk over the fire, turned in, and slept sound and warm, though outside the frost was severe. My mind was much disquieted, first by the discovery that the box of rifle ammunition which J’aria carried had been dropped by that worthy at the scene of the baggage horse escapade, and secondly, by the mysterious absence from my shot-belt of all my coin, consisting of an onza and a few sovereigns. I said nothing, however, until next morning, when I proceeded quietly to search, remembering that I had taken off my accoutrements before the tent was pitched, and dropped in the grass I found the missing coins. The story afforded J’aria a great theme for jokes, and he often adverted to the chance of inheriting my ounce, in a way that might have made a timid traveller expect foul play, though nothing was farther from my guide’s thoughts. At seven o’clock, after coffee and a biscuit, we were again en route, and about ten arrived close to the head of Peckett’s Harbour. Here one of the party discovered a horse, which was chased into our troop, but as it appeared lame was not pressed into our service; it had probably belonged to the Indians. As in a long voyage, so in a journey of this description, the slightest novelty serves to relieve what it is needless to say becomes the slightly monotonous task of trotting along behind the troop of horses over barren wastes, so we were always on the qui vive for something to chase. One of the men had a dog with him, and shortly after the excitement about the horse we started some ostriches, which, however, proved too swift for the cur, and escaped over some muddy plots close to the ‘Cabecera del Mar.’ This is a large inlet or arm of the sea, running up some miles from Peckett’s Harbour, with which it communicates by a very narrow channel, which can only be crossed at low water; it was our good fortune to arrive at this period, thus escaping a long détour round the inlet. But our crossing was not effected without trouble; the flood-tide rushing up like a mill-race, and proving almost too much for the steadiness of one of the baggage-horses. After clearing the channel, in our farther progress we passed several small streams with swampy ground, all of which probably discharge themselves into Oazy Harbour, and arrived towards evening at an old Indian encampment situated under a range of hills, running more or less north and south, forming one barrier of a broad and well-watered valley, bounded on the eastern side by the well-known ‘Barrancas’ of San Gregorio.

Our station was just within the opening of the valley, which, being sheltered from the wind, is the favourite winter quarters of the Southern Tehuelches, whose encampment is usually pitched near Oazy Harbour, called by them ‘Ozay Saba.’

Westward the low flats which bordered the shores of the Cabecera del Mar terminated in irregular hills, beyond which higher peaks rose, and they in their turn were overlooked by distant snow-clad summits on the horizon. Among the blue hills of the middle distance floated wreaths of light haze so much resembling smoke that Gallegos, ever on the alert for signs of the deserters, proposed to deviate from our route to investigate, and only my strongly pronounced opinion in favour of haze versus smoke induced him to give up the idea. The Argentine Government formerly planned a settlement in this valley, which was not carried out, and the missionaries also proposed to fix a station hereabouts, with Oazy Harbour as a depôt, but the Chilians of Punta Arena set up their claims and compelled the missionaries to desist.

After camp was arranged, the weather, which since our start had been bright with cold winds and moderate frosts at night, changed to rain, and Gallegos proposed to me that, in the event of its continuing bad, we should remain under the shelter of the tent. However, though the night was rough and rainy, morning broke fair and the sun rose bright and warm, so we started, following a path along the base of the before-mentioned range of hills until about ten o’clock, when, just after passing a beautiful little stream where I noticed fish darting about in the pools, a herd of guanaco, hitherto concealed by a small eminence, came into view. Chase was immediately given, but most of our horses were soon blown, and Gallegos, the soldier, and myself having ascended the hills over which the herd had taken flight, as it appeared useless to continue the chase, stopped on the crest and watched the animals as they streamed up an opposite hill. One of the party was missing, and suddenly an exclamation from the Lieutenant ‘What is it?’ caused us to turn our eyes in the direction to which he pointed, where some fancied they descried a man. The idea of deserters immediately occurred to their minds, so they started off, asking me to tell J’aria (who had remained with the horses) to travel on to a given spot at the head of the valley. Having descended the hill, which was tunnelled with burrows of the Ctenomys Magellanicus,[1] the crowns of which, yielding to the horses’ tread, proved a series of dangerous traps, I rejoined J’aria and we pursued our way for a few miles until we reached a small lagoon at the head of the valley, covered with thousands of widgeon and duck. The sight suggested the thought that no man need starve in this country, so abundant seemed the supplies of animal life. Here we waited, and in the course of half-an-hour the remainder came up with their horses blown, one of the party having a piece of guanaco meat hanging to his saddle. This was José Marinero, one of the hybrids, who had succeeded in lazoing a guanaco, at which he appeared intensely delighted. The ‘man,’ as I had previously supposed, proved imaginary. I regretted not being up at the death, as it turned out that José had been close to us, but hidden from sight by a rise. After a pleasant and refreshing rest and a draught of café Quillota (parched corn meal and water), we resumed our route north. After leaving the lagoon, a scarcely perceptible slope ascended from the valley, and a more undulating course was traversed until we reached a small cañon, which, after a gradual descent, dipped down between walls a hundred feet high, sloping up at either hand, and finishing in a rounded summit leading to the high plain. ‘Here,’ said J’aria, ‘there is no firing, and those stupid Indian women actually carry loads of it from the next stage.’ But the event proved that the Indians were wiser than ourselves. Following