Bread

441 Plazuela de la Inquisicion, Lima 442 Boulevard in Lima 444 Façade of San Augustin Church, Lima 447 Procession of the Milagro, Lima 449 Cercado Church, Lima 460 Tomb of the Goyeneche Family, in the General Cemetery, Lima 461 Mr. Kurt Waldemar Linn of New York 462 Mr. Linn of New York Rising out of the Tomb Erected in Honor of the Peruvian Heroes of the Pacific War, 1879-1882 463 Corpse Bearer, General Cemetery, Lima 464 Putting a Coffin into a Niche, General Cemetery, Lima 465 Llamas at Casapalca 474 Tarma, Peru 477 Cemetery, Tarma 479 Argentine Plazas. Plate No. I 521 Argentine Plazas. Plate No. II 523 Chilean Plazas. Plate No. III 525 Map Showing Route Taken by Author At End

Journeys and Experiences in Argentina, Paraguay, and Chile

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CHAPTER I
MONTEVIDEO

In my former book, South American Travels, I made a statement relative to the pronunciation of the word "Montevideo" as follows: "Many foreigners make the mistake of pronouncing the name of the city with the accent on its penultima 'e'. Each syllable should be pronounced alike, with no distinction made as onto which syllable the accent falls." I have since found out that I was wrong, and am convinced so by my losing a ten-dollar bet with a gentleman relative to the pronunciation of the Uruguayan metropolis. Montevideo has its accent on the penultima. The word is derived from the Latin "Montem video" the final m in montem having been dropped to facilitate pronunciation. Its site was first discovered by Magellan in 1520, and as the 493 feet high dun-colored cerro, which dominates the western side of the harbor on whose shores the city is now built, appeared on the occidental horizon, somebody at the bow of the ship yelled out, "Montem video" ("I see a mountain"), which words gave the city its present name. It can be safely assumed that the man at the bow who uttered the Latin exclamation was a priest or a friar because who amongst a crew of sailors and adventurers would have a knowledge of Latin unless it was a man who had taken Holy Orders? The Spaniards and Portuguese in those days never embarked on any expedition without taking some of these gentry along.

Montevideo is sometimes called "Queen of La Plata" on account of its cleanliness, haughty reserve, and aristocratic appearance; more often has it been styled "Modern Troy" due to decades of internecine strife, anarchy, revolutions, and a Ten Years' War. Now that there has been quietude for several years, with prospects of continued peace, it is unfair to its inhabitants to liken it to the prehistoric city at the southeastern end of the Hellespont.

Several times during the years 1915 and 1916, I visited Montevideo, having made occasional trips from Buenos Aires, but an episode connected with my last advent on Uruguayan shores will take an indefinitely long time to erase it from my memory. It was like this:

On February 17, 1916, I had embarked on the Lamport & Holt steamship Vestris at La Plata for Montevideo to bid farewell to friends returning to the United States. The steamer was scheduled to sail from Montevideo at 2 P.M. the next day.

When that time came I was in the dining room, and was so engrossed in a conversation that appealed to me that I never heard the ringing of bells and the blowing of whistles that denote that an ocean leviathan is about to get under way. Suddenly an acquaintance, Mr. Lynn B. Packer of Norwich, N. Y., ran into the dining room calling out: "The ship is in motion, Stephens, we are in for it!" We both ran up the stairs and onto the deck. True enough, the Vestris was sailing but at a snail's pace, and the anchor was being pulled up. The lighter containing the visitors had left and was now but a black speck behind the breakwater. Not even a fishing boat was in sight. We ran to the port side, and saw a few hundred feet away a rowboat in which were two men pulling away. We yelled to them and waved our handkerchiefs; they stopped. We took off our coats and waved them also;