Part 25

JUST MY LUCK!

I really have had rather bad luck. As you know, I was wrecked on my way out from the Old Country. The good ship "Southern Cross" met her fate on a rock in Vigo Bay, and my luggage met its fate at the same time. This was something of a blow, but I expected to be treated a little more kindly by fate when once my destination was reached; I would be a stranger in a new country, and fate is proverbially kind to tyros of every sort.

R.M.S.P. "Danube," which carried the shipwrecked passengers of the "Southern Cross" from Vigo to Buenos Aires, arrived at the Argentine capital towards the end of January. At the conclusion of my journey, one of my fellow-passengers, to whom I was saying good-bye, gave me this sound piece of advice: "Take care of yourself, and the country will take care of you." I don't suppose I can have taken care of myself, for within two months I was down with typhoid fever. This is how fate treats strangers in a new country.

You know that I had the good fortune, shortly after my arrival, to find employment with the Santa Fé Land Company, and immediately on my falling ill, the Manager of the estancia sent me to bed, and reduced me to a milk diet. Two days later he himself took me down to the Buenos Aires British Hospital, and it is to this fact, and to the sensible treatment which I received in camp, that I in great measure owe my quick recovery. The journey to Buenos Aires was made as comfortable as possible. Even so, however, I must have been slightly delirious, for I remember thinking that everybody in the train was wearing a pink shirt without either coat or waistcoat. This must surely have been a delusion.

I reached the hospital on a Sunday morning, and was promptly carried upstairs to a private ward. Though my temperature was now as much as 104 deg., and my faculties were naturally not at their quickest, I could not help noticing the cheery look of the ward. There were flowers on the tables, the patients were obviously well cared for, everything was scrupulously clean, and the British nurses looked both efficient and attractive. The scrupulous cleanliness, together with the latest and most approved methods of treatment, were indeed a feature of the hospital in all its aspects.

It was a short time afterwards that one of the doctors, after carefully diagnosing my case, ordered me to the medical ward, where there would be greater facilities for giving me a course of baths. In the medical ward my treatment was as kind and as careful as formerly, but my new surroundings had for the moment a rather depressing effect. I was just able to realise that the cases around me were more serious than in the private ward, and that both doctors and nurses were more grave and intent on their work. I was soon, however, to become delirious again, and for the next few days was more or less oblivious to my environment. After a short time I became more alive to what was happening around me. We typhoid patients had four cold baths daily, and those patients who in their normal existence were unaccustomed to one warm bath a week were somewhat inclined to rebel. This was amusing. My sense of humour was reviving. The company here was certainly more mixed than in the private ward--consisting as it did of every class and of every nationality, from Montenegrin to Turk, but it was not on that account any the less entertaining. Two or three berths away a brawny Scot of monster dimensions, who was convalescent after an acute attack of rheumatism, would every night before getting into bed say, with a certain naïvete, and without any sense of proportion, that he was going to his "little nest." And yet people accuse Scotsmen of a lack of imagination. On either side of me lay a typhoid patient--each delirious. The one on my right hand imagined he was at home drinking beer in Plymouth, and the one on my left, an Italian workman, would persistently call for his boots. It seemed he wished to return to his work and did not think any other article of dress necessary. The weather at the time was certainly hot, and this may have suggested such a daring flaunting of the conventions. It is curious that among typhoid patients this illusion of doing some action without sufficient clothing is rather prevalent. I myself at one time imagined that I had been discharged from the hospital with only the top of my pyjamas and a travelling rug. As I would carry the travelling rug on my arm, it scarcely compensated for the lack of other apparel. Through all these vagaries on the part of the patients the nurses remained kind and careful as ever. This was especially conspicuous in one case, where a patient insisted that his nurse was a Chinese pirate, and behaved accordingly, but she gave her charge the same excellent attention as before. At this time I began to be troubled with the pangs of a great hunger. After subsisting for five weeks on milk alone, my food diet began with small doses of cornflour and with large doses of castor oil, but at last there came a chicken. I shall never forget that first chicken, nor the nurse who brought it to me. How I tore those bones--of the chicken, not the nurse--apart, and how I attacked them in my fingers so that I should not leave any of the good meat. Eventually my bed in the medical ward was required for a more serious case than myself, and I was sufficiently well to be returned to the private ward for a few days of convalescence. The patients here were certainly more companionable than in the medical ward, and they suffered from less grave complaints. They were for the most part victims of accidents, and were all nearly well enough to leave the hospital. In the evenings we generally had some sort of amusement among ourselves. The pièce de resistance was more often than not a wrestling match between the man with the amputated foot and the man who had undergone an operation for sciatica. As both performers were in ordinary circumstances compelled to use crutches, their efforts were distinctly humorous.

It was after two months of medical treatment that I was able to leave the British Hospital, and it was only when on the point of leaving that I realised what we Britishers owe to this institution.

The building itself is constructed on the most approved designs, it is fitted with every modern appliance, both medical and surgical; the treatment is excellent, the percentage of cures remarkable--not a single case has been lost in the medical ward during the current year; the doctors are not only experienced, but efficient; and finally, the nurses--but perhaps I have already dwelt with sufficient emphasis on their virtues.

All the same, thank Heaven I return to camp in a week, and may fate deal more kindly with me in the future.

"THE TACURU."

"THE TACURU."

PATRON SAINT: GEORGE WASHINGTON.

No. 1.

Saturday, March 26th, 1910.

When we consider the already overstocked journalistic world, and remember the innumerable papers and magazines which greet one at every street corner and nestle in every armchair, we feel that an apology is due to our readers (if any) for our temerity in swelling the overflow of periodicals, but let us assure you our reasons for putting another paper on the market are purely altruistic. It is no idea of mere gain, or even a desire for notoriety that urges us to issue "The Tacuru"; we have undertaken this responsibility because we know that the world would be the loser did we refuse to give to the public the highly scientific impressions formed by an extraordinarily intelligent party of pilgrims during a unique journey into the wild uncultivated northern lands of the Argentine, especially as some of the most intellectual (the superlative adverb is well chosen) members of the band have promised to give their scientific views on the lands through which we shall pass daily. Though this expedition is only advertised to last a fortnight, yet we have no intention of closing our paper at the end of that time, for we are certain that once the public have been educated to appreciate the high-class literature and useful information which it will be the aim of "The Tacuru" to supply, we shall have created a demand and interest which not even Halley's comet can rival, and we shall endeavour to satisfy that demand daily. Our only fear was that lest the world should be kept waiting for the publication of our paper, for though everything was in readiness yesterday for an early start to-day, the elements seemed inclined to delay us, and when rain had fallen steadily nearly all day, The Instigator of the trip was seen to clench his jaw yesterday afternoon, as he remarked "We cannot start till Monday." This fiat caused dire consternation; the idea of waiting for two days when all those carts were packed ready for our immediate outset, filled the party with annoyance, and had it not been for the fact that The Instigator is a man not to be trifled with, it is possible remonstrances might have been raised. But, fortunately, each member of the party only possessed the angelic variety of temper, so no expostulations were made, and peace was maintained. This unequalled patience under trials was rewarded, and great was the joy of the party when at 8 p.m. it was found that the rain had ceased, and the moon shone forth in such a way as to influence The Instigator to rescind his decision and declare an early start for to-day.

Rumour has it that The Jehu and his aide-de-camp and Our Hostess sat up till 12.30 a.m., finally arranging "places in the carriages, food supplies, blankets required," and all the innumerable details which made for the party's comfort.

Before we publish the impressions, contributed by one member of the band, on to-day's trip, we think our readers might appreciate a slight character sketch of each of our "Staff." There are nine Pilgrims.

FIRST: The Instigator. Well, he's right when you know him, but you do want to know him first. What possessed him to suggest that we should trek away north, goodness only knows, unless he was fired by a desire to imitate the Cook-Peary journeys, or it may have been the celebrated "Cristobal Cocktails" which inspired him to do great deeds.

We hear that coming out from England he earned a reputation on board ship as an auctioneer, and once even sold a live lord for a few shillings to the highest lady bidder. As a camp man he is a marvel, never seen on horseback, but generally discovered on his hands and knees fudging about with a thing he calls a pocket microscope, and occasionally going off into hysterics over some clod of earth, a leaf, or some weird microbes which he says are feeding on the alfalfa roots. Talking of feeding, The Instigator can eat anything, his motto is "tout jour"; he has the digestion of an ostrich, and says "it is just as well to make a good meal while you are about it, for you never know when and where you will get the next." His best friends cannot say he is musical (save when others are trying to sleep); but he has a favourite song, and it is that old music-hall classic entitled "Do, do, be always on the do." However, he is a very good fellow, and notwithstanding that square jaw of his, which seems to hint at the possibility of "a man of wrath" existing in that silent thoughtful being, he is kindness itself to all, and never fails to do his share of work as it comes along.

SECOND: Our Guest. The Wild Man discovered this rara avis in a railway carriage, babbling for "Kwilmez Beer," so he was brought along, and he had not been long at the Estancia before he was running first favourite in the Popularity Stakes. He was always ready for anything, and it must have been his desire to acquire knowledge which induced him to come with the party. The Saint has undertaken to explain to him how colonists thrive on the 8 per cent. system, and to teach him how many grains of maize make "ocho." We doubt whether she will succeed in the latter attempt, for we fancy Our Guest will never leave eight grains of maize uneaten; he is a wonder for that delicacy, and feeds on it constantly, and we hear rumours that he intends to take some maize cobs home with him to his native country, and proposes to feed his "team" on it.

THIRD: The Delineator. This is a misnomer, he really should be called "The Photographer," but that sounds so common, and his views are so uncommon that we called him The Delineator instead; besides, he always travels about with maps and charts (his own, or someone else's) and when appealed to as to what course we should take, replies in a cold, hard voice, "North by North, just as she goes." Like the rest of the party, he has never travelled quite the road we are going now, but the prospect of collecting a few new varieties of butterflies, moths, insects, and plants caused his eyes to light up with a wild gleam when he heard of the trip, and the yarns he spins of things unseen by the ordinary sober mortal are ever a joy to the listener, and make them whisper, se non è vero è ben trovato.

FOURTH: The Jehu. There is but one name for a man who handles his four-in-hand over tree-trunks, tacurus, and tussocks, as our coacher does. He drives as not even his namesake drove; in rain, in sunshine, in light, in darkness, over smooth ground or rough, he guides his steeds with consummate skill and care, which is wonderful to see. After a more than usually big bump he turns to his passengers with a cheery "All aboard?"; then gives his attention once more to the animals of which he is so fond, and in which he takes such pride. His knowledge of the horses he drives is marvellous. The Jehu is a man of great perception and information, and has a pleasant knack of being able to convey his knowledge to others. He and The Instigator have great arguments together which interest all listeners by day, but the discussions are not followed with quite so much delight by those who are privileged to hear them at night, when they often degenerate into a snoring competition.

FIFTH: The Wild Man--had been driven south by stress of weather and strikes. We should like to say something nice about him, for he always carries revolvers, knives, and cameras, but we fear that our kindest remarks may be misunderstood by one so unused to a quiet civilisation with no revolutions, so we refrain from all personal comments. This product of a land of luxuriant vegetation has a quaint penchant for collecting matchboxes (filled), old boots, deer horns, and any odd things lying about the camp belonging to himself or other people; still he is always cheerful and content, never grumbles, and can give valuable information respecting the ways of the natives who look upon him as a man and a brother.

SIXTH: The Chaperon--has his uses. It will be his business to see that we are housed, clothed, and fed. The horses and peons will also be under his care, and if anyone wants to grumble about anything The Chaperon is the person to abuse. Tent-erecting is what he considers himself to be very good at; but rumour has it that his best accomplishment is hairdressing (ladies or gentlemen, English or foreign styles). His resources know no bounds; he has been seen to fasten up a pair of leggings with bits of stick. His powers of annexation, both mentally and materially, are indeed marvellous. He prefers to make his bed on the bricks or the cold, hard ground, and then enlarges on the comfort thereof; he generally takes his food standing up, and is always on the spot ready for any emergency when required.

SEVENTH: The Saint--is a lady who will give away anything in her possession, save chicken or eggs. Just now she is making donations of pipes, tobacco, handkerchiefs (her own or The Instigator's), and good advice on matrimony. She is a person of importance, and is very keen on collecting knowledge which she is always ready to impart to others; unfortunately, some of her efforts to improve humanity have not been absolutely successful, but she is never discouraged, and takes up the next case on the list with equal enthusiasm. Most of us have to thank her for some good thing or other. She will do her best to keep every member of the party up to the mark, physically and mentally. Her accomplishments are numerous.

EIGHTH: My Lady--is a general favourite; she will look after the lot of us in her own gracious fashion. Everyone goes to her for advice, sympathy, or help, which she is always ready to give. Even without her tea-basket she would be an absolute necessity for the social success of the trip, for, as the advertisements say of patent sweepers and the Encyclopaedia Britannica, "no party is complete without" her, so every one was glad to hear that she had agreed to accompany the northern pioneers. Those favoured ones who have seen her "on the boards," whisper that her histrionic genius is marvellous; we, who are not among the fortunate number, can only say that if her acting equals her talent for giving (when required) a really concise, lucid description of anything, it must indeed be wonderful. Her quotations, too, are so ready and apt, though occasionally they remind us, by their vagueness, of her namesake and favourite book.

NINTH: The Kid. Why she is brought along, nobody will ever know. It may have been as a "contrapeso" ("an addition of meat or fish of inferior quality, thrown in to complete the weight," vide Arturo Cuyas' Dictionary), but we think she came with the sheep. Anyhow, it was not until the first part of the journey had been accomplished that she was discovered bleating in the corner of one of the coaches. We had a meeting to decide whether she should come on with us or not, and arranged to put her on the job of tidying up for the trip; but her hopeless incompetence and ready impertinence to her superior officers, necessitated instant dismissal without a character. However, as she is really not worth the trouble of sending back, we locked up the tea tin, and let her continue the journey on the condition that she will not talk too much, awake or asleep. With any luck, we may yet lose her somewhere in the wilds.

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