Does The Reader Wish To Journey To That Inland Town With
Him?
Boarding an ocean steamer at Rio, we sail down the stormy sea-coast
for one thousand miles to Montevideo.
There we tranship into the
Buenos Ayres boat, and proceed one hundred and fifty miles up the
river to that city. Almost every day steamers leave that great centre
for far interior points. The "Rapido" was ready to sail for Asuncion,
so we breasted the stream one thousand miles more, when that city was
reached. There another steamer waited to carry us to Corumba, another
thousand miles further north.
The climate and scenery of the upper reaches of the Paraguay are
superb, but our spirits were damped one morning when we discovered
that a man of our party had mysteriously disappeared during the
night. We had all sat down to dinner the previous evening in health
and spirits, and now one was missing. The All-seeing One only knows
his fate. To us he disappeared forever.
Higher up the country - or lower, I cannot tell which, for the river
winds in all directions, and the compass, from pointing our course as
due north, glides over to northwest, west, southwest, and on one or
two occasions, I believe, pointed due south - we came to the first
Brazilian town, Puerto Martinho, where we were obliged to stay a
short time. A boat put off from the shore, in which were some well-
dressed natives. Before she reached us and made fast, a loud report
of a Winchester rang out from the midst of those assembled on the
deck of our steamer, and a man in the boat threw up his arms and
dropped; the spark of life had gone out.
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