THE URUGUAY RIVER
A great waterway--The river compared with the Paraná--Some
questions of navigation--The lower stretch of the Uruguay--The
stream from Montevideo upwards--Montevideo--The docks--An
imposing array of Mihanovich craft--Breadth of the river--Aspects
of the banks--Various types of vessels--The materials of their
cargoes--The meeting of sister steamers--The etiquette of
salutations--Fray Bentos--The Lemco factory and port--A notable
spot--The paradise of the eater--The islands of Uruguay--Method
of their birth and growth--The responsibility of leaves and
branches--Uncertainty of island life--The effects of flood and
current--Sub-tropical bergs--The vehicles of wild creatures--A
jaguar visitation in Montevideo--Narrowing of the
stream--Paysandú--The home of ox-tongues--The second commercial
town of the Republic--Some features of the place--Variety of the
landscape--The _Mesa de Artigas_--An historical table-land--A
monument to the national hero--Salto--A striking town--Pleasant
landscape--The Salto falls--The ending of the lower Uruguay--A
rocky bed--Some minerals of Salto--Alteration in the colour of
the water--The beauty of the upper Uruguay.
As a waterway the Uruguay River is of infinite service to the Republic
whose western coastline it serves. It is true that, compared with the
Paraná, the stream suffers somewhat both as regards length and
navigable facilities. Both rivers have much in common, in that either
has its source in the mountain ranges that fringe the coast of Brazil,
and either flows first to the west, then southwards until the junction
of the pair forms the broad River Plate. But, whereas the Paraná rises
in latitude 22° south the first waters of the Uruguay do not come
into being until 28° south. The latter, in consequence, has to
content itself with a course of a thousand miles, rather less than
half the length of its neighbour.
The lower stretch of the Uruguay holds an obstacle to navigation that
is unknown in the corresponding waters of the Paraná. At Salto, some
two hundred miles above the mouth, falls extend from the one bank to
the other, and thus bar the passage of all vessels. Above this place,
however, is the starting-point for the lighter draught steamers that
continue their northward course for many hundreds of miles.
As though to compensate for the barrier, the first two hundred miles
of the Uruguay represent a particularly noble highway of waters, far
broader and more imposing, indeed, than the equivalent stretch of the
Paraná. Ocean-going vessels here penetrate to Paysandú, and beyond it
to the Lemco port of Colón on the Argentine shore, while the really
magnificent steamers of the River King, Mihanovich, produce their
finest specimens to ply to and fro here. But, as the banks of the
stream contain not only some of the most fertile lands in the Republic
but much of interest beyond, it is worth while to follow its course,
beginning at Montevideo itself, which, as a matter of fact, is
somewhat to anticipate the waters of the true Uruguay.
By the quayside of the capital are grouped three or four of the
Mihanovich craft, large, two-funnelled vessels with an imposing array
of decks surmounted by an unusually spacious promenade that crowns the
whole. One of these is bound for Salto--or rather for the Argentine
town of Concordia that lies opposite that port--but just now it is not
advisable to be tied hard and fast to her broad decks, since she must
call at Buenos Aires on her way, and at many other spots outside
Uruguay and the scope of this book.
We will therefore perform the strange feat of making a break in the
trip ere it is begun. In any case it is necessary to leave the quay
over whose broad, paved surface of reclaimed land the cabs are
rattling, and where the policeman and porters stand, and where,
moreover, a strong group of Salvationists are singing lustily,
surrounded by a motley but attentive group such as the precincts of a
port attract. But the graceful _Triton_ shall churn her way out into
the open without us, since we will cling so far as possible to the
Uruguayan shore, forging upwards through the yellowing waters, to halt
at Sauce with its willow-covered lands and Colonia with its rocky
beach, until Carmelo is passed, and at Nueva Palmira the River Uruguay
has been fairly entered. Even then, however, it is necessary to accept
the fact more or less on trust, and to confide in the accuracy of the
map rather than in that of the eyesight. For the faint line that has
recently appeared on the horizon to the left might as well stand for a
distant streak upon the waters as for the low-lying Argentine shore
that it actually represents.
To the right, the Uruguayan bank is well defined. Here the undulations
of the land swell boldly out from the edge of the river, while in many
places rocks and boulders strew the sloping foreshore as though to
accentuate the frontier between stream and land that is so faintly
defined upon the opposite coast. Here and there the verdure of the
hills is broken by the darker green bands of the eucalyptus
plantations, through which from time to time gleam the white walls of
an estancia-house. At intervals the chimneys of a saladero prick
upwards from the nearer neighbourhood of the bank. About these centres
of their doom the speck-like figures of the cattle dot the surrounding
pastures, grazing in fortunate ignorance of their end.
The traffic upon the river itself is by no means inconsiderable.
Native topsail schooners laden with jerked beef, fruit, and timber
come gliding serenely down the stream beneath their spread of sail.
One of these craft is especially indicative of the main industry of
the land. The vessel is laden as high as the booms will permit with
horns of cattle, the bleaching mounds of which must represent the
sacrifice of many thousands of animals. There are smart Government
tugs, too, that hold the official guardians of the mighty stream, and
great dredgers of queer and monstrous shape that steam slowly along to
find an anchorage where the bottom is shallow, and there remorselessly
to bite out mouthfuls from the unduly lofty bed.
At rarer intervals appear the ocean-going craft and sailing vessels.
It would be safe to wager that there is not one of those passing
down-stream that is not laden with some portions or other of the
bodies bequeathed to humanity by the unconsulted yet generous bovine
souls. Nevertheless the exact species of cargo would be more difficult
to predict. It might be beef itself, or hides that will make leather
upon which to sit while consuming the meat, or horns which will
provide handles for the necessary complement of knives, or indeed many
other products useful for similar purposes. There never was such a
creature as the ox for the provision of a variety of articles that all
eloquently urge the benefit of his death!
A tall and majestic structure has come into sight from round a bend in
the stream now, and is sweeping rapidly downwards. With grey hull,
white upper-works about her rows of decks, and twin black funnels to
cap the whole, she is one of the proud fleet of steamers that ply
throughout the entire system of the great rivers. If the vessel upon
which you may be found bears a corresponding =M= upon its
funnel--which in the case of a passenger craft may be taken as a
practical certainty--you may be assured that you will not be passed
without recognition, even if sheltered by a mere paltry stern-wheeler
that is bound for one of the small tributary streams. Combining
affability with size, the whale will blow out three deep roars of
salute from its great horn, that will be echoed by a like number of
shrill notes from the treble whistle of the minnow. Such is the
etiquette throughout the entire length of the rivers. The six blows
are sounding throughout the day from the tropics of Brazil downwards
to where the La Plata and the ocean meet.
Upon the right-hand side Fray Bentos has come into view, marked in the
first place by a great collection of tall black chimneys glistening in
the sun. Beneath is verdure, and massive white buildings, and streets
of dwelling-houses, while to the front is the Lemco port with a small
forest of masts rising from its waters. The place, in a double sense,
represents the very incarnation of Uruguay's trade. A greedy spot that
swallows live cattle by tens of thousands to render them up again in
the pathetically diminished form of extract! Even now the odour of
soup floats heavily in the air from across a mile of water--a proof
that Fray Bentos is busily occupied in turning out its brown rivers of
fluid.
The factory, the most notable in the country, is indeed strongly
symbolical of the land where starvation in ordinary circumstances of
peace has never yet been known. Havana may be the paradise of the
smoker, Epernay that of the champagne lover; but the eater's heaven is
undoubtedly situated in Uruguay, a paradise in which the spirits of
departed and honest butchers might well revel in perfect joy.
Just above Fray Bentos the islands dot the river more plentifully
than in almost any other part of the great stream. As is the case on
the Paraná, it is difficult enough at times to distinguish between
these and the true bank on the Argentine shore; both are equally lowly
and each covered with the same density of willows and native scrub.
Amongst these larger islands, however, whose surface may comprise
several square miles, are numerous smaller pieces of land, and some
quite diminutive specimens that can lay claim to no more than a few
yards of area. These are baby islands--young territories that have
only just succeeded in raising their heads above water. For an island
here is conceived, grows, and dies in a fashion that is vegetable
rather than purely earthy. The fact is not really curious, seeing that
vegetation is directly concerned in their birth.
The conception of one of these is evident even now. A tangle of the
thick leaves of the camelota--the water plant with its mauve
hyacinth-like flower--has in its downward floating course fouled the
earth of a shallow in mid-stream. The arrested clump of green has
already inveigled other objects to keep it company in its trap. A few
sticks and branches and tufts of grass are already fast in the embrace
of the powerful stems and green leaves, while at the end that faces
the stream the water-driven sand has risen at the obstacle, and has
shyly protruded a small round hump or two above the ripples. The life
of the thing is as uncertain as that of a seedling or of a human
child. Under favourable conditions it will grow and solidify year by
year until from the few leaves and sticks will have extended some
square miles of tree-covered soil. On the other hand, it may be swept
remorselessly away in its earliest days ere the tentative formation
has had time to secure sufficiently firm hold of the earth.
[Illustration: ON THE URUGUAY RIVER.]
[Illustration: A URUGUAYAN STREAM.
To face p. 230.]
In any case the life of these islands is comparatively short, and
fresh floods and currents are forming some and destroying others all
the while. During these periods of flood many of them would seem
possessed of the characteristics of icebergs. Detached by the
irresistible force of the currents, great fragments of the vegetation
and camelota plant that cling to their sides go swirling down the
stream. Though they can boast no polar bears, they are occasionally
freighted with other beasts whose neighbourhood is equally
undesirable. On such occasions snakes and many four-footed specimens
of northern creatures form the unwilling tenants of these frail rafts
of vegetation. It is said that many years ago one of unusually large
size struck the shore of Montevideo itself, disgorging four jaguars,
who entered the town as much to their own terror as to that of the
inhabitants.
With Fray Bentos once left in the rear, the river becomes distinctly
narrowed, and, where no islands intervene, the features of either bank
begin to be clearly distinguished at the same time. The Argentine
shore has broken away from its dead level now, and is rising in gentle
undulations; the Uruguayan coast, too, as though in a determined
endeavour to retain its physical superiority, has taken to heap itself
in far loftier and more imposing hills than before.
The next town of importance at which the steamer halts is that of
Paysandú, the great centre of ox-tongues. Indeed, were one to adopt
the popular figurative methods of certain magazines, amazing results
might well be extracted from the commerce of the place. Thus,
supposing a year's accumulation of Paysandú ox-tongues were able
jointly to give forth the notes that they were wont to render in life,
the effect of the combined roar would probably be to deafen the entire
populace of the Republic, and to blow every atom of water from the
river! The number of men they would feed, and the distance they would
cover if extended in a line I do not know; but it may be taken for
granted that the export of these preserved instruments of bovine
speech is very considerable.
Paysandú ranks as the second commercial city in the Republic. It is
true that, so far as size is concerned, it is altogether dwarfed by
Montevideo, since the inhabitants of the smaller town number only
twenty thousand or so. Yet, the centre of a rich pastoral and
agricultural province, the place is of no little commercial
importance, and, although its architecture remains largely of the
pleasant but old-fashioned Spanish style, not a few new buildings and
boulevards have already sprung into existence. Like the majority of
towns of its kind, it is well equipped with electric lighting,
telephones, and other such modern appliances, although its tramcar
traction is still effected by the humbler methods of the horse.
To the north of Paysandú the stream narrows, the islands become few
and far between, and the course of the river is distinct and
well-defined. The landscape, too, is more varied now than that of the
lower reaches. Among the Uruguayan rounded hills a few well-marked
tablelands spread their broad, level surfaces in the way that is
characteristic of so many parts of the Republic. Both the inland
valleys and river banks are covered with an added density of
vegetation, while beaches of shining white sand jut out at intervals
from the shore. As for the Argentine bank, it has quite suddenly
assumed a marked individuality of its own. It is covered with a
reddish yellow rolling soil, tinged only lightly with green, from
which close groves of palm-trees sprout upwards for mile after mile.
It is as though a portion of Africa on the one shore were facing a
rather wooded and broken portion of the South Downs on the other!
The water itself has been growing more limpid all the while, now that
the dead-flat, soft, alluvial soil of the Argentine bank has given way
to a harder and more stony surface. It has become shallow in parts,
too, and the nose of the steamer often gives a tentative turn to the
right or left as she cautiously feels her way. The craft has
penetrated almost to the limits of the lower stretch of the great
river now, and the rising bed is a premonitory symptom of the end.
On the right has now risen the loftiest bluff that has yet marked the
Uruguayan shore. It forms one of the walls of a striking and bold
table-land. The place is now known as the _Mesa de Artigas_--the table
of Artigas. It was upon the summit of this hill that the Uruguayan
national hero had his chief encampment, and it has been described as a
desolate and lonely spot, haunted by murdered spirits and by the
memory of horrors, that no living being cared to approach. The
description cannot be said to hold good at the present moment. The
green slopes are dotted with grazing cattle and sheep, while at one
point the distant figures of two mounted Gauchos are careering to and
fro, and the cattle in the neighbourhood are wheeling together and
lumbering forward as a result of their manoeuvres.
On the summit of the tableland is a peculiarly tall stone pedestal
that rises from a great pyramidal base to soar high upwards against
the sky-line. The shaft is surmounted by a bust that represents
Artigas himself. The entire structure is on the colossal side, and the
effect of the bust poised on high against the blue of the air is
curious rather than effective. Viewing it from far below, it is
difficult to avoid the impression that the head and shoulders, placed
half-way between earth and heaven, are pleading with mute eloquence
for a body and legs with which to grasp more firmly the summit of the
sustaining shaft. In any case the monument is bold, and affords a
strikingly conspicuous landmark for an area of many leagues.
To the north of the Mesa de Artigas the landscape of the river
continues bold and hilly. A score or so of miles up-stream from the
monument lies the town of Salto, the last place of real importance
upon this stretch of the Uruguayan frontier. With its buildings rising
to cover the hills of its site, the panorama of Salto is more imposing
in its way than that of any other town on the banks of the stream.
Indeed, piled on the summit of cliffs and bluffs, the white masses of
masonry, crowned by a few steeples and towers, are visible from far
inland upon the Argentine territory as well as from the remoter
neighbourhoods of its own soil. The river just here is exceptionally
populous, since facing Salto from across the waters is Concordia, a
large and thriving Argentine town.
The population of Salto is slightly in excess of twenty thousand, and,
like every other town along the length of the stream, it serves as a
storehouse for the pastoral and agricultural industries of the
district. In many respects, however, the situation of the town gives
it a commercial scope greater than that of the more southern towns.
Although the climate lacks sufficient heat for the production of the
banana and similar sub-tropical growths, the variety of fruit is very
great. The orange flourishes in exceptional abundance here, and its
cultivation forms a valuable addition to the wealth of the district.
[Illustration: CATTLE ON THE ROAD.]
[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FRAY BENTOS FACTORY.
To face p. 234.]
Pleasantly situated, with shaded plazas and avenues, and with the
orchards, vineyards, orange-groves, and well-timbered country of its
outskirts, Salto lies at the end--or, to be more accurate, the
beginning--of the lower Uruguay. Just above the town a white foaming
line stretches from bank to bank during the periods when the river is
low. But these lower falls are navigable during a considerable portion
of the year, and not until Salto Grande, at a point considerably
higher up, is the permanent barrier to navigation reached. Between
Salto itself and Concordia the river is plentifully strewn with rocks,
and, although the channels are deep, it is necessary on this head for
vessels to use considerable caution, more especially as the tide races
fiercely just here. Indeed, the fluctuations of the stream at this
point are very great, and account for the tremendously lofty wooden
passenger pier that serves the town.
It is in the neighbourhood of Salto that is found the curious water
stone that is referred to elsewhere in this book. It is in this
province too that exist the topaz and amethyst mines. The visitor,
however, need not trouble his head to start out upon any expedition
with the object of picking up any of these curiosities. The topaz and
amethyst fields are well-defined private property, while the
water-stone is as shy and elusive as a four-leaved clover at home. If
in quest of these objects, it is wiser to restrict the field of
adventure to the Salto shops.
It has been noticeable all the time whilst ascending the river that
the water has steadily become less tinged with yellow. Above the
falls, however, the distinction is far more marked. The stream here is
peculiarly limpid, and the effect at a northern spot such as Santa
Rosa, almost on the Brazilian frontier, is entrancing. Here the river
is at times of a brilliant blue tint--a broad azure ribbon winding
between swelling banks covered now with dense folds of vegetation.
Viewed from the rising ground in the neighbourhood, the conviction is
inevitable that, although the northern waters may have lost a little
in commercial importance, the Upper Uruguay can lay claim to a degree
of beauty with which the lower reaches, for all their charm, cannot
compete.