CURIOUS SIGHTS
ELENA was propped up with pillows in a deep chair by the window which
opened out upon the street. She looked lonely, but when she saw the car
sweep along the street and stop at their door, her face beamed happily.
There was no jealousy in Elena's heart because her brother was being
thus favoured by their uncle.
"Oh, Elena, mia," cried Francisco, throwing his arms about her, and
kissing her on each pale cheek. "Do you feel able to take a ride with us
this afternoon?"
"I think she is," answered his mother, entering the room, and taking her
son into a close embrace. "But how I have missed my Niño, Juan," turning
to her brother, the Colonel.
"Perhaps I have been selfish in taking him from you, Anita. Shall I
leave him here?"
"Ah, no! The lad needs you, Juan. He has no father to teach him as he
should be taught. It is the very opportunity for him; and I am most
pleased. Only, let me see him often, and I shall be content."
"That you shall, and this afternoon just after _máte_, we will come to
take you and Elena with us for a ride. It may bring roses to her
cheeks," and he pinched the pale cheeks as he passed her on his way
out.
True to their promise, at five o'clock the automobile drew up in front
of Francisco's home and the Colonel, himself, carried Elena out to it,
and placed her in the nest of pillows on the broad leather seat. Her
mother followed and before Elena realized it, they were speeding toward
the central part of the city.
"Where does the little White Rose wish to go?" inquired her uncle.
"Oh, anywhere--away from this horrid street. I am so tired of it. If I
may, I should love to see the water."
"To the river, Enrique," laughingly ordered her uncle. "Only, the river
isn't a very pretty sheet of water. It is so murky, and I think should
be called the River of Bronze rather than the River of Silver."
"I know, Uncle Juan; but when I had the fever it was water, water, water
I dreamt of, and now I want to see my fill of it."
"That you shall, White Rose, for right here at Buenos Aires the river is
over twenty-five miles wide and the city has a frontage of four miles
along the waterfront."
They passed through the Plaza Mayo, and Francisco had to tell Elena of
having seen el Presidente that morning. Then they turned into the
Paseo-de-Julio, a one-sided boulevard facing the river two blocks away.
The intervening space was a maze of small plazas where palms, flowers,
shrubs and statuary edge the waterfront like a band of solid green.
Beyond, before Elena could see the water, were the busy docks, huge
masonry basins, where over two thousand ocean-going vessels come and go
during the span of a year.
Electric cranes were swinging the great cargoes of wheat and cattle into
the yawning holds of the vessels, and on and on the sea of funnels and
masts stretched until the muddy line of water at last broke on the
sight. Francisco was alert, his brown eyes taking in every detail of the
stirring busy scene; but Elena's hungry eyes looked past this to the
water beyond.
"Some day, I hope to go away in one of those big vessels," she
announced.
"Indeed, and which one will you choose, little White Rose? Here is a
wide choice. That large one with the enormous smokestacks and the
British flag flying above her, is a Royal Mail Steam-ship from England.
One of these leaves every Friday for England, and besides the mail,
carries about fifteen hundred passengers. On one of them you would
travel in great luxury; electric fans, electric elevators, an orchestra
with dances every evening, and dressing for dinner at night. Oh! it's
gay enough, the life on those magnificent steamers!
"Then, alongside of it you see a smaller boat, a French liner from
Marseilles. They go weekly also, and they bring us our champagne and our
opera companies; why, this very automobile came on one of them. There's
an Italian liner and just beyond are some German boats. In the South
Dock is a river boat that goes up country to Paraguay; our oranges come
on those. And all about are smaller boats, some sailing vessels that
carry coffee from Brazil, and yellow pine from New Orleans in the United
States."
"Why, that one just over yonder flies the Stars and Stripes of North
America," cried Francisco, pointing to a small vessel.
"Not exactly, Niño. It is from _Los Estados Unidos_.[9] You must not
confound them, for the United States are but a part of North America,
although many of our people do not seem to think so. But you do not see
many of their flags in our docks. The commercial relations between our
two countries are as yet in their infancy. The most of our export and
import business is done with Europe."
"Do they not send anything at all down here, but yellow pine, Uncle?"
this from Francisco.
"Yes, oh! yes. They are sending us machinery, especially agricultural
machinery. When you go with me to the country you will see their
wind-mills, steam threshers and binders in great quantities. They send
us other machinery, of many kinds, but in comparison with our trade with
Germany and England it is very little."
"And do these big ships go back empty to Europe?" inquired Elena,
pointing to the long wharves.
"By no means, little girl. See those heavy carts going towards the
docks? Well, I don't suppose your young mind can take in the figures,
but Francisco will understand, when I tell you, those carts carried one
hundred and fifty million bushels of wheat last year to those returning
ships, to say nothing of millions of sheep, frozen quarters of beef,
wool, cheese and even butter and eggs. Anita," turning to his sister, "I
doubt if you, yourself, have ever been to the Barracas, have you?"
"No, Juan. It is so far from the residence district and I never happened
to drive that way."
"Then we will ride over there now and let you all see the largest
wholesale produce market under one roof that you can find in all the
world."
For two miles they sped through narrow streets; past crowded tenements,
in front of which scores of dirty children quarrelled and played, and
where the _peons_ or working classes huddle, sometimes families of
fourteen in one room; past _tambos_, where the cows and goats stand in
sheds, open to the street, awaiting to be milked while the customer
waits; past gray spired churches, their wide doors always open, inviting
the pious passer-by to enter for prayer; passed _fideos_ factories,
where curious shaped macaroni hangs drying in the sun in the open
courtyards; on and on they bumped, for the streets here were
cobble-stones, until, at last, they reached the vast building covering
many acres, where wheat, wool, corn and produce are bought and sold to
the foreign trade.
"Were it not so late, we would alight and see it closer. However, Elena
could not walk, anyhow. Already, I fear she has had too long a ride for
her strength, and we hope not to tire her on this, her first outing; eh,
White Rose?" But Elena was fast asleep, her head on her mother's
shoulder.
The chauffeur turned the car towards the city, where here and there, in
the gathering dusk, an electric light could be seen as if notifying the
day, by these advance signals, that its duty was over.
Elena slept on and did not see the wonderful _Avenida_ as they flew
along its smooth surface, so like Paris as to seem a bit of that gay
city picked up and transferred to American soil; the plane trees
bordering it, with here and there a small newspaper _kiosk_ like a
miniature temple; the splendid building of "La Prensa," the richest
newspaper in the world, where the Buenos Aires public can obtain the
services of the best doctors, lawyers, or dentists free of charge;
invitingly odorous confectioneries or restaurants with small tables on
the sidewalks at which handsomely dressed men and women sit eating and
drinking and watching the gay multitude; bewildering shop windows full
of the latest Parisian novelties; fruit and flower boys, with their
trays of luscious fruits and delicately scented blossoms balanced
unaided on their heads; hotels just beginning to glitter with their
myriads of electric lights; all of these passed by them as Elena slept
the sleep of exhaustion.
Francisco, however, missed none of it, for his was the Latin spirit
full of love of pleasure and display, bright lights and gay crowds. His
uncle watched him intently from under his heavy brows.
Suddenly a weird, unearthly wail arose above the hum of the traffic all
around. Elena started up, frightened and trembling, but, as she had
heard it before, she recognized it, and fell back asleep again.
Francisco had heard it also, but never so close, it seemed right beside
him.
"Uncle, may we not go back by the Prensa building and see what has
happened?" he cried excitedly.
The Colonel agreed and Enrique crossed to the other side of the street,
entering the long line of vehicles going west, for the "rule of the
road" in Argentina is "keep to the left." The hoarse, wailing steam
whistle had drawn the crowds towards the handsome building from whose
tower it was issuing, and they could not reach it within half a block.
Mounted policemen were everywhere trying to disperse the crowd. It was
good-natured as any Latin crowd, but refused to be moved; like a hot
water bag, it bulged out in one spot when pressed down in another. And
all of this--because the bulletin methods of this mighty newspaper are
so unusual.
Whenever any unexpected occurrence takes place in Europe or any part of
the world this enterprising "daily" apprises the public of it by blowing
this stridently piercing steam whistle. It was blown when Queen Victoria
passed away; its howl distressed the nervous citizens when San Francisco
was almost in ashes, and its present message was that a son and heir had
been born to the King and Queen of Spain. This was made known from the
front steps of the building and very soon the crowd was a cheering,
hat-waving mob. It was momentarily growing more excited and Enrique
turned into a side street and sped towards the house in Calle Cerrito,
where Elena, now thoroughly aroused by the boisterous tumult about them,
could be tucked away into bed.
As Francisco and el Coronel Lacevera sat at dinner that evening
discussing the event of the afternoon, while softly gliding servants in
quiet livery served them, the Colonel said:--
"Did you know, Niño, that every time La Prensa blows that whistle as
they did to-day, it costs them three hundred dollars?"
"Why, Uncle Juan, does it use up as much steam as that?" earnestly
inquired Francisco.
"Scarcely," laughed the Colonel, as he lifted up an enormous bunch of
muscatel grapes, weighing several pounds, from the platter of fruit
before him, "scarcely that, Niño, but our city government fines them
that amount every time they blow it, as they term it a public nuisance.
Now, when they want to indulge in this sensational advertising, they
send a messenger on to the _Commissaria_ post haste to deposit the fine,
timing his arrival just as the last howl of the whistle sounds across
the city."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 9: The United States.]