The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1888-09-27
a SOUTH alcAN SCENE.
mo Great salt . Of -. ,,..,,.

1e@s SSH rs OF the Interior
Troops Of Meaningless.
Twas 2o'clock in the afternoon: Loan
nee marched at the head OF our LITTLE
troop. "Oh, looki look at the snowi''
ne exclaimed, at the moment when leav-
ing the valley of Condors, we were about
to enter the plain. Snow in the month
OF March in the southern hemispherel
we thought our companion must have
mad a sudden sunstroke; that would not
have been at all impossible, for the heat
In this valley was torrid-if one MIGHT
give the name valley to the large open
ing oordered with enormous rocks whose
broken fragments strewed the ground as
II to hinder us in our march, and keen
us longer in this cursed pass, where veg.
citation is only represented by gigantic
hchens, whose silvery threads could
hardly be distinguished from the grav-
ish mass of rock to which they chung.
Are you crazy, Loannec," cried
Charles.
dame, you can see for yourselves.
1t that is not snow it certainly looks ex-
actiy like it; though as you get closer it
is not cold at ALL
NAASAAAOAACOCA AAdIAC0 10 QeQS.
Scarcely had we rejoined our comrade
when we uttered simultaneous cry of
astonishment. Right before us, bounded
only by the horizon, stretched an i'm
mense plain of dazzling whiteness, whose
surface sparkled under the bright rays of
the sun. Any one would have sworn
that 1t was snow. Without uttering
word, so overwhelming was our aston
lshment, we turned to Barlejo with an
air of mute Interrogation. 81 have
found out what it is, cried Lawrence
sit is cotton"
"But where are the cotton pickers?''
eyes, that is true-they are nowhere
to be SEEN"
The "Vaquero'' laughed in his sleeve:
he thoroughly enjoyed our establishment.
I'VE are about to enter the great salt
plains" he said finally, when he thought
our patience had been sufficiently tested.
The salt plains2 Don Cabral had
spoken to us of them when we were dis
cussing our journey at the estancia of las
Jarrillas; but our imagination had never
pictured any landscape as grandiose in
its uniformity. As far as the eve could
reach, extended an ocean of salt, white
and sparkling as snow. Not shadow
on this panorama, which reminded me
OF the immense steppes Of Siberia, when
winter has spread her immaculate wind
ing sheet over that kingdom of death
and silence. Not spot which could
break the monotony. s'Come-en.
courage" continued Barlejo, "it is a
vile place to cross under the broiling sun.
which is hot enough to roast an OK, but
we must get over it before niehtfall for
even if we sacrifice our horses we could
not think Of camping on the salt plains. -
"And how far across this plain?''
''About twelve miles"
Twelve milesi and our poor horses had
not been able to go out Of walk all the
morning. 1t was the only gait possible
in the valley Of the Condors. Putting
spurs to our horses we started off at q
hard gallop. The gauchos allowed us to
take the lead. Our gallop did not last
long. AS soon as their feet touched the
salt our horses stopped as if nailed to the
ground; under their feet the salt cracked
like snow. We could only go on step by
step. And twelve miles to make at this
pace, when we had hoped to clear the
plain at gallop. The heat was suffocat-
lng-the reflection of this sea of salt SO
many times refined and purified by the
continual washing and dryings of rain
and wind blinded us. To complete our
sufferings the north wind, that suffocat-
ing, enervating wind, began to blow. We
went painting through this furnace with
nothing to freshen or mitigate the scorch-
ing heat. The last rays of the setting
sun tinged with a rosy hue this white
and naked landscape. Suddenly on
our left appeared mass of fiery
red, while before us a long line of
vivid green was clearly defined against
the whiteness of the salt. At the same
moment the horses began to whinny-
they smelt the water. Their pace quick
ened under the stimulus of this hope of
soon reaching fresh water, as only those
who have lived in the desert can under
stand. Water-we were soon to reach
the water-with voice and hand we en-
couraged the poor animals We were
on the edge of the lagoon when at word
from our guide we stopped short. The
spectacle before us was indeed enough to
make us halt. Issuing from marsh in
a line like veteran troops of infantry, two
or three thousand birds with excessively
long necks and feet, the plumage on their
bodies of soft rose tint, and wings the
color of fire were advancing, calm, dig
nified, majestic. ''Los Flamengos'' ex-
claimed Barlejo, as we stepped on the
ground, or rather on the salt.-Henri
Leturque in Detroit Free Press.
Peculiarities of the Appetite.