The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-01-21
In SOUTHERN PORTUGAL
TRIP TO SEBUTAL, FOURTH CITY OF
THE KINGDOM In RANK.
Unattractive Muscate1 Grape Vine
yards-The Ancient City of ssTrOia,"
Said to Have Been Built A. ID. 300.
of the Indianapolis Journal.

ern Portugal is only about twenty miles be-
| low Lisbon, 1T is nearly a days journey
| from point to point. First full hour by
| ferry-steamer, across the broad estuary of
| the Tagus, from Lisbon on its northern
| shore to Barreiro on the southern. No
stretch Of imagination can conceive of
this water passage as a pleasant one, not
withstanding its novel scenes-the slowly
| receding city of palaces rambling over hills
in the rear, a strange African landscape
| ahead, and dark mountains in the back
| ground on every side The dirty little boat,
| infested with fieas, flies and other vermin,
| rolls and rocks like a steamer in the Eng
lish channel, or sailing vessel rounding
| Cape Horn. In it aristocrats ana peasants,
mules, horses and cattle, all seasick to-
gether, are crowded in closest juxtaposi-
ton. An icy wind sweeps the shady side
of the deck chilling you to the marrow,
| while on the other and more popular side
a blistering sun makes your countenance
| to shine. The climax of discomfort is
capped by seemingly endless wait in
front of Barreiro. still rolling and tossing as
| in storm at sea, and black and foul beach
water from which the paddles ehurn up
| exhalations more pestilential than those
that distinguished Havana harbor before
| American occupation.
Barreiro is the terminus of the railway
that runs eastward to Evora, thence south
to Beja-those two cities so famous in Ro-
man and Moorish days; and a branch,
hardly longer than it's name-"Portugese
| Royal Railway Of Lisbon Barreiro- Sebutal'
Connects the last named port lhe
| road runs, or rather creeps, through a fiat
and treeless desert-a regular Sahara of
shifting sands; and as your Portuguese fell
ow-passengers insist on opening all the
| windows, the little square cars, uncom-
Portable enough at best, become filled with
dust and smoke-not to mention nauseous
odors Of fish and garlic from your neigh
boris luncheons and the incessant high
pitched staccato of the idioma, whic.. af-
fiicts your weary nerves like the thing of
saws.
| AN UNATTRACTIvE REGION
You might travel over half the world
without finding so utterly forbidding a
stretch of country-such dreary sand
dunes. interspersed with patches of rusty
moorland, and here and there muddy
creek. The soil is stained bright red in
spots, with wild sorrel, that looks like
splashes Of human blood; all Is treeless
ffowerless and birdless, except for an occa-
sional buzzard circling above some carcass
or perched contemplatively on a sand-pile;
and the view is bounded by hideous red and
yellow hills, their bare cliffs topped with
scraggy stone-pine. Had Dante wished to
represent the future state of the impenitent
farmer, he could not have found a more
typical inferno, where wind and water, soil,
sun and climate combine against the unfor-
| tunate tiller of the earth. Though the fer
vid sun withers and kills, winds blow damp
and chill. Malaria burdens the air. and the
haggard faces of the inhabitants show that
all are ague-smitten. Even the blessed
rains of the desert, falling alike on the just
and the unjust, are of little benefit here,
soaking at once through the loose sand and
leaving no moisture behind. Yet, strange
to say. agriculture fights for foothold
even here, and with considerable success.
This desolate region produces the best wine
of southern Portugal, the famous Lavara-
do, so called from the adjacent village of
that name. which in turn was called in
honor of the late Count Do Lavarado, long
the Portuguese minister to the court of st.
James. But what a disappointment. to eyes
not used to wine-growing are these vine
L
the sun! There is not the slightest sug-
| gestion Of "the lush LEAKAGE of the graceful
! gadding vine' which poets have taught us
to look for on the trellises of France and
Italy-but a weird scene which reminds the
novice of Dante's wood Of the Seventh Cir
Gle, wherein the souls of suicides were
transformed into gaunt knotted trees, fed
on by harpies and conscious of physical
pain. Here a vineyard is a rough field in
closed only by low sand-mounds, if inclosed
at all with stunted "prickly-pear' cactus
] stuck along the top in lieu Of fenc-
ing. Within the weed-grown, sandy
expase, at intervals of two varas, dark.
twisted stumps raise their heads like black
snakes with half their bodies in the air,
contorted in their struggles to free them
selves from the earth. You can hardly
believe that these bear the luscious mus
catel grapes, the best in the world, from
which the far-famed white wine is made.
AT this season Of the year the vines have
been pruned back. Next spring they will
put forth few scattering leaves, and each
snaky stump will send out four or five yard
long shoots. Wind draughts, passing east
and west along the great Tagus estuary,
particularly torment this unsheltered plain.
, Hardly a tree can stand against their bit
ing gales, and the giant reed-cane, indis-
pensable for vine plant stalking, which
grows twenty and thirty feet high in more
favored localities, is here dwindled to the
height of a walking stick. But mother Ma
ture, according to her immutable laws OF
compensation, concentrates her beneficent
forces in the sweetness and rare flavor of
: the grapes. The painter of the now cele.
brated Man with the Hoe" may here find
his perfect model. The Portuguese hoe
seems to have been especially devised to
increase the husbandmans burden of toll
It's blade is very broad and long, set on at a
sharp angle wit. the handle-the latter
so short that ii bends the wielder almost
to the earth. Everywhere you see the flash
ing of these great hoes in the sun. though
toilers themselves are hidden in clouds OF
dust-for only incessant labor can wiring
any response from this wind-swept desert
TRANSPORTATION SCENE
AS the train jolts and crawls over the
desolate plain your spirits sink to lower
and lower ebb-when, presto! You come
suddenly upon wonderful transformation
scene. Only a narrow dividing ridge-and
in an instant you are in a marvelously
beautiful land. Orange and lemon groves
nil the air with fragrance, blossoms show
ing on the branches, and fair ripe fruit
like golden lamps in a twilight of LEAKAGE
Fields are dark green with the rank luxiIr-