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Journeys and Experiences in Argentina, Paraguay, and Chile (Illustrated)
by Henry Stephens
Henry Stephens
Journeys and Experiences in Argentina, Paraguay, and Chile (Illustrated)
by Henry Stephens
Henry Stephens
eBook
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Overview
In my former book, South American Travels, I made a statement relative to the pronunciation of the word "Montevideo" as follows: "Many foreigners make the mistake of pronouncing the name of the city with the accent on its penultima 'e'. Each syllable should be pronounced alike, with no distinction made as onto which syllable the accent falls." I have since found out that I was wrong, and am convinced so by my losing a ten-dollar bet with a gentleman relative to the pronunciation of the Uruguayan metropolis. Montevideo has its accent on the penultima. The word is derived from the Latin "Montem video" the final m in montem having been dropped to facilitate pronunciation. Its site was first discovered by Magellan in 1520, and as the 493 feet high dun-colored cerro, which dominates the western side of the harbor on whose shores the city is now built, appeared on the occidental horizon, somebody at the bow of the ship yelled out, "Montem video" ("I see a mountain"), which words gave the city its present name. It can be safely assumed that the man at the bow who uttered the Latin exclamation [2] was a priest or a friar because who amongst a crew of sailors and adventurers would have a knowledge of Latin unless it was a man who had taken Holy Orders? The Spaniards and Portuguese in those days never embarked on any expedition without taking some of these gentry along.
Montevideo is sometimes called "Queen of La Plata" on account of its cleanliness, haughty reserve, and aristocratic appearance; more often has it been styled "Modern Troy" due to decades of internecine strife, anarchy, revolutions, and a Ten Years' War. Now that there has been quietude for several years, with prospects of continued peace, it is unfair to its inhabitants to liken it to the prehistoric city at the southeastern end of the Hellespont.
Several times during the years 1915 and 1916, I visited Montevideo, having made occasional trips from Buenos Aires, but an episode connected with my last advent on Uruguayan shores will take an indefinitely long time to erase it from my memory. It was like this:
On February 17, 1916, I had embarked on the Lamport & Holt steamship Vestris at La Plata for Montevideo to bid farewell to friends returning to the United States. The steamer was scheduled to sail from Montevideo at 2 P.M. the next day.
When that time came I was in the dining room, and was so engrossed in a conversation that appealed to me that I never heard the ringing of bells and the blowing of whistles that denote that an ocean leviathan is about to get under way. Suddenly an acquaintance, Mr. Lynn B. Packer of Norwich, N. Y., ran into the dining room calling out: "The ship is in motion, Stephens, we are in for it!" We both ran up the stairs and onto the deck. True enough, the Vestris was sailing but at a snail's pace, and [3] the anchor was being pulled up. The lighter containing the visitors had left and was now but a black speck behind the breakwater. Not even a fishing boat was in sight. We ran to the port side, and saw a few hundred feet away a rowboat in which were two men pulling away. We yelled to them and waved our handkerchiefs; they stopped. We took off our coats and waved them also; they swung their rowboat around and rowed back towards us. A steward and a couple of sailors got a rope-ladder which they hung over the railing of the deck, and down this Packer and myself clambered, and jumped into the rowboat which had now reached the sides of the Vestris. The two men of the rowboat now pulled out to let the ocean liner pass by, so as not to get caught in the vortex of water caused by the propellers.
The sea was rough; a leaden sky cast a gloomy canopy over the leaden water; to the left rose the dun-colored cerro crowned by its prison and lighthouse. In the background nearly two miles away, seemed to rise in tiers, the somber buildings of drab Montevideo, the twin towers of the cathedral, the Gothic steeple of a church, and a large rectangular pile at the water's edge, which was formerly the university, being silhouetted against the sky line. Black hulls of ships, merchantmen, and freighters flying the flags of most civilized nations, besides the interned German ships of the Kosmos Line, dotted the harbor and the open sea outside of the breakwater, but we were at least half a mile from the nearest one of them.
We now began to size up the two boatmen. They were a villainous looking pair. The one who acted as the boss was an undersized man about thirty-five years old. He wore a black moustache, and about two weeks stubble of beard. His hair was unkempt, and white mucus had collected at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He stunk [4] of garlic, and his clothes were dirty and greasy. His companion was a tall and slender man, a few years his junior. His appearance was likewise unkempt, although his long face, covered with pimples, was clean shaven,
Montevideo is sometimes called "Queen of La Plata" on account of its cleanliness, haughty reserve, and aristocratic appearance; more often has it been styled "Modern Troy" due to decades of internecine strife, anarchy, revolutions, and a Ten Years' War. Now that there has been quietude for several years, with prospects of continued peace, it is unfair to its inhabitants to liken it to the prehistoric city at the southeastern end of the Hellespont.
Several times during the years 1915 and 1916, I visited Montevideo, having made occasional trips from Buenos Aires, but an episode connected with my last advent on Uruguayan shores will take an indefinitely long time to erase it from my memory. It was like this:
On February 17, 1916, I had embarked on the Lamport & Holt steamship Vestris at La Plata for Montevideo to bid farewell to friends returning to the United States. The steamer was scheduled to sail from Montevideo at 2 P.M. the next day.
When that time came I was in the dining room, and was so engrossed in a conversation that appealed to me that I never heard the ringing of bells and the blowing of whistles that denote that an ocean leviathan is about to get under way. Suddenly an acquaintance, Mr. Lynn B. Packer of Norwich, N. Y., ran into the dining room calling out: "The ship is in motion, Stephens, we are in for it!" We both ran up the stairs and onto the deck. True enough, the Vestris was sailing but at a snail's pace, and [3] the anchor was being pulled up. The lighter containing the visitors had left and was now but a black speck behind the breakwater. Not even a fishing boat was in sight. We ran to the port side, and saw a few hundred feet away a rowboat in which were two men pulling away. We yelled to them and waved our handkerchiefs; they stopped. We took off our coats and waved them also; they swung their rowboat around and rowed back towards us. A steward and a couple of sailors got a rope-ladder which they hung over the railing of the deck, and down this Packer and myself clambered, and jumped into the rowboat which had now reached the sides of the Vestris. The two men of the rowboat now pulled out to let the ocean liner pass by, so as not to get caught in the vortex of water caused by the propellers.
The sea was rough; a leaden sky cast a gloomy canopy over the leaden water; to the left rose the dun-colored cerro crowned by its prison and lighthouse. In the background nearly two miles away, seemed to rise in tiers, the somber buildings of drab Montevideo, the twin towers of the cathedral, the Gothic steeple of a church, and a large rectangular pile at the water's edge, which was formerly the university, being silhouetted against the sky line. Black hulls of ships, merchantmen, and freighters flying the flags of most civilized nations, besides the interned German ships of the Kosmos Line, dotted the harbor and the open sea outside of the breakwater, but we were at least half a mile from the nearest one of them.
We now began to size up the two boatmen. They were a villainous looking pair. The one who acted as the boss was an undersized man about thirty-five years old. He wore a black moustache, and about two weeks stubble of beard. His hair was unkempt, and white mucus had collected at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He stunk [4] of garlic, and his clothes were dirty and greasy. His companion was a tall and slender man, a few years his junior. His appearance was likewise unkempt, although his long face, covered with pimples, was clean shaven,
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940148298953 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lost Leaf Publications |
| Publication date: | 01/19/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 10 MB |
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