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Shattered masses of greenstone. Immense valleys. Mines. State of miners. Santiago. Hot-baths of Cauquenes. Gold-mines. Grinding-mills. Perforated stones. Habits of the Puma. El Turco and Tapacolo. Humming-birds. The "Beagle" anchored late at night in the bay of Valparaiso, the chief seaport of Chile. When morning came, everything appeared delightful.
Behind them in the furrows walked the gleaners with esparto bags, in which they placed the harvested ears, and which they then carried on their shoulders, or suspended from a cross-bar and with the help of a companion, to grinding-mills situated some distance apart.
He now turned his steps to the other side of Tiber, and, after passing through poor streets, where some show of industries was still kept up by a few craftsmen, though for the most part folk sat or lay about in sullen idleness, came to those grinding-mills on the slope of the Janiculum which were driven by Trajan's aqueduct.
Valparaiso Excursion to the Foot of the Andes Structure of the Land Ascend the Bell of Quillota Shattered Masses of Greenstone Immense Valleys Mines State of Miners Santiago Hot-baths of Cauquenes Gold-mines Grinding-mills Perforated Stones Habits of the Puma El Turco and Tapacolo Humming-birds. JULY 23rd. The Beagle anchored late at night in the bay of Valparaiso, the chief seaport of Chile.
Perhaps you never have seen a horse or a jack attached to the end of the pole of one of those old stone grinding-mills, around which he marches and marches, while the grain is ground between the whirling stones in the center. That was Felix's regular job, which accounted for many of his peculiarities but Whitey never knew about it.
The thick fluid of the consistency of treacle flowing from the grinding-mills is poured into round metal pots, the top and bottom of which are lined with pads of felt, and these are, when filled, put under a powerful hydraulic press, which extracts a large percentage of the natural oil or butter.
But there is one remarkable exception, where the pools worn in a hard limestone are filled with what seem at first sight beds of china-asters, of all loveliest colours primrose, sea-green, dove, purple, crimson, pink, ash-grey. What they do there, what they think of, or what food is brought into their curious grinding-mills by the Atlantic surges which thunder over them twice a day, who can tell?
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