in the Province of Mendoza; it is five leagues south of the capital. At
night I experienced an attack (for it deserves no less a name) of the
_Benchuca_, a species of Reduvius, the great black bug of the Pampas.
It is most disgusting to feel soft wingless insects, about an inch
long, crawling over one's body. Before sucking they are quite thin,
but afterwards they become round and bloated with blood, and in this
state are easily crushed. One which I caught at Iquique, (for they are
found in Chile and Peru,) was very empty. When placed on a table, and
though surrounded by people, if a finger was presented, the bold insect
would immediately protrude its sucker, make a charge, and if allowed,
draw blood. No pain was caused by the wound. It was curious to watch
its body during the act of sucking, as in less than ten minutes it
changed from being as flat as a wafer to a globular form. This one
feast, for which the benchuca was indebted to one of the officers, kept
it fat during four whole months; but, after the first fortnight, it was
quite ready to have another suck.
March 27th.--We rode on to Mendoza. The country was beautifully
cultivated, and resembled Chile. This neighbourhood is celebrated for
its fruit; and certainly nothing could appear more flourishing than the
vineyards and the orchards of figs, peaches, and olives. We bought
water-melons nearly twice as large as a man's head, most deliciously
cool and well-flavoured, for a halfpenny apiece; and for the value of
threepence, half a wheelbarrowful of peaches. The cultivated and
enclosed part of this province is very small; there is little more than
that which we passed through between Luxan and the capital. The land,
as in Chile, owes its fertility entirely to artificial irrigation; and
it is really wonderful to observe how extraordinarily productive a
barren traversia is thus rendered.
We stayed the ensuing day in Mendoza. The prosperity of the place has
much declined of late years. The inhabitants say "it is good to live
in, but very bad to grow rich in." The lower orders have the lounging,
reckless manners of the Gauchos of the Pampas; and their dress,
riding-gear, and habits of life, are nearly the same. To my mind the
town had a stupid, forlorn aspect. Neither the boasted alameda, nor
the scenery, is at all comparable with that of Santiago; but to those
who, coming from Buenos Ayres, have just crossed the unvaried Pampas,
the gardens and orchards must appear delightful. Sir F. Head, speaking
of the inhabitants, says, "They eat their dinners, and it is so very
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