While staying in this upper region, we lived
entirely upon tortoise-meat: the breast-plate roasted (as the
Gauchos do _carne con cuero_), with the flesh on it, is very
good; and the young tortoises make excellent soup; but
otherwise the meat to my taste is indifferent.
One day we accompanied a party of the Spaniards in
their whale-boat to a salina, or lake from which salt is
procured. After landing, we had a very rough walk over a
rugged field of recent lava, which has almost surrounded a
tuff-crater, at the bottom of which the salt-lake lies. The
water is only three or four inches deep, and rests on a layer
of beautifully crystallized, white salt. The lake is quite
circular, and is fringed with a border of bright green succulent
plants; the almost precipitous walls of the crater are clothed
with wood, so that the scene was altogether both picturesque
and curious. A few years since, the sailors belonging to a
sealing-vessel murdered their captain in this quiet spot; and
we saw his skull lying among the bushes.
During the greater part of our stay of a week, the sky
was cloudless, and if the trade-wind failed for an hour, the
heat became very oppressive.
