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ARCHITECTURE :
DESIGN NOTEBOOK

ARCHITECTURE :
DESIGN NOTEBOOK
2nd edition
A. Peter Fawcett
(Illustrated by the author)
AMSTERDAM BOSTON HEIDELBERG LONDON NEW YORK OXFORD
PARIS SAN DIEGO SAN FRANCISCO SINGAPORE SYDNEY TOKYO
Architectural Press

Architectural Press
An imprint of Elsevier
Linacre House, Jordan Hill, Oxford OX2 8DP
200 Wheeler Road, Burlington, MA 01803
First published 1998
Second edition 2003
Reprinted 2003
Copyright #1998, 2003, Peter Fawcett. All rights reserved
The right of Peter Fawcett to be identiﬁed as the author of this work
has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including
photocopying or storing in any medium by electronic means and whether
or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without
the written permission of the copyright holder except in accordance with the
provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of
a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, 90 Tottenham Court Road,
London, England W1T 4LP. Applications for the copyright holder’s written
permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed
to the publisher
Permissions may be sought directly from Elsevier’s
Technology Rights Department in Oxford, UK: phone (+44)
(0) 1865 843830; fax: (+44) (0) 1865 853333; e-mail:
permissions @elsevier.co.uk. You may also complete your
request on-line via the Elsevier homepage (http://www.elsevier.com),
by selecting ‘Customer Support’ and then ‘Obtaining Permissions’.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Fawcett, A. Peter
Architecture: design notebook 2nd edn.
1. Architectural design
I. Title
721
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress
ISBN 0 7506 5669 7
Typeset by Keyword Typesetting Services Limited
Printed and bound in Great Britain

CONTENTS
1 PREAMBLE 1
2 THE CONTEXT FOR DESIGN 3
3 ARRIVING AT THE DIAGRAM 13
RESPONDING TO THE SITE 13
CHOOSING AN APPROPRIATE ‘MODEL’ 16
ORGANISING THE PLAN 23
4 CHOOSING APPROPRIATE TECHNOLOGIES 39
STRUCTURE 39
SERVICES 42
HOW WILL IT STAND UP? 43
HOW IS IT MADE? 51
WILL IT BE COMFORTABLE? 58
WILL IT BE GREEN? 62
5 HOW WILL IT LOOK? 71
EXPRESSION V SUPPRESSION 71

ROOF 74
OPENINGS 77
ELEVATIONS 77
WALL MEMBRANES 78
THE CORNER 81
SCALE 83
6 THE SPACES AROUND 93
CENTRIFUGAL AND CENTRIPETAL SPACE 93
URBAN SPACE TYPOLOGY 101
7 POSTSCRIPT: A WORKING METHOD 107
TRADITION V THE VIRTUAL BUILDING 107
FURTHER READING 111
vi Contents

1 PREAMBLE
As we enter the twenty-first century, it has
become fashionable to consider architecture
through a veil of literature. Such was not
always the case; indeed, it could be argued
that the practice of architecture has rarely
been underpinned by a close correspondence
with theory, and that designers have been
drawn more to precedent, to seminal buildings
and projects rather than to texts for a creative
springboard to their fertile imaginations. This
is merely an observation and not an argument
against fledgling building designers adopting
even the simplest of theoretical positions; nor
does it deny the profound influence of a small
number of seminal texts upon the development
of twentieth-century architecture, for there has
been a close correspondence between some of
those texts and icons which emerged as the
built outcome.
But even the most basic theoretical stance
must be supported in turn by a few fundamen-
tal maxims which can point the inexperienced
designer in the right direction towards prose-
cuting an acceptable architectural solution.
This book, then, attempts to offer that support
by not only offering some accepted maxims or
design orthodoxies, but also by suggesting
how they can inform crucial decisions which
face the architect engaged in the act of design-
ing. The text is non-theoretical and therefore
makes no attempt to add to the ample litera-
ture surrounding architectural theory; rather it
aims to provide students engaged in building
design with a framework of accepted ways of
looking at things which will support and inform
their experiment and exploration during the so-
called ‘design process’.
The plethora of literature concerned with the
‘design process’ or ‘design methodology’ is a
fairly recent phenomenon which gained
momentum during the late 1950s. In these
early explorations design was promulgated
as a straightforward linear process from ana-
lysis via synthesis to evaluation as if conform-

ing to some universal sequence of decision-
making. Moreover, design theorists urged
designers to delay as long as possible the crea-
tive leap into ‘form-making’ until every aspect
of the architectural problem was thought to be
clearly understood. But every practising archi-
tect knew that this restrictive linear model of the
design process flew in the face of all shared
experience; the reality of designing did not
conform to a predetermined sequence at all
but demanded that the designer should skip
between various aspects of the problem in
any order or at any time, should consider sev-
eral aspects simultaneously or, indeed, should
revisit some aspects in a cyclical process as the
problem became more clearly defined.
Furthermore, the experience of most architects
was that a powerful visual image of their
embryonic solution had already been formed
early on in the design process, suggesting that
fundamental aspects of ‘form-making’ such as
how the building would look, or how its three-
dimensional organisation would be config-
ured in plan and section, represented in reality
an early, if tentative, creative response to any
architectural problem.
The act of designing clearly embraces at its
extremes logical analysis on the one hand and
profound creative thought on the other, both of
which contribute crucially to that central
ground of ‘form-making’. It is axiomatic that
all good buildings depend upon sound and
imaginative decisions on the part of the
designer at these early stages and how such
decision-making informs that creative ‘leap’
towards establishing an appropriate three-
dimensional outcome.
These initial forays into ‘form-making’
remain the most problematic for the novice
and the experienced architect alike; what fol-
lows are a few signposts towards easing a
fledgling designer’s passage through these
potentially rough pastures.
2 Architecture: Design Notebook

2 THE CONTEXT FOR DESIGN
It’s a hoary old cliché that society gets the
architecture it deserves, or, put more extre-
mely, that decadent regimes will, ipso facto,
produce reactionary architecture whilst only
democracies will support the progressive. But
to a large extent post-Versailles Europe bore
this out; the Weimar Republic’s fourteen-year
lifespan coincided exactly with that of the
Bauhaus, whose progressive aims it endorsed,
and modern architecture flourished in the
fledgling democracy of Czechoslovakia. But
the rise of totalitarianism in inter-war Europe
soon put an end to such worthy ambition and it
was left to the free world (and most particularly
the New World) to prosecute the new architec-
ture until a peaceful Europe again prevailed.
This is, of course, a gross over-simplification
but serves to demonstrate that all architects
work within an established socio-political
framework which, to a greater or lesser extent,
inevitably encourages or restricts their creative
impulses, a condition which would not neces-
sarily obtain with some other design disciplines
like, for example, mechanical engineering
(which, incidentally, thrived under totalitarian-
ism).
This brings us to another well-worn stance
adopted by progressive architects; that archi-
tecture (unlike mechanical engineering)
responds in some measure to a prevailing cul-
tural climate in which it is created and therefore
emerges inevitably as a cultural artefact
reflecting the nature of that culture. Certainly
the development of progressive architecture
during its so-called ‘heroic’ period after the
First World War would seem to support this
claim; architects found themselves at the
heart of new artistic movements throughout
Europe like, for example, Purism in Paris, De
Stijl in Rotterdam, Constructivism in Moscow
or the Bauhaus in Weimar and Dessau.
Inevitably, such movements generated a
close correspondence between architecture
and the visual arts so that architects looked
naturally to painters and sculptors for inspira-
tion in their quest for developing new architec-

tural forms. Indeed, Le Corbusier applied the
formal principles of ‘regulating lines’ as an
ordering device both to his Purist paintings
and as a means subsequently of ordering the
elevations to his buildings (Figures 2.1, 2.2).
Equally, Piet Mondrian’s abstract painterly
compositions found themselves reinterpreted
directly as three-dimensional artefacts in the
architectural projects of Van Eesteren and
Van Doesburg (Figures 2.3, 2.4), and
Lubetkin’s iconic Penguin Pool at London
Zoo was informed by the formal explorations
of Russian Constructivist sculptors like Naum
Gabo (Figures 2.5, 2.6).
But the architectural culture of the twentieth
century was also characterised by a series of
theoretical models of such clarity and seduc-
tiveness that designers have since sought to
interpret them directly within their ‘form-
making’ explorations. Such was the case
with Le Corbusier’s ‘Five Points of the New
Architecture’ published in 1926 where a tradi-
4 Architecture: Design Notebook
Figure 2.1 Le Corbusier, Regulating lines, Ozenfant
Studio, Paris, 1922. Author’s interpretation.
Figure 2.2 Le Corbusier, Regulating Lines: Villa at
Garches, 1927. Author’s interpretation.
Figure 2.3 Piet Mondrian, Tableau, 1921. From De Stijl
1917 31: Visions of Utopia, Friedman, M. (ed.), Phaidon.

tional cellular domestic plan limited by the
constraints of traditional timber and masonry
construction was compared (unfavourably)
with the formal and spatial potential afforded
by reinforced concrete construction (Figures
2.7, 2.8). Consequently ‘pilotis’, ‘free
façade’, ‘open plan’, ‘strip window’, and
‘roof garden’ (the ﬁve points) were instantly
established as tools for form-making. A cele-
brated series of houses around Paris designed
by Le Corbusier between 1926 and 1931 gave
equally seductive physical expression to the
‘ﬁve points’ idea and in turn was to provide a
collective iconic precedent (Figure 2.9).
Similarly, Louis Kahn’s theoretical construct
of ‘Servant and Served’ spaces found an
The context for design 5
Figure 2.4 Theo Van Doesburg and Cornelius van
Eesteren, Design for house 1923 (not executed). From De
Stijl, Overy, P., Studio Vista.
Figure 2.5 Berthold Lubetkin, Penguin Pool, London Zoo,
1934. From Berthold Lubetkin, Allan, J., RIBA Publications.
Figure 2.6 Naum Gabo, Construction, 1928. From
Circle, Martin, J. L. et al. (eds), Faber and Faber.

Other documents randomly have
different content

tables in the patio were filling with men and women sipping their
afterdinner coffee in the cool open air.
As this was Francisco's first dinner in a hotel it might be
interesting to know what he ate. Being an Argentine, he always ate
several different kinds of meat, and began this meal with a platter of
cold meats: tongue, pressed chicken and jellied veal. Second, a
vermicelli soup with grated cheese; third, fried pejerey, the most
popular fish of the country; fourth, partridge fried in oil; fifth,
asparagus with melted butter; sixth, macaroni with tomato and
garlic sauce; seventh, roast mutton; eighth, a salad of lettuce and
tomatoes; ninth, a sweet jelly in wine sauce; tenth, fruits; and then
they adjourned to the patio for coffee.
While his uncle smoked and talked with friends, whom he had
chanced to meet, Francisco slipped away and José helped him
undress for bed, as he was very tired.
He remembered no more after José turned off the electric light
until he opened his eyes into the full glare of the sun, the next
morning. It was nine o'clock and José was laying out clean linen for
him. After a refreshing shower bath, he returned to his room to find
his rolls and coffee on a table beside his bed.
"Why, José, I'm not a lady that I must have my café in bed!"
exclaimed the lad. "Mother and the girls always do that, but I'm a
man and I want to have mine in the dining-room with Uncle Juan."
José explained that in hotels one must always take one's morning
coffee in one's rooms; and he talked on while Francisco ate and
dressed.
"El Coronel will be busy all of the day and he has placed you in
my hands. Rosario, I know like a book, and together we will see it."
"Oh! that will be great fun, José. Where shall we go first?"
"Would you like to see them load the vessels? This city is where
much of the wheat of our country is brought to be loaded into the

vessels for Europe. The river is so deep here that the largest ocean-
going vessels can come up to the docks."
They walked through crowded, busy streets until they came to a
high bluff, and from the edge of this they could look down on the
very tops of the long rows of steamships below, all being loaded
with wheat.
This was just the beginning of the busy season, for the harvest
was scarcely under way. In January and February the whole city of
Rosario would seem nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat.
Francisco saw all of this with deepest interest; he was beginning
to comprehend the resources of his own country.
They sat watching the course of the wheat bags as they shot
down the long chutes from the high bluffs to the vessels below, until
Francisco's eyes grew tired and even when he closed them he could
see long lines of bobbing bags, like yellow mice, chasing one
another into the water.
So they walked along the bluff, counting the flags of the different
nations displayed on the boats beneath them; English, French,
Italian, Dutch, German and a few that Francisco had never seen
before.
For a while they watched the lavaderas or washer-women
pounding the clothes of the city on the rocks at the edge of the
water; and spreading them on the higher rocks behind them to
bleach and dry.
Steam laundries are uncommon in South America and all of the
washing is done in this manner. The lavaderas carry the soiled linen
from the houses to the river on their heads, balancing huge bundles
as easily as though they were trifles, their arms folded across their
breasts.
As they stood watching this cleansing process Francisco spied a
raft-like boat piled high with small logs tied on securely.

"It looks out of place here, José, among all these enormous
freight steamers. What does it carry?"
"Willow, Señorito, and see, there are others coming down the
river. It goes to Buenos Aires to be made into charcoal, the principal
fuel of that city. Great quantities of it are raised above here; it is
quick of growth and needs only to be planted so," and José
demonstrated by taking a short twig and sticking it into the earth.
"Behold! and in seven years, it is as you see it there on the rafts
ready for market. They use the twigs for making Osier baskets. But
hace calor[13] let us go to the cool shady patio of the hotel and
there I will tell you a story of some charcoal burners until the Uncle
comes."
But the Colonel reached the hotel before they did, for Francisco
must stop to see this thing and that as they sauntered along. The
mid-day heat meant little to him while so much of novelty challenged
his attention. José was always ready to answer his questions, and he
frequently drew the boy's notice to something that would escape any
one but a keen observer, and this the Indian was.
The sun was almost in midheaven, and the daily siesta was
beginning in some parts of the city. Workshops were being closed,
and under every tree some cart driver had drawn up his horse and
stretched himself on the grass under its shade; even the beggars
were curled up on the church steps fast asleep.
"Why do some of those ragged beggars wear metal badges,
José?"
"They are licensed beggars, Señorito. The city has authorized
them to beg, and when you help them you may know you are
helping no rogues."
Francisco drew his nose up into a prolonged sniff. "I believe I'm
hungry, José. What smells so good?"
"Step here on to this side street and I'll show you."

The street was being torn up to be repaved, and the peon
workingmen at this noon interval of rest were eating their almuerzo.
Gathered in little groups, they sat around something that was
cooking and emitting odours of stewing meat, potatoes and onions.
"But how are they cooking here in the street?"
"Go closer and you can see," replied José.
Francisco walked to the curb, and looking over their backs into
the middle of one circle he saw—the stew cooking in a shovel.
"They buy these things at the market and use their street shovels
for stewpans, as you see."
"Ugh! I hope they wash them first," laughed Francisco.
They were now passing the market, an enormous affair covering
the best of a large block. But the scene was no longer animated for
the chattering and bargaining were beginning to cease; and the
merchants, themselves, were nodding over their wares.
Along the curbing were piles of merchandise; here, a stack of
peaches, pears, apricots, figs, nectarines, grapes, and plums; there,
an array of earthen ware, in curious shapes; here, a stock of
readymade clothing, aprons, trousers, ponchos[14] and shoes. The
vegetables were heaped high in piles; tomatoes, beans, lettuce,
cardon, celery, potatoes, cucumbers, and onions in long ropes, their
stems so plaited together with straw that they can be sold by the
yard; or, in that country's measure, a metro.[15]
Many of the stalls offered cooked foods; roasted partridges and
chickens; pâtes of jellied meats; cleaned and cooked armadillo,
whose meat tastes like tender roast pork. The Argentines are very
fond of them and they consume thousands every month.
Around the curbing, at one end of the market, stood great carts,
with wheels fully eight feet high. These, José told Francisco, were
the market carts that brought the produce into the city. They look

rude and cumbersome, but carry several tons and often as many as
a dozen oxen are hitched to them.
These interested Francisco but José bid him hurry as no doubt his
uncle would have breakfasted. Which, indeed, he was doing, for as
they entered the hotel Francisco caught sight of him, seated in the
long dining-room with several gentlemen; all of them, including the
Colonel, in cool looking white linen suits. Francisco joined them and
was introduced to the strangers.
They were wealthy estancieros but not Spaniards. One was an
Englishman and the other a North American, owning ranches near
Rosario, and they were negotiating with Colonel Lacevera for some
pedigreed horses which he owned.
They talked partly in Spanish and partly in English; for like most
educated Argentines, the Colonel spoke some English and
understood more. Francisco had studied English at school just as he
did French, and he was delighted to be able to understand some of
their conversation.
Before they parted, the Englishman urged Colonel Lacevera to
attend a large sale of cattle and horses which was to take place at
his estancia the next day, Sunday. Patting Francisco on the head he
added:
"Bring the Niño also, he may enjoy it."
So early the following morning José had their horses at the curb
of the hotel, saddled and ready for the three league gallop.
Francisco had not ridden often, but his enthusiasm knew no
bounds when he saw the Argentine pony that was to be his mount.
The Colonel looked at José meaningly, for he knew that this
eagerness would not outlast the long gallop.
At first they rode briskly in the cool morning air. Francisco held on
bravely, but the Colonel noticed the firm set of his lips, and that he

talked less and less as they rode on.
They were riding through beautiful country. The turf was fresh
and green in spots where the old coarse grass had been burned off
and the tender young sprouts were coming up through the rich soil.
They passed droves of several thousand sheep nibbling peacefully
on this succulent new growth. There were shepherds, with here and
there a hut made of poles covered with mud; the roof thatched with
asparta grass.
Francisco was so tired and his bones began to ache so
desperately that he ceased to show any interest in the things they
passed. Colonel Lacevera and José exchanged knowing looks, but
dared not permit Francisco to see them. When they came to one of
these rude huts his uncle said:
"Niño, would you not like to see the inside of one of these prairie
palaces?"
He admired the boy's pluck, but he feared to tax his physical
endurance more.
Francisco willingly assented, and they rode up to the door around
which a swarm of dirty, half naked children sat on the ground.
José called: "Ola!" and a copper-coloured woman appeared at the
door, dressed only in one garment, a dun-coloured chemise.
She was an Indian, and when José spoke to her in her own
tongue, asking for a drink, she pointed to the square kerosene tin
filled with water, beside which hung a gourd.
She said her husband was out with the sheep; and she had no
chairs to offer them, but they might alight and rest.
They stepped into the hut, the door of which was a horse's hide;
the floor was the hard earth; a box stood in the middle and served
as a table, while bundles of straw in the corners served as beds.
Instead of chairs there were dried skulls of oxen; their wide,

spreading horns serving as arms to these unique seats. Francisco
was glad, however, to rest his weary body within their grewsome
embrace and he sat thus for half an hour, while José watered the
horses and the Colonel talked to the children.
Francisco himself proposed that they start on, but José was
obliged to lift him into his saddle. One more league and they were in
sight of the estancia, where the sale was to be held.
The house was of the usual Spanish style of architecture, and the
many buildings grouped around it gave the place a resemblance to a
village.
Señor Stanley met them and "gave" them his house, after the
manner of all Spanish hosts, and they entered to wash and rest.
As the Señor Stanley was an Englishman, his house interested
Francisco in spite of his weariness. It was fitted with every luxury of
a high class English home; the baths being supplied with cool spring
water which flowed through them constantly. There were
handsomely furnished parlours, a well-filled library and a billiard
room. The stables were commodious and sanitary; and the tennis
courts and golf links, gardens and patios were numerous.
In the corrals they found several hundred men gathered and
there was much confusion and noise.
It was Sunday and therefore a holiday spirit pervaded everything,
for Sunday is not observed in Argentina as a day of quiet and
reverence; it is the day for sports, games and excursions. This sale
had been set for Sunday to insure a large attendance.
First, breakfast was served. Under a long arbour, formed by tall
eucalyptus trees, the table, fully a hundred feet in length, had been
set. At each place was a bunch of flowers and a bottle of native
wine.
Despite his aching body, Francisco did full justice to the soup,
barbecued meats and fowls, vegetables and fruits that were served.

But after he had eaten he crept under the shade of one of the trees
to rest.
He fell asleep and slept until his uncle wakened him at máte time.
"Hello, my boy! Slept through all of this noise? You were certainly
exhausted, for such a clatter as there has been. One hundred
thousand dollars and many pedigreed animals have changed hands,
and it wasn't done quietly either. We will have our máte and then
ride home in the cool of the evening. Come." And the Colonel helped
the stiff jointed, weary boy to his feet.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] It makes hot, literally.
[14] Blankets.
[15] A little over a yard.

CHAPTER VII
ON THE RANCH
"What is that you have, Manuel?" cried Francisco, to one of the
peons, five days later, as he sat under an ombú tree in the garden
on his uncle's estancia, playing with some tame tierra birds, that
kept the garden clean of worms.
Manuel was one of the house peons and he had a queer looking
machine with a long snout under his arm.
"Why, this is an ant destroyer, Señorito; would you care to watch
me kill ants?"
For answer, Francisco ran eagerly to his side and the two walked
toward the peach orchard. Francisco had had five days of rest from
his tiresome ride the day of the sale, and he was now ready for any
new adventure.
They had arrived at the Tres Arroyas ranch three days before and
he had made friends with every one connected with the house and
gardens. The heat had been too great to allow of any wider
acquaintance, which would have included the gauchos, or cowboys;
at least the nearer ones, for the Tres Arroyas ranch was very large,
and Francisco never could have known them all. José had told him
that one could ride all day from the centre and not reach its
boundaries.
"Why do you use that to kill ants?" he asked of Manuel. "Our
servienta at home uses hot water when they get into the patio."

"Ah, yes, Señorito, but these country ants come in such armies it
would take a geyser of boiling water to kill them. Now, we are here
in the orchard; you can see how they destroy things."
Curious rivulets of tawny brown ran here and there as far as the
eye could reach.
"Last spring these ants fairly cleaned our peach trees of their
tender young leaves, and it was only by continuous labour that we
exterminated them. Now, look at them! Thick as ever."
"But how can you kill millions of ants with so small a machine?"
"Well, I can't this afternoon. I brought the machine here to place
it and get it ready; then early in the morning I will tap on the iron
bars of your window and you must follow me."
It was scarcely more than dawn the next morning when Francisco
heard the gentle tapping on the rejas at his window. He had
forgotten his engagement with Manuel, and started up in
bewilderment. The sight of the peon reminded him and he hurried
into his garments and was soon with Manuel in the crisp morning air.
"A little more of the sun above the horizon and we would have
been too late for to-day," said the swarthy Spaniard, as he busied
himself lighting the machine.
"Ants are early risers, and it's only by getting up before they have
made their morning toilets that we can manage to make war on
them."
Francisco laughed at the idea of an ant bathing and dressing, and
bent over on his knees beside Manuel who was scratching a match
to light the dry rubbish in the cylindrical can, in one end of which
was a small amount of sulphur. He screwed a lid on the other end,
inserted the snout into an ant hole and with a pair of bellows he
sent the volumes of sulphurous smoke into the labyrinthine passages
of the ant houses.

"Look, look," excitedly cried Francisco, as quantities of smoke
were seen issuing from many holes, here and there, within a radius
of several hundred yards; showing how intricate and many winding
are the underground passages of these industrious pests.
"Yes, there won't be many ants getting out to work this morning.
But in a short while they will be just as bad as ever."
They went from one part of the orchard to another until the sun
was too high, and they were obliged to stop until another morning.
Francisco learned, as they walked toward the house, that these ants
are the worst pest, excepting the locust, that the farmer has to
combat. They particularly delight in carrying away whole beds of
strawberries and they often come in armies that swarm over every
obstacle in their path.
As they entered the house, Francisco noticed that his uncle had
had café and was in his riding breeches ready for a morning gallop.
"May I go with you, Uncle Juan?" cried Francisco.
"Hey! That's spirit for you! Rode yourself to fragments a few days
ago and ready for another trial to-day. Che," clapping his hands as a
peon appeared.
"Saddle Barboza for the Señorito, inmediatamente."
Francisco gulped his café and nibbled at a biscuit, but he was too
excited to eat more.
When the horses were brought to the door, his eyes gleamed, for
he saw that the smaller horse, that was to be his to ride while he
was on the estancia, was resplendent in a new saddle, bridle and bit.
The servant brought a set of solid silver spurs and smart leather
riding boots which he assisted Francisco to put on, and which he told
him his uncle had had sent with the saddle and outfit from the city.
The stirrups were of silver, beautifully chased, and the head stall,
ornaments for the brow band which covers most of the horse's face,

and the pretel bangles that jingled across the horse's breast, were
all of the same valuable metal. It was indeed the outfit of a
gentleman, and on Barboza, the sleek bay horse, with the neat, light
hoof of the prairie steed, it seemed an equipment fit for a prince. His
uncle appeared at the mounting block and Francisco kissed him
again and again as he thanked him for the lovely gifts.
"Hey! Hey! We can't waste time thus, my boy. I am going over to
the west of the estancia to inspect some horse branding that is to
take place to-day. The mayor domo[16] will follow me later."
They cantered off across the corral and were soon on the open
plains. On and on, over the pastures, some of them red, like battle
grounds with the scarlet margarita or verbena; when again they
would reach a huge patch of white ones that looked at a distance
like snow.
"What was that, Uncle?" exclaimed Francisco, startled, as a large
bird with yellow breast and gray wings screeched across their path,
emitting a harsh cry of several syllables.
"That is the bicho-feo."[17]
"Why do they call it ugly bug? It is a bird."
"Because its cry is not unlike those words. Listen again and you
will hear how plainly he says it. It is a bird of prey and lives on
smaller birds. That bird just fluttering up out of the grass at your left
is a scissors bird."
"Oh, I know why. See how its two long tail feathers clip the air
like scissors as it flies."
They passed numbers of small gray owls; and once Francisco
spied a flock of flamingoes across the water of a small lake.
Occasionally they passed a shepherd's hut; but now they were
getting on beyond the sheep grazing pastures and great herds of
cattle came in sight.

"SOON AFTER HIS EAGER QUESTION
THEY PASSED A GROUP OF THEM."
Francisco leaped in his saddle with joy. "Oh! Uncle, are we coming
to the cowboys?"
His boyish enthusiasm had pictured them on their native heath so
often, and now he was really to see them! He had watched them
when they came to the city on holidays and walked along the Paseo
de Julio, where the pawn shops, with their tempting offers of silver
sheathed knives, gaily striped ponchos, and silver mounted
rebenques[18] draw them as honey draws bees; but to see them on
the plains,—that was what he wanted!
He did not have to call on
his reserve of patience;
indeed, soon after his eager
question they passed a
group of them, crouched on
the ground around a fire of
dry thistles, over which
hung a can, suspended by
wire from a tripod, and
which held the water for
their morning máte. They
arose to their feet as the
Colonel galloped past and
greeted him with vivas.
"Do they often use those
murderous looking knives on
each other, Uncle?" asked
Francisco; the sight of their
weapons having subdued
his zeal somewhat. They
were rougher looking men
in their working clothes than
when they came to the city
dressed for a lark.

"Seldom, Niño; unless they are intoxicated. They are not very
civilized and they have no education whatever. They fairly live on
their horses' backs and cannot be persuaded to do any work that
must be done outside their saddles."
They were, indeed, fierce in appearance. Their knee-high boots
were made of rawhide; they wore no trousers, but a striped blanket
held around the waist with a belt, then brought between the legs
and fastened again to the belt in front, formed the covering of the
lower part of the body. This is called the chirapa and when walking it
gives the wearer a bulky appearance, not unlike a Turk.
As these were peon gauchos, or low-class cowboys, they were
not so picturesque as the gentleman gaucho, who is entirely
different in appearance and character.
The mayor domo rode up to them within the first hour, and his
costume was that of the caballero class or gentleman gaucho.
He also wore the chirapa, but it was over long white cotton
trousers, the edges of which were embroidered and finished with
hand-made lace. Instead of the rawhide belt of the peon gaucho, his
was a strip of hogskin doubled, the inside forming a pocket, which
was stitched into compartments, these being made secure with
clasps made of silver coins; from all of this hung a festoon of coins
encircling the entire waist. The large clasp in the front was of solid
silver, carved to represent the crest of Argentina. Several knives
were thrust through his elaborate belt, and his riding whip was of
closely braided rawhide, with a heavy silver handle.
Francisco eyed him curiously, but with evident admiration. This
was more to his liking, and he rode between this gentleman of the
Pampas and his soldier uncle with great pride. Almost, he was
persuaded to be a gaucho, but a side glance at his idolized uncle
brought quick repentance to his heart.
How could he be so disloyal to his family traditions! A soldado,[19]
of course, that was his destiny.

FOOTNOTES:
[16] Superintendent.
[17] Beech-o fay'-o.
[18] Riding whips.
[19] Soldier.

CHAPTER VIII
CATTLE BRANDING
They reached the western corral about ten o'clock, and found the
branding already under way. Several dozen peon gauchos had
assembled and they had driven the horses to be branded into an
enclosure.
"See, Niño, these are all young animals; they have never had the
iron on them."
"Why do you brand them, Uncle Juan? Your estancia is so large
surely they could not stray on to a neighbour's ranch; and then the
gauchos watch them carefully?"
"Yes, but there are so many thousands that, despite the best of
care, our horses stray away occasionally. Before every yearly round-
up, we send peons to all the neighbouring ranches to gather in the
strayed ones; and if our brand is on them there is never any
question as to their owner. I am gradually having the outskirts of the
estancia enclosed in barbed wire fencing, but it is so many leagues
around that it is no easy matter. But look, see how they catch them!"
They were using the bolas, and although Francisco had often
seen them in the shop windows, he had never seen them in use.
They are an aboriginal device for lassoing cattle and horses. They
consist each of three stone balls covered with leather and all
attached to long thongs, two of which are longer than the third. The
ends of these thongs are attached together and when the gaucho
uses them he raises his hand holding these ends above his head and
whirls them around and around to gather momentum, then opening
his hand the weapon flies away to coil itself about the feet of the

"BLAZED THE LINES OF THE TRES
ARROYAS ON ITS HIP"
animal that he wishes to lasso. These gauchos are so skilful in the
use of the bolas that their aim is unerring, and although it
sometimes bruises the captive's legs, it is a most convenient method
for catching a fleet-footed horse or cow.
When the gaucho in the
enclosure had caught a
horse by this means, he
immediately pulled it to the
ground. A peon sat on its
neck while another held it
by a rope around its fore-
legs, and a third blazed the
lines of the Tres Arroyas
brand on its hip. The mark
was in the shape of a
horseshoe, inside of which
was a cross; and at least
ten of these groups were
busy all of the time, burning
it on the young animals.
"What do you raise these
wild horses for, Uncle
Juan?" inquired Francisco,
who had not missed one
single detail of the
performance. "They are not
fine horses like Barboza
here," and he patted his
steed's neck affectionately.
"No, they are not, by any means. These wild horses are raised for
their hides mainly, although very little of them goes to waste when
they are skinned. Look over yonder, near that cluster of mud huts,
where the hides are drying in the air and sun."

Francisco's eyes followed the end of the silver riding whip that his
uncle used to point with, and saw tier after tier of poles, from which
were stretched horsehides to stakes in the ground below.
Turning to Don Carlos, the mayor domo, who was near-by, the
Colonel inquired the worth of the horses being branded.
"Not less than ten or twelve dollars each," answered the
superintendent. "These are very good ones. Does the Señor care to
have his breakfast now?"
For some time, Francisco had been feeling pangs of hunger. His
hurried café had not been sufficient nourishment for the long hot
ride, and now his hunger was aroused by odours that came to his
nostrils like pleasant messengers; yet, he could not see anything
cooking.
"Uncle, shall we eat out here with the gauchos?" he asked, wild-
eyed.
"Very near them anyhow, but not exactly with them. Manuel came
ahead of us to prepare our almuerzo, which is in process of cooking
over yonder behind that clump of willows. Before we eat you shall
see the gauchos eat, but I warn you it is not a prepossessing sight.
"Here, Don Carlos, have the men go to their breakfast now, the
lad wants to see their table manners."
Don Carlos rode into the corral, spoke a few words and the
branding ceased. Each man mounted his own pony, for an Argentine
cowboy never walks, be his journey ever so short. With cheers and
shouts they galloped toward the mud huts near-by.
Francisco and the Colonel followed at a more dignified pace. They
found the men gathered about in groups, squatting on the ground or
sitting on ox skulls.
The beef had been quartered and roasted on a spit over a
charcoal fire, outside one of the huts. Each man, without ceremony,

had "fallen to" and helped himself, by cutting great chunks of the
meat from the large piece on the fire.
Holding one end with his teeth and the other with his hand, each
man would sever the bite about two inches from his mouth with one
of his silver-handled belt knives.
"You see how superfluous are knives, forks and plates," said the
Colonel in an undertone to Francisco as they watched this primitive
process.
"And now for our own breakfast. I am as hollow as is the wild
pumpkin at the end of summer," and he gave a sharp blow to his
horse, another to Barboza, and they were off towards their own
waiting meal in the shadow of the willows.
Manuel had killed a small kid soon after reaching the corral, and
had roasted it on a spit in its skin over a fire of dry thistles and
charcoal. He was basting it with salt water, which he had brought in
a bottle. In the coals below were sweet potatoes roasting in their
jackets. So tempting were the combined odours of lamb and sweet
potatoes that Francisco ran to the little stream to wash himself, in
order that he might begin to appease his appetite at once.
"I never was so hungry," said he, as he took the tin plate offered
him by Manuel. "I think I could eat with my hands like the cowboys!
Do they ever eat anything but meat?"
"Seldom. They care but little for vegetables; not enough to take
the trouble of raising a few. Meat and galletas, the hard biscuit of
the Pampas, often three or four months old, is all they have besides
their máte, that they must have always.
"Que esperanza! lad, this lamb is good! It takes me back to other
days. Many times on our expeditions into the provinces have I eaten
thus."
"Tell me, do tell me of one while we eat and rest," coaxed
Francisco.

"There were many, lad," said the Colonel, as he passed his plate
back to Manuel for another piece of the smoking, savoury lamb. "I've
never told you of the expedition of General Roca into Patagonia. I
was commanding a regiment at that time, one of the regiments that
became famous because of that remarkable undertaking.
"Patagonia is all of the southern-most part of this continent lying
between the Rio[20] Negro and the Straits of Magellan, excepting the
narrow strip between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean, which
belongs to Chile. This country is not the barren, unproductive
country now that it was before our expedition carried civilization to
its wild wastes and reclaimed those vast prairies from the Indians."
"But, Uncle Juan, what right had Argentina to take the land from
the Indians of Patagonia? They had lived there for centuries and it
was theirs."
"It is a long story, Niño, and I shall give you only the bare outline.
You see, Patagonia is a series of vast terraces from the Atlantic
Ocean to the foot of the Andes. On these well watered steppes,
Patagonian Indians, mainly the Chennas, raised their cattle, allowing
them to rove at will. But the winters there are most severe,
especially when a pampero blows; so, during the winter months,
they drove their immense droves of cattle to the northward into the
foothills of the Andes, where it was warmer. During these winter
sojourns close to the frontier of our Republic, they lived by
murdering and stealing from our settlements, and the development
of our lands was being retarded because these pioneers were
obliged to flee to the cities and leave their fields of grain and maize,
their vineyards and their cattle to the mercy of the marauders.
"Gradually the outposts of our civilization were creeping closer to
Buenos Aires, instead of extending and growing as they should. Do
you now see why we were justified in fighting them?"
"Yes, but I didn't know they had made any trouble. I supposed
they were peaceful."

"Far from it. At last when Don Nicolas Avellaneda became
President, he sent General Roca, who was my general, and the
Minister of War, into Patagonia to exterminate these Chennas.
"It was not an easy task, for these Indians are a fierce race,
giants in size and strength. Do you know how they came by their
name, Patagonians?"
"I have never heard, it must have something to do with their feet
as 'patagon' means 'large foot.'"
"That's it exactly. Magellan, the discoverer, saw their footprints in
the sand and because of their magnitude, he believed them to be
giants, and called them that before he had ever seen them.
"Well, General Roca never knew discouragement, and he set
about their defeat by digging great trenches, twenty feet deep and
twenty feet wide, while the Indians were up in the mountains with
their herds of cattle.
"These trenches he covered with boughs, over which earth was
scattered, and when all was ready he sent us back to drive the
Chennas toward the ditches.
"It was a terrible price to pay for their cruelty, and I shudder now
as I recall that awful day; but nearly all civilization is bought with
blood, and it certainly ran in torrents then. The Indians,
unsuspecting, fell headlong, thousands of them, into the trenches,
and the few that were unhurt by the fall or by being crushed in the
trenches were made prisoners and distributed among the victorious
regiments as servants or soldiers. The women and children were
captured and sent to the cities to work.
"Ah! But those ditches! The birds, foxes, and armadillos must
have grown fat on the thousands of bodies we left on that plain."
Francisco begged for more, his eyes were ablaze and his cheeks
flushed, but the Colonel said:

"No more of fighting, anyhow; but come here by the stream, now
that we have finished our meal, and I will tell you of some of the
animals I saw in Patagonia."
"Did you ever chase ostriches?" eagerly inquired the boy.
"Yes, yes, several times and it is great sport; and once, for three
days, I had only ostrich eggs to eat. You see, we were digging those
same trenches and could not spare many of the men for hunting. I
was ill and could not eat the army rations, so José brought me
ostrich eggs and cooked them as the Indians do—in the red-hot
coals."
"And was José with you on that expedition?" exclaimed Francisco.
"Yes, through all my campaigns he has been my body servant. It
was José who told us how the Indians catch ostriches; he had heard
it when a boy among his tribe of Araucanians."
Francisco clapped his hands in anticipation.
"A circle of fire around a great area was built and the huntsmen
remained within this circle. The ostriches and guanacos that were
thus imprisoned in the circle of fire were easy prey for they fear fire
and ran almost into our arms. Why, what's the matter, Niño?"
The interest had died out of Francisco's eyes and he sat with his
hands clasped over his knees.
"Well, Uncle Juan, I'll tell you. I'm disappointed!"
"Disappointed! How?"
"Uncle Juan, I don't think that's fair play or good sport."
"Que esperanza!" exclaimed his uncle, secretly proud of the boy's
loyalty to his conviction, but determined to draw him out on the
subject.

"And who are you that you may sit in judgment on generals and
captains?"
"Oh! I don't think one's rank has anything to do with one's
opinions. Uncle, if a peon thinks a thing is not right he must not do
that even though the President, himself, commands him; and I don't
think hunting animals in that fashion is fair. The little English boy I
play with at school is always saying that we Spaniards are not—well,
he calls it 'sporty.' That's their English word for it. He says that the
Englishmen are the truest sports on earth and that they would never
hunt as we do."
"To a certain extent he is right, Francisco. We don't care for the
excitement of the chase merely for the excitement as they do; we
are less active in our temperament, and prefer to gain our ends with
the least expenditure of energy. I want you, above all things, my lad,
to be broad-minded, and able to see your own shortcomings, so
think this matter out and if you are convinced that we are not right
as a people, in our attitude towards sports, or anything else for that
matter, formulate your own opinions and then stick to them.
"It is through such men that all nations grow; and the men that
are able to see their national deficiencies are the great men, the
reformers, and the leaders.
"But in regard to the ostriches. How would you catch them if you
had the opportunity?"
"I should do it as the English lad tells me he saw them do it in
Chubut Territory; that's part of Patagonia, isn't it, Uncle?"
The Colonel nodded, smoking industriously.
"Well, he says the real way to catch ostriches is with the bolas.
He saw his father chase them there and he says they hunt them in
an open plain, not in a circle of fire. They give the birds an equal
chance with them for their lives, and if the ostrich can't outrun them,
then, when they are within throwing distance, they whirl the bolas

around their legs and trip them. He says it is fun to see an ostrich
run; it stretches out its long neck and with its awkward long legs
kicks up a great cloud of dust behind it. He also told me about
seeing guanacos and pumas. Did you ever hunt them, Uncle?"
"Yes, but guanacos are hard to shoot because of their keen sense
of smell, they can scent a human being over a mile away; but their
flesh is delicious, tasting much like venison.
"Have you ever seen the puma skin in the library of my city
house?"
"Yes, I have often seen it and one day I measured it; it was over
two metros in length. Are those guanaco skins in the dining-room at
the estancia—the tawny yellow ones with white spots and such deep
soft fur?"
"Yes, and the ostrich robe that your aunt uses in her carriage is
made of the breasts of young ostriches; it is as soft as down and
marked brown and white. The Patagonian Indian women often wear
them for capes, although they are very expensive.
"You know, the ostriches we have here are not the kind that
produce the long plumes worn in ladies' hats; these are called the
'rhea' and are an allied species. Speaking of skins, Francisco, I will
tell you of one that will interest you. It is a vicuña, and one of the
finest I have ever seen. It was presented to your great-grandfather,
General Lacevera, by a chief of the Incas, as a vicuña robe is worn
only by one of royal blood among the Indians. It saw service as your
great-grandfather's poncho during his remarkable career, and is now
over one hundred years old, yet it is as soft as velvet. Being one of
our family heirlooms, it shall be yours, as I have no son."
"That pleases me and I shall be very proud of it."
"As you well may be. Whatever fortunes come to you in life, Niño,
remember you are a Lacevera."

Sleep was sweet that night, and Francisco's head was scarcely on
his pillow when guanacos, vicuñas and even gauchos were forgotten
in dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER IX
A SUCCESSFUL SEARCH
There was not a dull moment for Francisco during the weeks that
followed. Don Carlos, the superintendent, lived in the great house
the year through. He was a bachelor and a man of education, so
that when the Colonel came each summer he insisted that he keep
his usual quarters; for the house was very extensive and the Colonel
enjoyed his company at meals and during the long evenings.
Francisco had accompanied Don Carlos on several excursions and
once, with a tropilla of horses (eight or ten riding horses driven
loose by a peon for fresh mounts on a long journey), they had gone
on a journey of five days to a neighbouring estancia to purchase
algarroba posts for the extensive fencing that was taking place on
the Tres Arroyas ranch. This algarroba wood is like iron and under
water is almost imperishable.
They had passed by one small estancia devoted almost
exclusively to peanut culture; there were leagues and leagues of
them being raised to be shipped to the Mediterranean ports to be
made into olive oil. They had their dinner at this estancia and
Francisco ate bread made from powdered peanuts mixed with wheat
flour and he found it very delicious.
José had taken him on several fishing excursions, and once they
had hunted armadillos with small dogs. Francisco had laughed
heartily at the antics of one dog, who had almost caught the horny-
plated little animal when it suddenly rolled up into a ball, its back of
movable, bony bands enveloping it like an armour, and rolled off a
bluff over the river bank, falling fully fifty feet; while the puzzled dog

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