CHAPTER IX.
FROM RIO QUARTO TO CERRO MORO.
On Saturday, April 14, we unlashed our oxen before Rio Quarto. All along the road the patron and capataz had spoken of this village, which they described as being very beautiful, filled with fine white-washed houses, and inhabited by a wealthy class of people, many of whom owned thousands of cattle which were pastured upon estancias outside the village. Besides, it was here that the great Indian battles had taken place: both the gentlemen failed to inform me that the Indians were generally the victors, not the Cristianos, as they called the citizens of the village.
The woman, with her two children, who had travelled with us, set out for a visit to the village, and, bent upon exploring the place, I accompanied them.
Rio Quarto is situated upon a plain, and differs but little in its general appearance from the other towns. It is laid out in a regular manner, and is shut in by a mud wall two or three feet in thickness, and five or more in height. The wall is surrounded by a broad trench about four feet deep, which serves as a defence against the Indians. It was hard for me at first to understand the value of this dry ditch; but I learned afterwards that no more formidable defence was needed against an attack from the savages; for, during engagements, they never leave the backs of their horses, and as they cannot leap the ditches, nor scramble out of them when in, they avoid the obstacles with care.
At the time of our visit to Rio Quarto, there was no little commotion among the people; for news had been received of a projected Indian attack, and the news seemed to be continued by the recent intelligence that the savages had drawn off from other places, and were concentrating near the town.
The garrison had been reënforced by soldiers sent by the governor of the province. These troops, in their ignorance and alarm, had loaded an old iron gun in a most singular manner; for they had first put in several pounds of lead balls and slugs, then rammed in a heavy wadding, and finally charged with powder. I judged from their manner of loading cannons, that their efficiency as soldiers, should an attack be made, would prove of little value.
The houses of Rio Quarto are built of mud, and thatched with dry grass; the streets are of mud, the walls are of mud, and the ideas of the people are muddy thick. They seem merely to exist, rather than live with any idea of what living is. The few rich men of the village own the cattle that feed in the surrounding country, while the poorer classes support themselves as best they can, living on a meagre diet of pumpkins, peaches, corn, and rarely, meat. They sometimes labor for their wealthier townspeople, but usually sleep the time away. All the persons that I met were squalid in appearance, and the children were half naked.
The gardens about the town contained but little more than quince or peach trees. At the corners of the streets were filthy pulperias (small shops), and the only decent building in town was the church in the plaza, which was surmounted by a dome, steeple, and cross. On the side of the building, in place of windows, hemispherical holes were cut, and covered with muslin; in fact, the only glass that I saw was in the two or three street lamps. As it was Saturday, the vigilantes were sweeping the plaza with a large hide, attached to the surcingle of a horse which was driven around the square.
Having fasted since the day before, I purchased some bread made in the place, and shared it with my companions. It was poor in quality, and contained no small amount of sand and sticks. The flour had been brought on mules from Mendoza, three hundred and eighty miles distant, and bread was something of a luxury in Rio Quarto.
After quite a stay, nearly a day in length, we left Rio Quarto. Our route lay over an undulating pampa, covered with long grass, but scarcely a herd of cattle could be seen, and for miles we met with no evidence that human beings inhabited the country. Water was seldom found, but the small quantities that we discovered lay in little hollows of two or three inches in depth, and was of a better quality than any that we had met with on the road.
The herdsmen are extremely dirty in their habits, and those who performed the duty of drivers in our caravan were particularly filthy; many of them, indeed, showed no token of ablutions performed for many weeks.
While the troop halted to rest the oxen close by a pool of water, I could not resist the temptation to bathe, and, stripping myself, enjoyed the luxury of a good bath, which had been denied me for more than a fortnight. I then washed my linen, and returned to the men who were sitting around the fire, solacing themselves with a round of matés. They laughed heartily at my ideas of cleanliness, and asked, through Don Manuel, my interpreter, what opinion I had formed of themselves, who could cross the pampas and return again—a journey of eighty days—without once applying water to their skins. I replied that it was my opinion that they were very dirty fellows, and suited for the country in which they lived. At this answer they again laughed, and replied that white skins, like those of all foreigners, were exceedingly inconvenient, because of the great attention required for retaining its color.
The next day was Sunday, but the caravan kept on its way as usual.
Throughout the whole day the sun poured down its scorching rays, and the hot wind from the north was accompanied by myriads of mosquitos and minute black flies.
We had nothing left of the ox that had been finished the day before, save the head, which had hung upon the outside of one of the carts for four days, and was in a decomposed state. The sight of the filthy cranium caused me to wonder why it was not thrown away, for I never dreamed that it was intended for any use; but it was not to be wasted.
We had not eaten anything since the morning of the previous day; but at noon a halt was ordered, a quantity of dried argols of cattle were collected, a fire was kindled with flint and steel, which the herdsman always carries in his belt, and an old iron kettle, belonging to one of the carts, was partly filled with water, and placed above the coals. When it was properly adjusted, the men piled the dry dung around the bottom so as to retain the heat beneath it, and soon the water was bubbling and beginning to boil. The old and decomposed head of the ox was now brought to the fire. Its contents—the brains, &c.—were scooped out, and thrown into the pot, and with the addition of a little salt the stew was complete. At any other time the sight of such a mess would have disgusted me, but things were changed now, and, faint with hunger, I watched the boiling of the stew with no little interest.
At last Facundo, the cook, who had stood beside the kettle during the whole time, and had occasionally tasted the dish with his horn spoon, and as often had declared it “excellent,” summoned the party to dinner. I remember well that I scrambled with the others to get at it, but I only procured a very small portion, which I was obliged to swallow so hot that I scalded my tongue severely.
The meal was finished in a much shorter time than I have occupied in describing it, and soon each driver harried off to lasso his oxen, which they lashed to the yokes, and we were again in motion.
About three o’clock we drew up beside some rough hammocks of earth to feed the cattle; the country was more undulating, and was here covered with wire-grass, which the cattle at once began to feed upon. I had here a first view of the Sierra of Cordova, the boundary line of the provinces of Cordova and San Luis.
The patron had purchased an old cow a few days before at San Bernardo, and having stinted the men as long as possible, he now decided to kill her. This was no easy matter, for the cow was as stubborn and furious as any bull, and had only been kept manageable by attaching her by a strap of hide to another animal equally fierce and ungovernable. These two animals had required particular care to prevent them from straying from the troop.
The strap that bound the two brutes together was cut asunder, and Don Manuel, the best gaucho of the party, set off in full chase of the doomed cow, swinging the lasso above his head, and urging on his horse by repeated applications of the enormous spurs that adorned his heels. When within eight or ten yards of the animal, the valiant don, with a fiercely uttered ca-jo, let fly the lasso, and at the same time wheeled his horse.
The cow, continuing on her headlong course, was suddenly brought up by the fatal noose tightening around her neck, and she went tumbling to the ground.
It was a wonder to me that the fall did not break her neck. She arose, bewildered, to her feet, and for an instant paused; but quickly divining the cause of her entrapment, she lowered her head, and made a run at the don and his horse; but the little animal that he bestrode having been well trained, was in a gallop before the cow drew near, and the lasso kept as tight as ever. The victim now uttered a loud bellow, and charged blindly at one of the cart-wheels: the force of the shock with which she struck rendered her wild with rage. She bellowed until the tightened noose choked all utterance, when she renewed her charges upon the men, horses, and carts. The patron now called loudly upon Maistro Ramon, one of the leading men, and, mounting his mule, Maistro galloped to the rescue.
The cow stood at bay, tossing up the earth with her nose, and stamping wrathfully with her hoofs; but her new assailant was a skilful gaucho. He started her, and threw his noose around one of her hind legs, when, galloping in opposite directions, the two men tripped the animal up, and stretched her upon the ground.
One of the peons fastened her four hoofs together with a piece of hide, and another man officiated as butcher. With his long knife he despatched her, and in half an hour she was skinned, cut up, and divided among the carts. When the meat was cooked I ate a moderate-sized piece, and strolled away from the men, who were gormandizing beside the fires, to watch the curious feast that the birds of prey were making upon the refuse parts of the cow.
Whether some of the birds of prey discover their food by means of sight or scent, has long been an unsettled question, some naturalists affirming that the former sense is their principal guide, and others that the latter is the only one.
Audubon, in his Ornithological Biography, gives some accounts of interesting experiments that he made with the turkey-buzzard, proving that this bird is attracted only by the organs of vision to its food. Other writers have offered other observations, corroborative of Audubon’s position. And I would here present a fact that came to my observation, concerning one of the most common South American birds, helping to show that Audubon was correct in his opinion.
Before the cow was butchered, I searched the plain, but not a single caracara (Polyborus Brasiliensis), the well-known carrion-lover of the pampas, was visible. There was no wind stirring, and had there been, the scent of the fresh offal of the cow could certainly not have been carried to any distance. But the cow had hardly been butchered when a single caracara was seen on the horizon. He had hardly alighted beside the offal when another and another were distinguished, coming in the path of the first. For half an hour they continued to arrive, all coming from one direction, and as one alighted upon the carcass another came in view, flying straight to the spot where the others were collected. I remained watching them for a long time, and when I left there were at least fifty birds on the spot, and the line of flight was still unbroken; each new comer being greeted by the others with their indistinct guttural ca-ra-ca-ra! Now, of course, all these birds had not been attracted by the sense of smell, for the supposition that the scent of the newly killed animal could have travelled miles in a few moments is simply preposterous.
The birds must have been flying in air, on the lookout for food, and, as they are filled with a most wonderful vision, on seeing the first one hurrying in one direction, the natural inference must have been—if birds draw inferences—that he was hurrying to something to eat. The birds nearest him followed him, others followed them, and they arrived at the slaughter-ground in the order in which they started for it—the nearest first, and the farthest last.
Perhaps a more extended account of the caracara will not be uninteresting to the reader.
The caracaras feed upon anything that comes in their way, gleaning carrion like the buzzards, and killing other birds like the hawks. I even once saw one attack a lamb, but the old dam interfered, and after receiving some rebuffs from the bird, succeeded in protecting her offspring from her enemy.
This bird possesses an unenviable reputation as a thief among the gauchos, and, as it kills young birds, lambs, even seizes the game that the hunter has just killed, it is far from being a favorite with any class of the people.
It inhabits an extended geographical range. I have seen it in south-western Texas and in most parts of South America. This species is the “Mexican Eagle.” A fine bird, indeed, for the emblem of a nation!—it is emblazoned upon the Mexican flag; but we of the North must not be too critical, for we still retain upon our banner and coin that selfish thief, the bald-headed eagle—the most relentless robber and pirate of our rapacious birds.
The caracara is sometimes found in company with the Gallinazo (Cathartes atratus), also known to the people on the Plata as the carrion crow. This latter bird is found north of the Rio Negro in various localities, not being met with except near the rivers and damp places. I did not observe them about Buenos Ayres, but found them afterwards common dwellers about the vicinity of Mendoza, along the bases of the Andes. The habits of the turkey-buzzard are so well known that I will not dwell further upon them here. I have noticed that the species seems to be tamer on the southern continent than it is on the northern. It has the extended range of one hundred degrees of latitude.
Though somewhat repulsive from the offensive odor which it receives from its food, this bird is one of the most useful species. As a scavenger and remover of decaying animal matter in the tropics it is invaluable, and it is properly protected and cared for in many cities.
At noon, April 6, we reached the mountain range that had loomed up before us for several days, and camped at its base. The sierra terminated in low hills, barren and destitute of verdure, save where occasional clumps of dwarf trees grew about their bases. A little rivulet, taking its rise in the mountains, flowed down through a deep fissure in the soil, and afforded good water for the cattle.
We remained at this comfortable camp through the remainder of the day and night, but started early the next morning.
The monotony of our journey was disturbed by the arrival and passing of a troop of sixty mules loaded with little barrels of sugar and hide bales of yerba (tea). This troop was driven by six men, and was bound to Mendoza. Like similar parties, the troop was headed by an old mare carrying a bell, the sound of which keeps the animals from straying away.
Though the mule is a stubborn creature, it has a very strong affection for the madrina, as the mare is called, and follows her like a colt. I have often watched two large troops approaching each other from opposite directions, in some place where the road was very narrow, as in a mountain defile, and have been surprised to witness the absence of all bewilderment on the part of the animals. Though both troops were crowded together, each mule kept with his own party, and followed the sound of the madrina’s bell, even in the darkest night.
Having wound around the point of a sierra, our caravan kept on until dusk, when we camped for the night, supping upon beef and four armadillos, which the peons had caught during the day in the grass.
The armadillo is a singular animal, both in appearance and mode of living. Four species are found upon the pampas. In Buenos Ayres they are known by the general name of peluda. Darwin applies this term to a particular species—Dasypus villosus.
The gauchos call the female armadillo Mulita, which name Darwin uses to distinguish a separate species. The male is called Cinquizcho.
As my readers doubtless are aware, the body of the animal is protected by a coat of hard scales, consisting of several divisions, adapted to the locomotion of the animal. Its head is pointed, and is scantily clothed with little tufts of hair which grow out between the scales. The feet and legs are short, giving the animal, when walking, a waddling gait, similar to that of the tortoise. The toe nails are sharp, and admirably shaped for rapid burrowing in the ground.
All the armadillos, with the exception of one species, which is nocturnal in its habits, are diurnal, retiring to their burrows at dusk, and coming forth at dawn to feed upon the roots of grass, insects, worms, &c.
Their burrows do not exceed eight feet in depth. In these retreats the female brings forth four or five young, which follow her, soon after birth, in her journeyings upon the plains. When man approaches them, if near a burrow, they retire into it; but when they are distant from home they endeavor to hide in the grass until all danger is past. While in most localities these animals were found, to the south of Rosario and Mendoza they were very numerous. The females of one species that I frequently met had two mammæ. I think the others had four or six.
The flesh of the armadillo is white and delicate, and has the flavor of young pork. The peons cook the animal by dividing the two shells at the junction, and burying the whole in hot ashes and coals, and allowing it to bake until thoroughly done.
Darwin, in his account of these animals, says that three species of armadillos are found in this country, while a fourth species, the Mulita, does not come as far south as Bahia Blanca. Of these first mentioned are the Dasypus minutus, or Pichy; the D. villosus, or Peludo; and the D. apar, or Mataco. The Pichy is found several hundred miles farther south than any species.
The Apar, commonly called mataco, is remarkable by having only three movable bands, the rest of its tessellated covering being nearly inflexible. It has the power of rolling itself into a perfect sphere, like one kind of English wood-louse. In this state it is safe from the attack of dogs; for the dog, not being able to take the whole in its mouth, tries to bite one side, and the ball slips away. The smooth, hard covering of the mataco offers a better defence than the short spines of the hedgehog. The pichy prefers a very dry soil, and the sand plains near the coast, where for many months it cannot taste water, are its favorite resort. It often tries to escape notice by squatting close to the ground. In the course of a day’s ride near Bahia Blanca several were generally met with. The instant one was perceived it was necessary, in order to catch it, almost to tumble off one’s horse, for in the soft soil the animal burrowed so quickly that its hinder quarters would almost disappear before we could alight. It seems almost a pity to kill such nice little animals; for, as a gaucho said, while sharpening his knife on the back of one (the gauchos often use a portion of the armadillo’s armor for a knife hone), “Son tan mansos” (they are so quiet).
Another writer informs us that the armadillos “burrow to the extent of thirteen or fourteen feet, descending in an abruptly sloping direction for some three or four feet, then taking a sudden bend, and inclining slightly upward. Much of their food is procured beneath the surface of the earth. They possess carnivorous tastes, and feed upon dead cattle, insects, snails, snakes, as well as upon roots. The giant armadillo, according to one writer, digs up dead bodies in the burial grounds.”
“When hunting these animals,” says Waterton, “the first point is to ascertain if the inhabitant of the burrow is at home, which is discovered by pushing a stick into each hole, and watching for the egress of mosquitos. If any come out, the armadillo is in his hole. A long rod is thrust into the burrow in order to learn its direction, and a hole is dug in the ground to meet the end of the stick. A fresh departure is taken from that point, the rod is again introduced, and by dint of laborious digging the animal is at last captured. Meanwhile the armadillo is not idle, but continues to burrow in the sand in the hopes of escaping its persecutors. It cannot, however, dig so fast as they can, and is at last obliged to yield.”
While we were lying behind the fire, after supper, a loud, creaking noise in the distance announced the approach of a caravan from Mendoza. As it drew near our dogs commenced barking, and were answered by the mule of the captain of the caravan with a loud bray. While the concert continued, other mules and asses took up the strain, and our camp was “vocal with melodious sounds” as the caravan came in sight. As they passed I counted sixteen wagons heavily laden with cargoes of hides.
A fresh breeze from the east was springing up as I lay down on my hide amid dogs and sleeping natives, and as I dozed away, it seemed difficult to decide which of the two was the most agreeable bedfellow; for as it grew colder, and a sharp frost came on one dirty fellow crowded me off my hide, and a still more filthy dog, covered with fleas, crept under my blanket, from the shelter of which no moderate effort of mine could remove him. At last, becoming desperate amid dirt and flea-bites, I dislodged the intruder by a kick sharp enough to cause him to cry out, and arouse his master Facundo, who waxed exceedingly wrathful at such demonstrations on his dog by a “gringo.”
Early the next morning the caravan was on the march, and for an hour our course led over high hills and across one small stream that flowed from the sierra behind us. After crossing these hills I observed beyond, along the bases of some low mountains, a few fields of corn and a number of mud huts, where dwelt, in all their indolence, a party of natives—half Indians, half Spanish, or Christians, as Don Manuel called all his countrymen on the pampas.
As our troop trudged slowly along, some fifteen men, women, and children followed in our track, offering to sell corn, soft cheese, and a few loaves of bread, very small, and containing a goodly proportion of sand. These loaves had not been baked in the ashes after the more primitive fashion of the country still practised in many parts, but in Egyptian-shaped ovens, built of adobes (sun-dried bricks), and plastered within and without with mud. I purchased a sample of the bread, which proved even tougher than the meat of the old cow, and was not half as clean; but being a new article of food to us, it, proved a luxury not to be despised. One woman, who exchanged corn with the drivers for meat, presented me with nine ears of the corn. Knowing from the experiences of the journey, that after a feast comes a fast, I hid the corn inside a pair of boots among the rest of my baggage in one of the wagons, and felt well armed against the hungry time that was sure to follow.
An hour later the caravan halted. While the cattle were grazing, overpowered by the long walk under a hot sun, I lay down to take a short siesta, from which, on awakening, I discovered that somebody had carried off my little stock of food.
From this occurrence I never afterwards stored food, but ate whatever came into my possession.
At dusk two well-dressed travellers, who proved to be Frenchmen, came up to our encampment, and made inquiries regarding the road. They reported that serious trouble had occurred near San Luis among the farmers, the Indians having cut the throats of fourteen persons! This intelligence caused much speculation among the drivers, and, as before, a general gloom pervaded the whole company.
As soon as everything was arranged in camp for any emergencies that might occur, I rolled myself up in my blanket, and soon forgot all troubles in sleep.