CHAPTER X.
FROM RIO QUARTO TO CERRO MORO—CONTINUED.
While all around me seemed to offer danger in some form, I grew lighter at heart every day that we further penetrated the country, for everything was novel and captivating to the fancy. I was at last among a strange people, and their habits and mode of life, and the many incidents that were constantly occurring, were full of interest to me. Although my heart was light, and I trudged along cheerfully and with courage, my companions in the caravan were but little calculated to make the trip a pleasant one; and I must say that they did not try to change their evidently disagreeable nature.
The rations I received from the tall Santia gueño, my “protector and firm friend,” were selected from the toughest and driest portions of the meat, while he devoured my living, and at the same time, at meals, called the attention of the whole company to the unsuccessful attempts I made at mastication.
At times, when indignation caused me to reply in no gentle terms to their conduct, in a tongue different from theirs, I perceived my folly, for it only served to draw out more jibes and greater insults from the fellows.
When we were in motion, to avoid uncongenial company, I started in advance of the troop, and kept far ahead of it. Sometimes I improved these opportunities to brood over the ill-treatment of the men; but at sight of a wild animal, or a gaucho pursuing a colt across the plains, an instant revival of my spirits took place, and my whole senses were awakened to things around me.
I usually had enough to occupy my mind; sometimes I was studying the habits of birds or insects, at others following with my eyes the movements of a herd of cattle, or gazing upon the mirage in the distant horizon, in which our caravan was reflected with wonderful distinctness.
I have said that the peons had not treated me with great friendliness lately; but since we left Rio Quarto their coolness grew more noticeable, and at length I began to fear that we should not part without a collision, in which case I knew I could depend on but two people in the whole caravan, the old Indian and the woman spoken of in a preceding chapter.
These two had always treated me kindly, while all the others had given me uneasiness in some way or other.
Before the troop had left Rosario, my friend, Señor G., cautioned me against showing money, and I had followed his advice, having departed from it only on one or two occasions. When near Rio Quarto, not wishing to be thought penurious, I had imprudently purchased more than my share of the pumpkins and melons, which served to regale the peons at night, when collected around the camp-fires; and this had caused the ignorant fellows to suppose that there was mucha plata (much money) in my possession. And this was the cause of their ill-feeling towards me.
Several times they were particularly anxious to know if I had friends in Mendoza, and who were the persons that would receive me on the arrival of the troop in that town. I at last found it necessary to introduce to their consideration a character as new to myself as he was to them. One night, when we were lying around the fires, I, after describing my home and friends, casually remarked that one of them, a medico, the distinguished Dr. Carmel, of Mendoza, was anxiously awaiting my arrival, and that his apprehensions for my safety would increase until I reached the town.
To the reader whose conscience has never been subjected to violence, this subterfuge may appear unmanly; but, in justice to myself, I was obliged thus to impose upon the peons, and the result fully proved it.
Under Dr. Carmel’s strong (prospective) arm and influence I found more peaceful hours, and suffered less from annoyance than if his name had never been mentioned, or if the villanous fellows had been left in their first belief; which at the same time was correct, that I was a friendless gringo, to whom they might offer any insult without fear of punishment. In what manner was I, a solitary stripling, to protect myself against more than a score of barbarians, in the very heart of a country to the languages and localities of which I was a total stranger, unless by subterfuge?
But my troubles were not yet over.
While walking, as usual, one day, in advance of the carts, which came slowly creaking behind, my attention was directed to Juan, the little son of my female friend, who came running after me. Juan spoke only broken Spanish; but upon reaching my side he commenced a voluble discourse, which, however, I gave little notice to, supposing it to be merely childish prattle. At length the boy took my hand, and demanded my attention.
From what he said, I could, indeed, glean but little; but it was enough to confirm my suspicions, which I had had for some time, that some rascality was being planned by the drivers. From mispronounced words and broken sentences, I received warning not to eat with the capataz at the fire,—“Sta malo no come con él,”—and to be cautious when with the men. Juan said that his mother had sent him to tell me this. The little fellow was about to communicate something further regarding his mother, when he suddenly became silent, and squeezed my hand. I looked around, and beheld Chico, the servant of the capataz, close upon our heels; he had stealthily approached, without attracting our notice.
“Why do you walk?” interrogated little Juan.
To this question the swarthy Chico, half Indian, half negro, made no answer; but he uttered a sly laugh, that meant a good deal. We walked on for upwards of an hour, during which time the half-breed kept close behind us.
Watching favorable opportunities, Juan informed me that the capataz had sent his servant to prevent us from conversing; and seeing that he was determined to remain by us, I at length, with the boy, rejoined the troop.
When the caravan halted for the night, I walked over to the fire where the China woman was seated; but two or three gauchos from our own fire followed me, and engaged the woman in conversation.
In the aspect of affairs now, I confess I was somewhat alarmed, and more than ever felt the want of a companion on whom I could depend. The words of a foreign merchant, with whom I had conversed in Buenos Ayres, were recalled most forcibly to me. “My boy,” he said, “you don’t know whither you are going. When you get among the gauchos, you will find much trouble and danger.” And I acknowledge that I now felt he spoke the truth.
The men still kept the woman aloof from me. I determined to take things coolly, and await events.
Don Manuel came to the fire late in the evening, and, taking his meat in his hand, galloped off in the dark to see to the cattle. I now missed Don José, the patron, whose protecting arm was to be my support in danger. On inquiring of Facundo, my cook, he pointed off into the gloom, and uttered the Spanish word “Estancia,” by which I understood that the patron was at some one of the great cattle-farms lying off the road.
I now felt that I was unprotected, indeed; and when the hour arrived for our lying down to sleep, I was uncertain as to whether or not I should remain unmolested through the night. But the time for the attempt on my purse, if not life, had evidently not arrived. I was permitted to fall asleep, which I did at last; and our whole party evidently accompanied me in my visit to the land of dreams, for nothing was heard among us, and no one moved (if they had I would have been awakened in an instant) until daybreak.
When the sun was just appearing above the horizon, the capataz came galloping up to the carts, and soon the word was spoken to get up the oxen and mules, and prepare to start.
I remained in the cart to write in my journal until the ugly-visaged Facundo appeared to inform me that my breakfast was ready. As I approached the group that was huddled about the fire, not one of them deigned to notice me, save one big fellow, who, with an obsequiousness that I knew to be assumed, pointed to the breakfast.
The strips of meat had been removed from the fire, and the spit, in a separate piece, was stuck into the ground, waiting for me. This was an unusual attention, for I generally shared my meat with the capataz, or with Facundo. The capataz sat smoking by the fire, but the patron had not yet returned from the estancia. I offered my steak to Don Manuel; but he courteously declined, appearing to lack appetite. He refused a second similar offer, and continued smoking.
Determined not to be balked by him, as I wished to prove my suspicions that mischief was afoot, I informed him that he lacked politeness, and that I would not eat without him. The effect of my words upon the company was of such a character that I could no longer doubt their intentions.
At length Don Manuel, seeing that I suspected something, cut off from the extreme edge of the steak a mouthful or two, and ate it, upon which I cut from the opposite side a little larger piece, and ate it leisurely. I then cut off another piece, and, pretending to eat it on the way, left the party, and retired to the cart to finish my writing, throwing the meat in the grass on the way.
Fifteen or twenty minutes passed, at the end of which time I was compelled to put aside paper and pen, for a strange sensation of weakness came upon me, rendering me unable to move—a helpless prisoner in the cart.
Violent pains, that racked my head, were followed by strong vomitive symptoms; but I was still helpless.
While the oxen were being harnessed, I made a second effort to leave the cart, but I could not rise. Soon the villanous Facundo entered, and, bidding me, in no gentle tones, to keep quiet, and not kick around, he started his oxen, and, with the rest of the caravan, we were again in motion.
I soon fell into a delightful sleep, and dreamed most pleasant dreams. At one moment I was moving through the air, light, free from human bonds, a very spirit; my whole senses were intoxicated with most delicious sensations. Again I beheld most beautiful visions and most gorgeous colors. At last I seemed to have been transported back to my native village, and kind friends were grouped around me. The voice of welcome greeted me, all trouble seemed ended. A clear, sweet voice sang a well-remembered song, which seemed to be the very essence of melody, so ravishingly did it fill upon my ear.
Gradually the voice grew indistinct, then loud and harsh, and I returned to consciousness to recognize the tones of Facundo, who was singing to himself. His discordant words were uttered in a long-drawn cadence, commencing in a low, mournful strain, and ending with a couplet and groans.
The following syllables will give an idea of his song. They were repeated so many times that I shall hardly forget them:—
“Que pur ma no yepe—oh—AH—OUGH.
Ya, ke, pur, se, va, yah—oh—OH—AH—OUGH.”
Facundo continued groaning, either for his own pleasure or for my discomfort, during the greater part of the time that I lay sick in the cart.
At our first stopping-place, about two hours after breakfast, the woman sent me, by little Juan, a tea that she had prepared from some herbaceous plant of the pampas, to gather which she had walked all the morning behind the carts.
I felt much better after drinking the tea, but did not entirely recover from my sudden illness for several days. I subsequently learned that it was not unusual for the Santia gueños to revenge a fancied insult, or to annoy one whom they have a dislike for, by administering poison, sometimes in sufficient quantities to destroy life, and at other times in a quantity sufficient to produce only sickness. They had undoubtedly taken advantage of the absence of the patron to treat me as they did.
The first time I sallied forth from confinement I was received in a characteristic manner by the drivers, who clapped their hands to their stomachs, and questioned me with impudent gestures if I was not ill, and what was the trouble. The good woman only said, compassionately, “Pobre cito” (poor fellow).
During my sickness I continued to write daily, much to the annoyance of Facundo, who looked threateningly at my notes, as if he suspected his name was there. I even went so far as to ask him how he spelt his name, which was a useless question enough; for had he been disposed to inform me, he could not, since he knew not one letter from another.
My illness cost me but little time, and I was soon able to resume my pedestrian journey, and by night of the same day I was nearly well.
Our journey had been through the day across a hilly country. As evening drew near, we reached a watering-place, which afforded an abundance of feed around it, and the caravan was halted, and camp prepared.
At supper I was cautious to eat only of the food that I saw the others partake of, which they observing, I noticed that glances and meaning smiles were exchanged among them.
Early the next morning we were again in motion.
The country was still broken, and we met several deep gullies, which we crossed with great labor, it being necessary to attach extra yokes of oxen to the carts to effect a passage. One of these gullies was so dangerous, on account of the steepness of its sides, that a pair of oxen were fastened behind the cart to prevent it from gaining too great a velocity in its descent.
Near this latter pass was a five by six stone hut, roofed with sticks and mud, which served as a post house, where the galloping courier receives his fresh horse. Two women, with low foreheads and heavy features, came out of the cabin, followed by an old man, the postmaster, to stare at us, and inquire if the drivers had any sugar or yerba to exchange with them. For what articles they proposed to barter I could not conceive, as the open side of the hut showed an interior destitute of everything like comfort; for it contained only an old hide and bedding, and one cheese, that rested upon a swinging shelf made of canes bound together with hide thongs.
Like many of the poor gauchos, the postman smoked bad Tucuman tobacco, rolled up in a narrow piece of corn-leaf, a material that is preferred by some to the coarse linen paper manufactured in Europe for the South American market.
Among the hills that bounded our northern horizon, and which some travellers would classify as mountains, the wind blows almost constantly with great force from various quarters. The smallest of the hills were well grassed over, and wherever the ruts entered the soil near them it showed a sandy gravel. Upon the plains to the south was the richer pasturage, with a soil better fitted for cultivation.
At night we encamped close by the hamlet of El Moro, situated, as I believe, not far from the foot of Cerro Moro, a chain of low mountains.
At daylight the next morning the caravan wound down among the hills to a level pampa, with barren mountains to the north.
The Mendoza diligence passed, drawn by six tired horses. Besides drawing his share of the weight of the carriage, each animal carried upon his back a postilion, who did not fail to use whip or spur as necessity demanded.
The plain that we were upon was covered with immense piles of decomposed granite, how placed in such positions it is difficult to surmise. The thorn and algarroba tree grew abundantly. Our course for the remainder of the day continued over the pampa, with hills growing more distinct each hour in the distance: a strong wind blew steadily from the Cerro until dark, when it died away, and a calm, lovely night succeeded.
The following day we left the plains, and travelled through a hilly country, which gradually became more and more irregular as we approached the River Quinto, which stream we reached about noon, and halted on its banks for dinner.
The country near the river was sandy, and covered with scattered thorn-bushes. The banks of the Quinto, at the ford where we camped, were high, and almost perpendicular. The bed of the river appeared to be formed of quicksand in agitation, and the current was very strong. A few mud huts were close to the river on each side, and their occupants had a great quantity of beef cut in strips, drying for winter use, together with sliced pumpkins, which two articles of diet form the principal support of the people; the sterility of the soil will not support a healthy crop of corn.
Large flocks of parrots, of a species that dig holes in the banks in which to deposit their eggs, like our northern bank swallows (Cotyle riparia), filled the air with loud cries, and gave some appearance of life to the scene. The town of Rio Quinto was not far off; but as the road lay in a different direction, I did not get a glimpse of it, but, judging by the few lazy natives that I saw, who appeared as if laboring under mental derangement, with two prominent traits visible,—selfishness and idleness,—I did not feel that I was losing much in not visiting the place.
Dinner over, we prepared to move. Crossing the river, we found the ascent of the opposite bank the most difficult to surmount of any obstacle we had met on the road; great exertions were made to get the carts up the rise, and the oxen were most terribly goaded by the drivers. One peon, with loud imprecations, thrust his goad into an animal so far that it could not be withdrawn until the iron was pulled out of the goad-stick, when the man caught it, and jerked so fiercely, that when it came from the wound the blood followed it in a little stream. This exhibition of brutality afforded satisfaction to the other drivers, who laughed at the fellow as he cursed the ox for being the cause of the breaking of his new picano. At last we were all across the river and in motion.
The high plain upon the opposite side was covered with thorns and algarroba, save here and there some spot more fertile than the rest, which sustained a growth of coarse grass. In crossing this tract the wheels of the carts sank into the deep ruts to the hubs, and raised clouds of dust that were almost choking.
I covered myself with a woollen poncho, for I well knew that it was doubtful if an opportunity to bathe would again present itself before we reached San Luis, the great town of the interior. During the afternoon a little boy passed us, driving to his house by the river a flock of goats and sheep; the last-named animals looked very ragged, from the custom of the people, who still adhere to the old practice of pulling out the wool from the skin instead of shearing, at such times and in such quantities as they need it.
As the moon was a few days old, the caravan kept on until eight o’clock, when it encamped on the travesia.
The cattle were driven a long distance from the road to feed, but no pasturage was to be had, and at about one o’clock I was aroused by the approach of the cattle, and the loud cries of the drivers, who shouted “Fuera! fuera!” as they drove the teams to the carts.
The moon had set, and the night was very dark; but the necessity of moving at once was obvious, for there was no water nor grass to be had for many miles, and both must necessarily be obtained at the earliest moment for the hungry and thirsty beasts.
We got under way at once, and travelled by landmarks with which the drivers were acquainted. As we moved along the plain, the noise of the caravan aroused hundreds of parrots from a roosting-place among the branches of a clump of algarrobas. An Indian stampede could not have created a more confused or louder noise than that of the frightened parrots, as they hovered over us in a cloud.