The Pampas and Andes: A Thousand Miles' Walk Across South America

We travelled through the remainder of the night, and until near eleven o’clock on the following day, when we encamped at a place in which there was a fair pasturage and some water. Here we tarried until the morning of the next day, when we filled our vessels with water, harnessed up the teams, and started.

Our course lay through a country that was dreary in the extreme, and we had no incidents or experiences that were worthy of a notice here.

My readers have found in these pages so many mentions of a certain individual, the capataz, that they, perhaps, would like to know him better.

As capataz, Don Manuel Montero commanded the troop when the patron, or owner, was absent, and his services as baqueano, or guide, were of the utmost importance to the welfare and success of the caravan. Don Manuel had not the swarthy complexion of the Indian peons, but could prove his superiority of birth and family in comparison to theirs by a hue that would have been pronounced in the United States decidedly yellow, that is, if his physiognomy could have been divested of dirt so as to exhibit the true color; for the don loved not pure water externally applied, and would have been but a poor patron of hydropathy, even could he have been convinced of its wonderful virtues. He was of middle stature, and sat with great dignity upon his pampa steed, which he rarely left during the day; for, being a true gaucho, he always kept the saddle except when he was eating or sleeping. These two necessary duties he attended to while reclining on the ground—a position that he always assumed when off duty. To sleep within a hut or cart was beneath his gaucho dignity.

His hair hung in long black locks, excelled in jettiness only by those of Facundo, my cook. His toilet was attended to at such times as the same operations were necessary for the comfort of his dog Choco, when master and animal shared the use of the same toilet articles. I might write a treatise upon his comb, in which I could speak of its decayed and broken parts; of its lusty and lively inhabitants that played hide-and-seek between the teeth; of a brawny, lively creature from the hair of Don Manuel struggling for mastery with another from the shaggy coat of dog Choco.

As a guide the don’s skill was unrivalled. Like most baqueanos he was grave and reserved in manner, and conversed but little with the other gauchos.

He was familiar with every mile of the road from the banks of the Paraná to the rocky bases of the Andes. He could not, like the geographer, tell the exact longitude, in numbers, of the principal towns of the republic, but he knew where they were situated, and could travel towards them without missing the true direction in the darkest nights.

Don Manuel never offered his advice in a boisterous manner, as though in authority, but quietly said to the patron, “Three leagues to the right of the road are about thirty squares of good grass, and farther on to the left is a small lagoon of water not yet dried up.” His word was always respected, and the usual answer of the patron was, “Do as you please, Don Manuel; I have confidence in your judgment.”

A native author gives the following description of the baqueano, which will correctly apply to Don Manuel:—

“If lost upon the plain, he dismounts, and by examining the soil decides upon his latitude, and tells his companions the distance that they are from habitations. If this is not enough, he pulls grass from different localities and chews the roots, decides upon their proximity to some pond or rivulet, fresh or salt, and departs in search of it, to decide upon his position.

“General Rosas can tell by taste the grass of every farm south of Buenos Ayres.

“The guide likewise announces the nearness of the enemy when within ten miles of him, and the direction from which he is coming, by means of the movements of birds, and by the deer and wild llamas that run in certain directions. When the enemy is near at hand he observes the dust, and by its thickness counts the force. He says they number two thousand, five hundred, two hundred, as the case may be, and the chief acts under this instruction, which is almost invariably correct.

“If the condors and vultures flutter in a circle in the air, he can tell if there are any persons hid, or if there is an encampment recently abandoned, or if the cause of their movements is merely a dead animal.”

Such is the true baqueano, and such was Don Manuel. At noon we halted near a couple of cerros, the commencement of the San Luis chain of mountains, The peons killed an ox, but as there was no grass for the cattle we did not remain long enough to cook an asado. This was the more aggravating, since we had none of us eaten anything since the morning of the previous day.

At two o’clock the caravan again halted—this time to water the animals from a stream that flowed through a quebrada (valley), along which were scattered a few ranchos, whose inhabitants lived on pumpkins and porridge, the latter being valued at one real per quart. A troop from Mendoza passed us at this encampment, and I took advantage of the opportunity to get rid of some cut reals, that are current in Rosario, for several bunches of grapes. This troop had also packed in wicker baskets oranges and figs, a quantity of which I purchased to divide with my friends, the old Indian and the squaw. I offered a bunch of grapes to Facundo, but his sour disposition would not allow him to accept.

From the river the road wound over a plain abounding in thorn trees and cacti. Here also grew a low plant bearing red berries, and resembling peppers in taste. The fruit was eagerly sought for by the peons, who, throughout the remainder of the journey, seasoned their stews with it.

At the end of the plain the barren mountains of San Luis rose abruptly, and seemed to form a barrier to farther progress. We entered a narrow cleft in the chain, and wound through it for an eighth of a mile, the voices of the drivers echoing among the rocks with fine effect. But great was my surprise when we passed from the defile to an elevated plain, to see stretched out below us the town of San Luis, with its white plastered dwellings, half hidden, and shaded by tall rows of poplars, and groves of green willows. It brought to mind the days of the conquest, so finely described by Prescott, and I pictured the city below me as another Cuzco, inhabited by the children of the Incas.

But this was not all. Another sight caught my eye, and filled me with joy. Far in the distance a dim, blue line, pencilled upon the heavens, told me that I had obtained my first view of the Andes—that mighty range of mountains which traverses two continents and a dozen countries, though known by different names.

What emotions were aroused within me as I gazed at that faint streak that seemed floating in the air, for below it all was enveloped in clouds! What visions it awoke of steep precipices, dark gorges, and rushing streams of water falling in cascades from heights unattainable by man! I pictured myself in the act of toiling up a narrow path, or sliding down the sides of a cerro on the snow. I longed to be there, and wondered whether from the lofty summit of the Cordillera I should be able yet to gaze upon the distant waters of the great Pacific.

Above the hazy line two points arose into the clearer heavens, and from their sublime appearance particularly attracted my attention. The highest of these peaks, which lies to the north of west of Mendoza, was the famed Aconcagua, which, rising above the line of eternal snows, attains an elevation of twenty-three thousand nine hundred feet: higher by two thousand five hundred feet than that monarch of the Andes, Chimborazo. The other peak lies to the south of Aconcagua, and runs up sharply into the heavens. It has been measured by a recent traveller, who gives it an elevation of twenty-two thousand four hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, or not so high as Aconcagua by fourteen hundred and fifty feet.

As I viewed the distant picture with enthusiasm, the caravan that came lumbering behind was forgotten, until a rough shake, and the words, “Esta dormiendo?” aroused my attention. Looking around I beheld the grinning features of the capataz, who exclaimed, “La Cordillera de los Andes, que cosa tan rica!” (The Cordillera of the Andes, what a rich thing!)

As we descended to the town, a party of equestrians, male and female, passed on the canter, and entered before us. The caravan encamped alongside the mud wall that defended the property of the inhabitants, and I remarked that the women who visited the troop did not come as venders of produce, but as visitors. These females were gayly and tastefully dressed, but their morals were questionable. As there were no seats near the fire, our capataz gallantly offered one of the fair visitors his hat for a substitute; but she, with the others, preferred their own mode of sitting, and squatted, à la Turque, upon the sand, where they made themselves sociable, and when supper was ready joined in the meal, eating their meat without knives or forks, but using their fingers instead.

San Luis is the largest town upon the road from Rosario to Mendoza. It is the capital of the province of the same name, and contains about two thousand inhabitants. This place has varied greatly in its population within the present century. In 1825 it had two churches, now it has but one, and this, I afterwards learned, was not well supported—which fact accounts for its being so immoral a place.

For many years San Luis had been governed by an old, ignorant fellow, just such a man as Rosas was accustomed to place over the interior provinces, in order that they might remain in a degraded state, and thus be more submissive to his power. A new governor, a man of education and energy, had taken the place of the old one just removed, and under his influence it was hoped that the condition of the people of the province might be improved. Formerly a tax of five dollars was imposed upon every cart that passed through the province, but it has been lowered to a more reasonable sum.

No town on the pampas has suffered from the depredations of Indians as San Luis. While I was in San Juan, two or three months later, I became acquainted with several Puntaños, as the people of this place are called, and from them received much information regarding these encroachments.

The Indians usually surprise the town about an hour before daybreak, and not only seize what property they can remove, but also carry off into captivity the wives and sisters of the male portion of the inhabitants. While one party is engaged in sacking the town, another party drives off all the mares they can find, as mare’s flesh is used as food among them, and if they take horned cattle, it is only to sell them to Chilenos, who cross the Andes by the most southern pass—the Planchon. Great numbers of women and children have been carried off during these frays.

There was living in San Luis, at the time our troop passed through the place, an old woman who was stolen when a child from her friends. She lived many years with her captors, serving them as a menial, or slave. Twice she attempted to escape, but each time was retaken, and for both attempts her feet were skinned by the brutal savages. She made a third attempt, however, which was successful. Her captors were away, hunting guanacos, a species of llama. Secreting about her person a quantity of dried mare’s flesh, she set out for a little lake, telling the squaws that she was going to draw water. As soon as the lake was reached she struck out boldly into the pampas, shaping her course in the direction of San Luis.

The Indians, fortunately, did not overtake or find her, and after many days of wandering, she fell in with some gauchos, who took her to San Luis, and restored her to her friends.

Another occurrence that was related to me will not be without interest to the reader.

During the California excitement a great number of foreigners accompanied caravans from Buenos Ayres to Mendoza, en route for the land of gold. Two or three of these caravans were troubled by the Indians while on the passage to San Luis.

At last one troop of twenty carts, which was accompanied by a large number of foreigners, mostly French and English, started from Buenos Ayres, and as the men were armed with double-barrelled guns and six-shooters, they were continually on the qui vive for an opportunity to test their weapons against the long spears and boliadores of the Indians.

Scouts were always on the watch, but not an Indian was seen. At length, just before they reached the mountains of San Luis, they were met by flying horsemen and terrified women from the town, who informed them that the savages were among the mines of La Carolina, some sixteen or eighteen leagues to the north, and were plundering without mercy. As the party were debating as to their proper action, the news was brought that the Indians, harassed by a few troops sent by the governor, were on the retreat. The caravan was at once drawn into a defile of the mountains, and the white men prepared for action.

Soon the Indians were descried coming at a rapid rate, in one body. Behind each savage were one or more female prisoners lashed to the rider. “It was an awful sight,” said the narrator of the story to me, “when we beheld the strangers point their long guns at the approaching party, among which were our friends, bound to their relentless captors.”

Unaware of the proximity of strangers, on came the galloping party. Suddenly they fell back in confusion, but too late for retreat, for the discharge of nearly two hundred guns scattered death among them. In an instant the horses were freed from their savage riders, who lay upon the plain in the last agonies.

Great credit was given to the foreigners who had done such service to the province; and, followed by hundreds of the natives, they marched the carts into the plaza of San Luis, and there remained several days, feasting daily upon eight oxen that were presented them by the governor. My informant said that such was the skill of the strangers in the use of fire-arms, that not a bird flew over the plaza but it was shot while flying, much to the astonishment of the townsfolk, who will never forget the visit of the strangers.

At San Luis de la Punta the pampas end. On the next morning, the 27th of April, when we left the town, our course lay over a travesia (desert), which was wooded, for the first few leagues, with the black algarroba (mata-gusano), and many other species of low thorn trees and bushes. The road was filled with deep ruts, and as the heavy wagons passed along they raised clouds of dust, that made travelling an almost insupportable task. At night the cattle had to be driven some miles from the road to a place where a little pasture was found. We did not eat meat during the day, but I found that many of the cacti bore a fruit at the top, which, though nearly tasteless, was better than nothing. Near where we encamped, three peons were loosening a patch of land with the rough plough of the country. They were preparing to dig a receptacle for the water that falls during the summer time, and just, behind two or three ranchos were two of these old pools, out of which our oxen and men drank, the capataz paying six and one fourth cents per head for each animal. The water could not have been a foot in depth, and what kept it from soaking into the ground I could not tell, as the soil was porous rather than clayey.

We resumed our march on the following morning without any breakfast, and kept on until noon, when the cattle were driven to a distant pasture, and the peons cooked an asado. We again watered the oxen at another dirty pool, paying the same price per head. I was thirsty, but before I could get at the water the cattle were crowded in the pool, and I returned to the cart without any. Don Facundo furnished me with a bottle to fill. I gave it to a dirty urchin, who seized a stick, and wading into the muddy pool, drove the oxen right and left until he had space enough left to fill the demijohn. This he succeeded in doing, but the contents were such a mixture that, to avoid swallowing dirt, sticks, &c., I was obliged to strain it through my teeth.

I noticed in this part of the country a species of cactus that had previously escaped my observation. It grows about eighteen inches high, spreads out in large, broad leaves, and is fed upon by cochineal insects, which the natives gather, and sell at a low price. It bears a fruit which resembles, in form and color, the pine-apple, and is about twice the size of a hen’s egg. Inside the skin is a white pulpy substance, filled with small black seeds, and pleasant to the taste.

The little pepperish berry became more abundant, and, taking advantage of the opportunity, the peons put large quantities in their stews, which rendered it so fiery to the taste that I was frequently obliged to go supperless.

The travesia which we were now upon was covered, in greater or less quantity, with a peculiar saline mineral which was new to me. I saved a small quantity of it, and when I returned to the United States, presented it to a scientific, association, with the following account of the locality in which it is found:—

“This peculiar mineral is found mixed with the soil, in greater or less abundance, from San Luis de la Punta (a town on the western side of the pampas of the Argentine Republic, where the grass plains properly end, and the travesia, or desert, commences) to the foot of the Andes.

“San Luis lies in latitude 33° 16′ south, longitude 66° 27′ west, and is the capital of the province of the same name. From this town westward the soil is almost worthless, until the River Mendoza is reached, where irrigation commences.

“The soil is very light and dry, and not in the least compact. This is probably caused by the dryness of the atmosphere and absence of water; for when I crossed that part of the country, no water was found save that which had been caught and retained in holes in the ground by the natives. Stones are rarely met with, and where they are found I did not observe the salt.

“There are several spots on the travesia between San Luis and Mendoza furnishing a poor quality of grass, which is fed upon by the cattle which are driven across the continent to the coast.

“With the exception of these spots the country between the above named towns, and extending many leagues to the north and south, is a desert waste, covered with a low growth of thorn bushes and a few species of gnarled trees, some of which bear pods.

“The mineral penetrates the earth from a few inches to a couple of feet in depth. It is particularly abundant at certain places east of the town of San Juan, where the ground is covered with a thin incrustation. It is here that the reflection of the sun’s rays is exceedingly painful to the eyes, and the inhabitants are constantly affected with inflammation of those organs.

“The soil for cultivation must first be prepared, and the mineral removed. The native method of doing this is very simple. The water is conducted from the Rivers Mendoza and San Juan (which take their rise in the Cordillera) through an acquia, or canal, around squares of level land, at irregular intervals of time, and, to use their own expression, they wash off the salitre (saltpetre). Then a plough, constructed of two pieces of wood, is brought into service, and it turns up from six to eight inches of the soil, which goes through the same washing process as the first.

“After two or three repetitions of this operation, a shallow soil is obtained, partially free from salitre, in which wheat, clover, pumpkins, melons, &c., are raised. The remaining salitre, according to the belief of the natives, is exhausted by successive crops, and after several years of tillage the soil is suitable for the vine. Oranges, peaches, quinces, olives, figs, &c., flourish. Within a few years large tracts of land have been made exceedingly fertile by the process above described, and could the New England plough be introduced there, the process would be far more effective.”

The following analysis of the salt was made by Dr. A. A. Hayes, of Boston, a gentleman well known in scientific circles for the care and accuracy with which he conducts all analyses:—

“The specimen was a white, crystalline solid, formed by the union of two layers of salt, as often results from the evaporation of a saline solution, when the pellicle formed on the surface falls to the bottom. Along the line of junction crystal facets are seen, but the forms are indistinct. These crystals readily scratch calc spar, and dissolve without residue in water, affording a solution, which, by evaporation at 150° Fahr., leaves the salt with some of the original physical characters. It readily parts with a portion of water by heat, and when the temperature is raised to redness, it fuses quietly into a transparent, colorless, anhydrous fluid. On cooling, an opaque, white, crystalline solid remains. In this climate the specimen attracts moisture, and therefore has not a fixed amount of water constituent.

“It consists of water, sulphuric acid, soda, magnesia, chlorine. Mixed with it are traces of crenate of iron and lime, with sandy grains of earth.

“One sample afforded—

“Three fragments from different masses were taken, and the following substances found:—

“The varying amounts of water given are illustrative of the absorptive power of the salts in the atmosphere of this place. Dried at 90° Fahr., the amount of water was 15.20 in 100 parts, which exceeds by four parts the proportion necessary to form proto-hydrates of the two salts present.

“Analysis does not show the two sulphates to be in definite proportions in the masses, but the crystals may be a double salt, composed of one equivalent of sulphate of soda and one equivalent of sulphate of magnesia, each retaining an equivalent of water. In the masses, the closest approximation is 42 parts of sulphate of magnesia found, instead of 46 parts required.”

The communication presented embraces interesting facts. These saline deserts cover extended areas in different parts of South America, and, so far as the author has been able to learn, the saline matter differs in kind at the different points. The tendency of saline matter contained in any soil is to rise through the aid of moisture to the surface, where, the water escaping, the salt is deposited. This effect, contrary to the gravitating influence, is the most common cause of deserts, and may be exerted everywhere when the evaporation of water from a given surface becomes much greater than that surface receives in the form of rain and dew. The cultivation of saline deserts, by washing down the saline matter, exhibits the opposite action of water in restoring fertility, and it is by no means essential that the water should contain organic, matter to insure the full effect, as the soil of deserts generally contains all the organic matter of many years’ accumulation.

An interesting inquiry naturally presents itself to the traveller while crossing this peculiar desert. By what means was the salt deposited? Two theories have been advanced by gentlemen who have visited the travesia, both to account for its presence.

Mr. Bland, the North American Commissioner, who visited the Argentine Republic in 1818, thinks that these plains “may have been gently lifted just above the level of the ocean, and left with a surface so unbroken and flat as not yet to have been sufficiently purified of its salt and acid matter, either by filtration or washing.”

Sir W. Parish’s idea of the origin of the salt is different. He says, “But is it not more likely to have been washed down from the secondary strata, which form the base of the Andes, in which we know that enormous beds of salt abound, particularly in those parts of the Cordillera where the greater number of the rivers rise which run through the pampas, and which are almost all more or less impregnated with it?”

While crossing the pampas I occasionally noticed that the water of some of the streams was brackish, but as we approached the Andes the water of the rivers was pure, and free from salt. The San Juan and Mendoza Rivers, both of which may be called great torrents, bring down alluvial mud in their currents; but I never was able to detect any saline properties either in the mud or water. The natives, however, have assured me that there are many salt mines in the Andes.