Without further delay, we said good-bye to Isidoro, tightened our saddle-girths, and rode towards the point from which we intended starting. There we paused a moment before taking the decisive step forward—a moment of extreme nervous tension for both of us. I felt an oppressive contraction of the throat and chest, which, to be candid, I must attribute to a passing feeling of fear that came over me at the last moment, now that I was about to commit myself, not without serious misgivings as to the consequences, to the mercies of the broad torrent which had so long baffled my progress. However, remembering that the longer one looks at a leap the less one likes to take it, I called out to Guillaume that I was ready, and with spur and whip we urged our horses down the steep bank towards the water.
For a moment, rearing and snorting, they instinctively recoiled from the dangerous element, but the pebbly bank giving way under their feet, they could not stop themselves, and down we went—plunge!—head over ears into the cold water. I came to the surface snapping for breath, but still in the saddle, though the water, dripping over my eyes, for a second or two quite blinded me.
After a little urging, the horses at first struck out right enough, but I found that to keep my seat the greatest exertions were required. Till then I had never swum on horseback, and had no idea how difficult it is to remain in the saddle during the process. The water insinuates itself cunningly between your knees and thighs, imperceptibly you lose your grip, and, before you know it, you are gently lifted from your seat, and find yourself afloat, especially when dealing with a current as strong as the one in question.
In the meantime, our horses went all right till they came to the middle current, which swept down with great force. The moment they felt it they suddenly swerved, and made for the bank we had just left. I tried to make my horse turn again, but it became quite unmanageable, and Guillaume in a similar attempt was unseated, and was only able to regain his saddle after a severe struggle, which I watched with intense anxiety, as I was unable to go to his rescue, being myself in difficulties.
Breathless and dripping, and humiliated with the consciousness of our failure, we finally got to shore again, and, after a hasty council, resolved to make another attempt the following day, as, after the facer we had just received, our nerves were not equal to another ordeal for the present. As long as the excitement of the danger lasted, we had felt neither wet nor cold, but now that it was over Nature re-asserted herself, and, drenched to the skin as we were, and exposed to the blasts of a savagely inclement wind, we were completely prostrated, quaking, and shivering, and in such a state that it would have been mere foolhardiness to go into the water again. The six-miles' ride back to the camp in our wet clothes was another disagreeable trial. By the time we got there we were perfectly numbed, and had to warm our stiffened fingers a long time by the fire before they were sufficiently supple to enable us to undress. Having stripped, I rolled myself in my capa, and, thanks to that never-sufficiently-to-be-praised covering, warmth and circulation were soon restored to my chilled limbs. We had, unfortunately, no maté left, though on this occasion we stood more than ever in need of its stimulating and restorative aid.
Notwithstanding our failure, we were by no means disheartened, or disposed to relinquish our endeavours to cross the river; on the contrary, the non-success of our first attempt only intensified my firm resolve to reach Sandy Point, come what might, by the 1st of November, and nerved us to a fresh encounter with the dangers of the river and the inclemency of the weather.
The next morning we again made the attempt, and were again unsuccessful as before. The horses went well till they got to the rapid middle current, and there nothing would induce them to continue. In the struggle with my horse I was swept from my seat. I caught successively at the mane and saddle, but missed them both, just managing to catch hold of a valise that was strapped to the back of the latter. I clung to it like grim death, whilst my horse swam back to the bank. Several times I was in danger of being dragged under by the current, and the valise, under the strain of my weight, began gradually to give way. When it did come down, saddle and all, we were fortunately already in shallow water, and I came to no harm; though it was lucky it held so long, for, heavily booted and clothed as I was, had it happened a little sooner, I should have gone to the bottom.
We rode disconsolately back to the camp, suffering extremely from the cold wind, as on the previous day. It was useless, we had now convinced ourselves, to swim over on our horses, for as soon as we came to the middle current we were at their mercy. We therefore resolved to try the other expedient, of driving them over first, and then following ourselves.
For topographical reasons we considered the pass at Guaraiké to be more favourable for this mode of crossing than the one we were now at, and we therefore resolved to go there. We said good-bye once more to Isidoro, who preferred remaining where he was, as there was better pasturage for his horses. We took enough meat with us to last us four days, and leaving the dogs with Isidoro we started off for Guaraiké, where we arrived late in the evening, after a long gallop.
We did not camp on the old spot, but rode further down to a little 'house' Guillaume knew of, similar to the one at the Paso de Alquinta, but with rather higher walls, and which had also been built by some Indian traders.
We ate a very small supper, as it was necessary to economise the little meat we had with us, consoling ourselves with the hope of soon being able to indulge in less meagre fare, and finally we went to bed, confident of passing the next night on the other side of the Gallegos.
CHAPTER XI.
Early the next morning we were up and off to the river. To get to its banks we had to ride through about a mile and a half of slack water, of varying depth, but seldom above the knees of our horses. Near the river there was a dry spot on a tract of high-lying land, and there accordingly we made our preparations. We took off our clothes, and placed them, together with the matches, revolvers, etc., in the middle of the capas, which were rolled up in the canvas bag, as on the previous occasions, and then carefully and firmly strapped on the saddle of one of the horses. All this was done as quickly as possible, for we were now, of course, almost naked, and the wind, as usual, was blowing hard and cold, with mingled hail and snow. We had little doubt as to the success of this our third effort. Indeed, we had, as it were, cut off our own retreat, in putting all our clothes and furs on the horses, for if they once got safely to the other side, we were of a necessity forced to follow somehow, or expose ourselves to the alternative of perishing with hunger and cold. It was a foolhardy action, but we had become desperate, and were ready to run a slight risk, if only we could surmount the hated obstacle which barred our way to Sandy Point.
Everything being ready, we drove the horses, not without great difficulty, into the water, following ourselves as far as we were able, though such was the force of the current that we had hardly waded in knee-deep before we were knocked off our feet. After immense trouble, with the help of stones and sticks, we managed to drive the horses into the middle current, down whose centre they were soon swept, puffing and snorting and endeavouring to turn back towards the bank we were standing on. Whenever they did so, however, we would fling a volley of stones at them, and by these means at last we got them to head towards the other bank. We watched their progress with beating hearts, in painful suspense lest any accident should happen to them; for they carried, as it were, our lives as well as their own. After a few seconds, which seemed an eternity to us, they reached the land, and we gave a shout of joy and relief. But our triumph was of but a second's duration; fate was still against us. As ill-luck would have it, the horses happened just to touch land with their noses at a part where the bank was almost vertical, and where they consequently had no footing. Instinctively they turned round and made straight for our side again.
Dismayed and disappointed, we no longer made any attempt to drive them back; indeed, we were against the current, they would not have strength to get back again. At last they landed, however, though of course a long way down from where they had started. We ourselves by this time were in a most pitiable state; for more than half an hour we had been splashing in and out of the icy-cold water, exposed to wind and weather, and we were now thoroughly exhausted, our teeth chattering, our bodies doubled up, and unable to speak to one another except by signs.
We had just strength enough to get the capas out of the bag, the inner ones being fortunately quite dry; and wrapping ourselves well up, we lay down for about an hour, by which time we were sufficiently recovered to be able to remount our horses and ride back to the camp.
We were now at last discouraged. An unexpected stroke of bad luck, a mishap we could not possibly have foreseen, had occurred just at the last moment, and spoiled everything, converting what had appeared a certain triumph into a disastrous failure. If the horses had only happened to touch land ten feet further up, or ten feet further down, where the bank was less steep, by this time we might have been on the road to Sandy Point. But everything seemed to be against us. I had brought all my energy to this last attempt, the last chance of reaching our destination in time for the steamer of the 1st November. It had failed, and I felt unmanned and dispirited. My physical strength, too, was giving way under these repeated exertions and the poor diet of the last two weeks.
All these considerations combined, and there being no immediate necessity for crossing the river now, as the next steamer did not leave Sandy Point till the 10th November, made us resolve to wait a few days longer before risking another attempt at swimming over, especially as all this time the water had been rapidly decreasing again; and, judging by the height of the river, we might now reasonably expect to find it fordable in, at most, three or four days, always supposing that no new flood occurred. We had, therefore, merely to closely watch the river, so as to be ready to cross again if any signs of a fresh rise should appear.
Notwithstanding that we were now well into spring, I was surprised to find but little corresponding change in the weather. Occasionally we had a warm day, but it was the exception, and was sure to be immediately followed by unusual cold. The west wind blew almost unintermittingly, and always with extreme violence. In fact, with all my memories of Patagonia are closely associated, as one of the most prominent peculiarities of its landscapes, the fiercely cold but exhilarating blasts of that same wild west wind. But though the weather had got but little warmer, there was everywhere a marked change in the vegetation. The grass in the glens was gradually becoming fresh and green, and the bright young leaves of the calafaté bush were interspersed with bunches of small yellow flowers. Flowers, too—red and white orchids, and pink cowslips—were springing up amongst the grass; and that none of the associations of springtime might be wanting, clouds of tiny little swallows, white-breasted and with glittering blue wings—come from Heaven knows where—were to be seen skimming through the air in all directions. Wretched and miserable indeed must be the spot over which spring can pass without making her genial influence felt in some way, though it be but in the transitory brightening of a few poor blades of grass.
It is fortunate that the calafaté is everywhere abundant in Patagonia, as its wood affords excellent fuel, being extremely hard and burning very slowly. At night-time we would cover up the embers well, and were sure to find them still smouldering in the morning, and were thus able to economize our matches, of which we had now but few left.
The valley had become the rendezvous of wild fowl of all descriptions—swans, wild geese, ducks, snipe, etc.; and many a time we regretted not having brought a gun with us. A roast goose now and then would have made a welcome improvement on our eternal diet of lean guanaco and ostrich. A bevy of ibis, or 'bandurria,' as the Chilians call them, used to make a point every evening of assembling close to our camp, and lifting up their voices and quacking till an hour or so after sundown. Their note resembles that of the duck, though it is rather shorter and drier. They seemed to know, confound them! that they had nothing to fear from us, and would let us come quite near enough to enable us to see how provokingly fat they all were. The Indians call the wild geese of those parts 'kay-kén,' in imitation of its cry, which has a rather melancholy sound, and which was always sounding in our ears, morning, noon, and evening, repeated by a thousand throats in lengthened and mournful cadences. All these wild fowl remain in the southern valleys till their young are fledged, and then as the warm weather comes on they fly north, and play havoc among the rich corn-fields of the Rio Negro.
Two days went by, and we began to find ourselves running short of meat, our stock having only been calculated to last for four days, as we had made our provision on the assumption of reaching Sandy Point by that time. It was, therefore, necessary for Guillaume to go back to Isidoro to fetch the dogs. As it was a long distance, being more than 120 miles there and back, and being anxious to spare our horses as much as possible, we first went out to see if we could hunt up a puma, the only animal one can kill without the aid of dogs—the bolas or a revolver being all that is required.
But after a long search we were unsuccessful, and early the next morning, therefore, Guillaume started off, leaving a small piece of meat which was to last me till the evening of the next day, by which time he hoped to be back.
When he was gone, I saddled my horse and rode up the Cañada of the Squaws to collect firewood, as there was none near our camp. I found it no easy task to break off the dry branches out of the thorny bushes, or pull up old roots which were firmly seated in the ground, in my present weak state, and I was glad when I had got sufficient wood to last me for that and the following day. At no period of my sojourn in Gallegos had I felt so weak as I now did. For three days we had eaten next to nothing—in fact, less than I could ordinarily eat myself at one meal—and I have already said how little sustaining power there is even in a large quantity of lean guanaco or ostrich meat.
When I got back to the camp, I cooked a small piece of the meat Guillaume had left me, and then carefully deposited it on the top of one of the walls of the house, so as to be out of reach of the foxes, who are terrible marauders, and who will eat your reins, lasso, saddle even, or any leathern article you may be so incautious as to leave lying about.
Feeling tired, after my frugal meal, which compared to my hunger was but as a drop in the ocean, I lay down on my furs and dosed off into a sound sleep, from which I was presently awakened by a confusion of strange screeching and flapping of wings. Starting up, I found the noise proceeded from some carranchos, who were quarrelling over my meat, or rather over the bone, which was all that I found of it, after I had driven them away with stones and strong language. 'Incidit in Scyllam,' etc. In my endeavours to secure my food from the foxes, I had delivered it into the beaks and claws of the carranchos, and felt not a little annoyed at my own carelessness. It was no pleasant matter having to fast for the next thirty hours, hungry as I already was, and if Guillaume by some possible accident were detained a day longer, I might find myself in a very serious plight. I was evidently out of luck, and that with a vengeance, and I began to wonder what my next mishap would be. The only misfortune that could now happen to me was that my horse might take it into his head to run away, and then I should indeed be in a desperate fix. He was quietly grazing at the time, but the idea of such a possibility so startled me that I immediately tied a lasso to his halter and secured it to a huge stone near the house, so as to prevent any such untoward eventuality. Then, feeling hungry, I commenced to search my traps for any stray piece of meat that might possibly have been forgotten there. All I could find was a small piece of puma fat, wrapped up in a piece of linen, in a coat-pocket of Guillaume's, which had doubtless been intended for greasing the dog's paws when wounded, for which purpose it is considered an excellent specific. To me, under my present circumstances, however, it was quite a treasure, and I immediately cooked and ate half, keeping the rest for the next day.
Having made all my arrangements for passing the night, I made a good fire, as it was very cold, and wrapping myself up well in my capa, I sat down beside it, waiting as stoically as I could for night-time, and trying to forget, amidst the splendour of the sunset, the small sharp whisper of the little voice within my stomach.
From the slight elevation where I was now sitting I could overlook the whole of the surrounding country—the far hills and plains; the winding valley shut in by steep cliffs, past whose base the river swept its tortuous course; the broad lakes formed by the overflow of its waters, dotted everywhere with green islands, where thousands of wild fowl were now assembled—the harsh cries of the gulls and the plaintive note of the kay-kén being the only sounds that broke the otherwise intense silence. Over all the setting sun was pouring his last rays, bathing the distant hills in a warm haze, and burnishing the waters at my feet with fiery showers of light, and lending, with his magic tints of red and gold, a transitory gleam of grace and beauty even to that wild desert spot.
But as the sun went down the charm sped with him. The glory departed from the distant hills, and they became grey and cold as before; the light faded from the valley, the waters assumed a muddy hue, and the islands blackened on their surface. The cry of the wild fowl slowly ceased, and below me, soon, all was silent and dark.
The stars crept out one by one, and still I sat by the red gleams of the dying fire, listening to the whispering voices of the night-wind and watching the weird, ghostly shapes occasionally assumed by the white mist that now hung over the valley, as it swayed mysteriously to and fro, like a band of unquiet spirits.
The whole thing seemed so unreal, the turn of events so fantastic, which had brought me, a child of noisy towns and bustling marts, into my strange position, alone in that immense solitude—the wildness of the scene, starlit and dim, the strange noises of the night, the thousand sounds which yet seemed silence—I thought it must all be a dream, and most surely I must awaken and find myself in my own room, under warm bedclothes, with the voice of the servant with my shaving-water ringing in my ears.
But a shiver of cold which went through my body, and the strong pangs of hunger, were quite sufficient to remind me of the reality of all around me; so, heaping some more wood on the fire and giving another look to see if the horse was secure, I sought my couch, to sleep as best I might till morning.
A sharp frost fell during the night, much to my satisfaction, as I had now strong hopes of crossing the river in a couple of days. Having satisfied myself that the water was still falling rapidly—always my first task of a morning—I cooked and ate the remaining piece of puma fat, and then, still feeling terribly hungry, and as a means of killing time till Guillaume should come, I tried to stalk wild geese with my revolver. I could never come within range, however, though they are not very shy, and finally gave up this unexciting and unproductive sport in a rather unpleasant state of mind, as I began to ask myself what I should do if Guillaume should happen not to come back that day.
Casting my eyes about, they happened to fall on a large island in the middle of the valley, which had often attracted our attention on account of its being the rendezvous of a bevy of swans, which we imagined must have nests and eggs there, and we had often meditated a raid on the latter. Hitherto we had been hindered from doing so, because the island was surrounded for a long distance by very deep water, which, as may be imagined, was quite sufficient to keep the swans' eggs safe from us as long as anything else could be found to eat. Since we had last surveyed the defences of the island, however, the water had fallen very much, and it occurred to me, in my present stress, that by carefully searching I might find a tolerably dry road to the island. I accordingly saddled my horse, and set out on my exploration. After a great deal of splashing and several narrow escapes of tumbling into holes, varied by occasional energetic protests from my horse—who, by-the-bye, after all his late experience and his daily three or four rides through the water to examine the river, must have thought I was trying to convert him into an amphibious animal—I at last managed to discover a route which was almost practicable, and which by the next day, when the water would have fallen still further, would probably be thoroughly so. I could distinctly see several swans sitting on their nests, to whom I waved a light au revoir, and then returned to the camp, feeling that even if Guillaume were not to come back that day, I now knew where to find my dinner, although at the expense of a slight wetting.
However, I fortunately had no necessity for incurring that inconvenience; for, towards five o'clock, just as—despairing of his return—I was getting ready to swim over to the island, I descried him galloping towards the camp. He presently arrived, bringing the dogs, some meat, and four ostriches' eggs he had found on the way.
Famished as I was after my long fast, I lost no time in spitting some meat and setting it to roast, busying myself whilst it was cooking with the preparation of an ostrich's egg à la Patagonienne. The process is as follows: You break a small round hole in the top of the egg, and after having removed some of the white, which is rather heavy for the stomach, and having thoroughly beaten up the yolk, you set the egg on its end in the ashes, at a little distance from the fire, carefully turning it now and then to prevent the shell from cracking. Whilst cooking, it must occasionally be removed from the fire, and the batter must be stirred well, or else it will stick to the sides of the shell and burn. In a quarter of an hour it will be well roasted; add pepper and salt, if you have any, and serve. Our stock of these useful condiments had unfortunately long been exhausted. Cooked in this way, ostriches' eggs are excellent, and far better than when boiled. The act of removing and placing them near the fire whilst roasting requires great nimbleness of finger. I had, during my noviciate, two standing sores or burns on forefinger and thumb, as I would sometimes cook as many as three or four eggs a day. They are held to be very indigestible, two eggs eaten in a day being said to endanger a man's life; but the foregoing is a proof to the contrary. I have known Guillaume to eat six eggs in the space of eight hours, independent of his ordinary meals. It is true his powers were beyond the usual run, even of those of his own habits and profession.
In the conversation which ensued, when I had in some degree allayed the pangs of hunger, Guillaume told me that on his way down he had paid a flying visit to the Middle Pass, the result of which was that he considered it the best place to cross over, in case, contrary to our present expectations, we should again be obliged to swim for it. The banks on the other side were all low-lying, and there would consequently be no danger of a repetition of the accident which had prevented us from crossing over at the pass we were now at. In return for this information, I told him of my discovery of a road to the island; and, eggs being almost indispensable to us for keeping up our failing strength, for which the meat alone was quite inadequate, we resolved to make a raid on the nests the following morning.
Shortly after daybreak, therefore, we set out towards the island, each of us armed with a stick and a revolver in case the birds, which are said to be very savage, should think fit to resent our seizure of their eggs. The road to the island was not as favourable as it had appeared to me the day before, and we got soaked up to the waist in crossing over; but, in the excitement of the chase, we took little notice of that. Long before we arrived, a commotion was visible amongst the inmates of the island; several male swans, and crowds of wild geese and other fowl, flew up and hovered over us, watching our onward course with signs of marked disapproval. The female birds, however, kept their seats till we were within ten yards of them, and then rose with a hissing cry and much flapping of wings, circling over our heads, and occasionally gliding close to us, whilst we were despoiling their nests, though without making any attempt at attacking us. We found eight swans' nests, containing each four eggs, besides some forty wild geese's eggs. To mitigate the distress of the birds, we left one egg in each nest, and with the rest of our booty returned to the camp in triumph. Whilst our wet clothes were drying by the fire, wrapped in our capas, we set to and commenced roasting some swans' eggs. They are about half the size of ostriches' eggs, and of a similar taste. Amongst the other eggs were some of a species of duck, which to my taste seemed incomparably finer than the best bantam's, and, as may be imagined, we were not slow in doing full justice to them.
At five o'clock I mounted my horse, and rode leisurely towards the river, as was my habit, in order to watch the progress of its gradual decrease, which, as I have already said, had been very satisfactory lately. But to-night, already from afar I was startled by the appearance of the banks, which seemed to me lower than usual. The mark confirmed my fears. The water had risen more than two inches. In deep dismay I galloped back to the camp, and told Guillaume the bad news. For a moment the blow left us bewildered. Experience had taught us that one night would suffice to flood the river as high as it had been before. It seemed as if we were again to be thrown back a fortnight. It was time to adopt some decisive measures. Late as it was, I suggested that we should ride off that very night to the Middle Pass, and swim across at daybreak, be the river as it might. There was no time to lose in indecision, and half an hour after I proposed this plan, we had packed up our things, saddled the horses, and were once more on the march. The sun was setting as we emerged from Gallegos valley into the plain, and before long it was quite dark. It was midnight when we arrived at the old camp at the Middle Pass, cold and blue, after a long buffeting with our old enemy, the wind. Tired as we were, we had to collect wood to make a fire with, in order to warm ourselves by, before we could get to sleep.
CHAPTER XII.
The morning broke, as it always did whenever we tried to cross the river, bleakly and coldly. The river had risen considerably during the night, and was still rising rapidly. Previous to our other arrangements, we fixed on a site from which to start ourselves, after the horses should once be safely across.
The chief danger in passing the river lay in the possibility of the middle current being too strong for us to stem, in which case we should of necessity be swept along with it, without being able to reach either bank, until, our strength giving way under the combined influence of the cold and our exertions, we should ultimately perish. The spot we chose seemed to obviate this danger, as a little way down the opposite bank made a broad curve, forming a point which shot for a long way into the river. I could see that the current followed the curve, running inside the point. By committing ourselves, therefore, to the current at some distance above the point, we must of necessity, I argued, bring up in the little bay formed by the curve above-mentioned, in which case the point would act as an effectual bar to our being swept down the centre of the river. All this seemed plausible enough; but we were reckoning without our host, however, as I presently discovered, and in ignorance of the course taken by the current, which did not, as we supposed, always follow the bend of the banks or keep in the centre of the river, where the water was deepest, but darted about capriciously, without apparently depending on any topographical influences, though no doubt it did.
We first made a large fire near the river, to warm ourselves by whilst packing and saddling the horses, so that the caloric of our bodies should not be all exhausted, as on the last occasion, before we had to make the final struggle, when we should have most need of it. It proved a most providential act; this same fire subsequently saved my life. We made our preparations in deep silence, being both too busy with our own thoughts to say much. We were firmly resolved that, coûte que coûte, this was to be our last effort. We had the usual difficulty to induce the horses to enter the water. Once in, however, they were soon seized by the current and swept down the river. We watched their course with the most intense anxiety. At first it seemed that they could not stem the current, which was evidently stronger than it had been at our last attempt. For a moment we held our breath in painful suspense, but gradually they began to gain towards the opposite bank, and presently we saw them emerge safe and sound from the water, though the distance they had been carried down showed what the strength of the current must be.
Everything now depended on ourselves. The supreme moment had come, and not a second was to be lost, for already I began to feel numb with the cold. On the other side were our clothes, our furs, our matches—our existence, in fact. Between us lay the river. We must cross it; there was no alternative. I ran as quickly as possible towards the place we had chosen for starting from, not daring to look at the river on the way, lest my courage should fail me now that I most required its aid. I had to wade for some distance through a sheet of shallow water before reaching the river itself. It only came up to my waist, which made it colder than if I had been completely immersed, and the wind was piercing all the time to the very marrow of my bones. Suddenly I fell into a hole, sousing head over ears into the water. Chilled and breathless with the shock, I emerged after a short swim, and hurried on my way, anxious to get it all over. At last I came to the river. Without pausing a moment, I jumped in, with a feeling of relief that the worst would now soon be passed. I struck out with the current, and, as I had foreseen, it swept me rapidly towards the point. In a few seconds I was close to the bank. I stretched out my hands to clutch at the grass, when, to my horror, the land seemed suddenly to recede from me again. The current had swerved off before actually reaching land, and I was being hurried with fearful swiftness into the middle of the river. I tried to make for land, but my legs and arms stiffened, and I seemed to be dragged under the water. A desperate struggle brought me once more to the surface. I remember catching a glimpse of the blue sky, and feeling with sickening terror that I was lost, and again I sank under.
For a second or two I think I must have been unconscious; when I came to myself again, I felt I was in warmer water. My strength revived a little, and I struck out several times towards a bank, close along which I was being hurried in the direction of another point a little further down. At times I came so near the bank that I could actually stretch out my hands and reach the long grass growing on it, but my fingers, stiffened with the cold, refused to close on what alone could save me from being swept away again. It was a horrible moment, for if I passed the next point, I was indeed lost. I shouted for help, but no one answered; it almost seemed that I was to be drowned with one foot on land, so to speak.
Suddenly, however, my feet touched the bottom, and in another second, carried bodily against the extremity of the point, I found myself in shallow water, where I was able to regain my footing, and take breath once more. I managed to drag myself up the bank; but on reaching the top, my strength gave way again, and, overcome with cold and fatigue, I sank down, utterly prostrate and helpless. On emerging from the river, a glance had shown me that ill luck had willed that I should be thrown up on the same side from which I had started. Fortunately, I found myself not far distant from the fire we had made before crossing, and with my remaining strength I now endeavoured to reach it. I could only breathe with the greatest difficulty; at times I thought I must choke. I tried to raise myself up and walk, but failed; my legs were like lead, all circulation seemed arrested, and I could only crawl slowly along on all-fours. Many times I thought I must give in, but with the energy of despair I struggled on, and at last reached the fire, which was still burning. Some logs of wood were lying close to it; I pushed them in, and there was soon a good blaze. It seemed to give me no warmth, however, though in my agony I almost thrust my body into the very flames. Nearly an hour elapsed before circulation was properly restored, during which I lay shivering with cold, and gasping for breath in a state of the most acute suffering.
When I had in some measure recovered, I began to realise the critical position I was now placed in. Terrible as the idea was to me after my recent narrow escape from drowning, I had no alternative but to attempt to cross the river again. If I remained where I was, certain death from starvation or exposure awaited me; and it was useless to endeavour to reach Isidoro, who was at least forty miles away, for, naked as I was, I could not have gone even half a mile upon the plains, in the teeth of the cold wind, which was, of course, still blowing. I had all this time thought it strange that Guillaume had not come to my assistance, as I had expected that he would have delayed crossing himself until he had watched the result of my own attempt. That he had safely crossed, however, now became evident, for I could see the horses grazing unsaddled on the opposite side. Where he had crossed, there was no reason why I should not be able to follow, unless it was that as he had swum over comparatively fresh and strong, whereas I had now hardly recovered from the effects of my first unsuccessful struggle.
It was at worst but a question of taking another plunge, and then a few seconds would decide one way or the other, and after all, sooner or later, I should be forced to cross, as it was simply impossible to remain where I was. It was better, therefore, I reflected to go through the ordeal at once, rather than increase its terrors by long anticipation. Screwing up my courage, without more ado I started off as quickly as I could, to look for the place Guillaume had started from. At this juncture he himself suddenly appeared on the opposite bank, and guessing my intention, ran forward and pointed the exact place out to me. It was much higher up than where I had started from, and to get to it, as before, I had to wade through some shallow water, which now and then was deep enough to oblige me to swim. When I reached the exact spot, I could easily see why he had chosen it—no doubt after having witnessed my mishap—for the current ran almost straight across from where I stood to the other bank, where it broke with great force, so that there was no danger of my being swept away from the bank, as before, just as I got up to it. I had in fact, merely to jump in, and allow myself to be swept passively over by the current. Notwithstanding the apparent simplicity and easiness of the undertaking, I stood for some time looking at the water, with an instinctive dread, not daring to take the first step. A man who has just escaped drowning may be excused from fearing to trust himself, five minutes after, to the water again. But, feeling a chill come over my body, and apprehensive lest by further exposing myself to the air I should bring on a cramp, I nerved myself for the plunge, and, shutting my eyes and setting my teeth, I sprang into the water. Once in, all fear left me, and I struck out boldly, and, aided by the current, soon reached the opposite shore.
My feelings on finding myself in safety on the Sandy Point side of the river may be imagined. All the hardships I had endured, the reverses I had suffered, the dangers I had undergone—all was forgotten in the triumphant elation of that moment; the fatal obstacle which had so long retarded our onward march was at last overcome, and there was nothing to prevent us now from speedily arriving at our destination.
Meanwhile I staggered through the band of shallow water which still separated me from Guillaume, who was waiting for me with a dry capa. With the support of his arm, I managed to reach a fire he had made at a little distance from the water, and there I covered myself with three capas, which restored the warmth to my body quicker than a thousand fires could have done.
In about half an hour I was sufficiently recovered to eat an ostrich-steak, and to listen to Guillaume's account of what had happened to him since we had last seen each other. He had watched the course of my ill-fated attempt, had seen me struggling for life in the water, and at last disappear altogether; after which, as he had not seen me return, he had naturally concluded I was drowned. But his own safety required that he should not linger any longer, or the horses, finding themselves left to their own devices, might take it into their heads to run away with the furs and clothes. It was clear, too, that he must not commit the same error in the selection of his starting-point as had brought me into difficulties, and he had, therefore, followed the course of the river till he came to the spot I have already described, and which, as the result proved, possessed the necessary requirements for insuring his safety. Naturally enough, with the demoralising impressions of what he had just witnessed in my case fresh in his mind, he was not without some unpleasant misgivings as to the eventual result of his own attempt. He had crossed with ease, however, and it was in going to look after the horses that he saw me in the act of creeping towards the fire on the other side. He certainly had not thought I should have strength enough to cross the river again, and had been very much troubled about me, not knowing in what way to assist me. In the meantime he had made a good fire, and with the aid of the wind and sun, which latter had at last come from behind the clouds, he had thoroughly dried our clothes and furs, and was just considering what could be done to relieve me from my perilous plight, when he observed me running along the opposite shore, with the obvious intention of once more trying to swim across.
By this time it was about half-past two, and, burning with the desire to accomplish my journey, I proposed we should continue our march immediately, as we might still go a good way on our road before sundown. I accordingly dressed; we saddled our horses, and soon rode out of the valley up to the plain, turning as we reached the top of the escarpment which bounded the valley, to have a last look on our vanquished enemy, the river—now, thank God, at last behind us—and then, facing towards the south-west, we broke into a brisk gallop, once more en route for Sandy Point.
CHAPTER XIII.
We presently came to a hilly country, where the plains were of shorter duration, and cut up in all directions by steeper and more irregular cañadas than I had hitherto met; whilst occasionally we passed broad tracts of scoriæ, which forced us, in consideration of our horses, to change our gallop for a soberer pace. These tracts grew more and more frequent as we approached a range of high hills, at whose base we hoped to camp that night, though as yet their jagged and fantastic outlines showed but dimly on the distant horizon.
We passed several herds of guanacos, who fled away at our approach. Presently, however, one solitary animal, whose curiosity was stronger than its good sense, came neighing and frisking around us, halting at last almost under our very noses. The voice of his master had hitherto kept back our remaining dog (the other had refused to cross the river); but this was rather more than he could stand, and darting out from behind our horses, where he had hitherto very unwillingly kept himself, he flew out at the startled guanaco, who, on seeing him, gave an affrighted bound, and stretched away over the plain with the speed of lightning. The dog followed pretty close on its heels. Our blood was up, and we dashed after them as fast as the horses would carry us, to aid the dog in case he should turn the guanaco round our way. For a moment they ran pretty evenly, but then the guanaco, evidently a tough old male, gradually distanced his pursuer, though the latter was a remarkably swift dog, and of very good breed. We were just despairing of the chase, when it suddenly became apparent that the guanaco was in difficulties, his flight having been arrested by a belt of marshy ground, where his heavy weight immediately put him at a great disadvantage. The very efforts he made to redouble the force of his bounds only caused his sharp hoofs to sink deeper into the heavy soil; and in a few seconds the dog, whose speed was not so much affected by the nature of the ground, had reached his now helpless prey, and flown at his throat. We soon came up to them, and Guillaume, dismounting, despatched the guanaco with his long hunting-knife.
After all, the game turned out to be not worth the candle, or rather the sunlight we had lost in its pursuit, for it proved to be as lean of flesh as it had been swift of foot. We, therefore, merely stayed to cut off and secure its head, and then resumed our journey with all speed, as the sun was already getting low, and we had still a long ride before us. Fate, however, seemed determined to prevent us reaching our intended halting-place that night. Not long after the guanaco-hunt an ostrich started up, so close to us that Guillaume could not resist the temptation, but went off in its pursuit, whilst I looked about for the nest. I found it to contain fourteen eggs, which I carefully packed up so that they should not break, and then rode off to meet Guillaume, who, I was glad to see, had the ostrich already dangling at his saddle. It turned out to be tolerably fat, which, considering the season, was quite a miracle. This piece of fortune put us into high spirits, and, as we remarked to each other, our bad luck had evidently abandoned us at last.
On we rode, gradually getting nearer to the hills, which now loomed blackly against the sky; for the sun had already sunk behind their sharp, irregular peaks, and night was coming on apace. We passed several large lakes, which proved to be salt; and gloomy and dismal they looked, encircled by broad belts of shingle and sand, with not a single bush or blade of grass in their blighting vicinity. Leaving them behind us, we stumbled on over the lava-covered ground, across a wild-looking plain, strewn with jagged masses of rock, through which our horses picked their way with extreme difficulty. The ruggedness of the country increased as we proceeded, and when we at last came to a break, where there was a small plain with plenty of grass and a pool of fresh water, we resolved to go no further, but to remain there for the night.
We brought our saddles and traps to a clump of stones, which made a good shelter against the wind, and then hobbled one of the horses, and secured the other with a long cord to a heavy stone—a precaution not absolutely necessary, as after a hard day's work they do not care to stray far, but which we thought better to take on this occasion, as we were in a broken country, where we might have a great deal of difficulty in finding them again, even if they only strayed a couple of hundred yards. Having made our minds easy on this point, we set about preparing supper, which, with the abundance of material at our disposal, was an easy and a grateful task. We were altogether in the very best of spirits that evening, under the influence of our unwonted good cheer, and at the thoughts of our speedy arrival at Sandy Point and the indulgences we should then be able to allow ourselves in such long-missed luxuries as coffee, sugar, bread, tobacco, etc., of which and similar dainties we talked till our mouths watered again. We reviewed the events of the day, too, and recounted the various impressions and feelings they had given rise to. It was an open question who had passed the worst quart d'heure—I whilst struggling in the water and feeling that all was over, or Guillaume, when, after he had seen me disappear without returning, he reflected that he must run the same risk, and possibly incur the same fate. Meanwhile, having roasted and eaten as many eggs as we dared, we sought our couches, and, overcome by our day's exertions, soon fell into a sound sleep.
The words with which Guillaume woke me in the morning brushed the sleepiness from my brain in an instant, and made me jump to my feet and stare blankly about me in utter dismay. 'The horses have stampeded!' I said, repeating the sentence slowly after him, dwelling on each word in complete stupefaction. He nodded his head dejectedly, and sank down on his couch, and for a long time neither of us spoke, each giving way to his own gloomy train of thought.
It was, indeed, a stroke of misfortune, which, happening as it did on the very night after we had overcome what we believed to be the only obstacle which separated us from Sandy Point, appeared almost in the light of an intimation that we were fated never to reach our destination.
The idea took such firm hold of my mind, and so completely paralysed my energy, that for a short space I allowed myself to give way to despair, and to a feeling of incapacity to struggle any longer against what in my agitation appeared to me a superior decree of destiny. In truth, the difficulties which beset us were no ordinary ones. We were about 150 miles from Sandy Point—no great distance to walk, it is true, for a strong, healthy man, who can depend on a supply of proper nourishment. But we were so weakened that even such a slight exertion as saddling our horses seemed often too much for our strength; the effort required for crossing the river had been a spasmodic burst, which we were quite incapable of sustaining for any length of time. Besides, we were wholly unaccustomed to walking, and long inaction had relaxed those muscles we now most required. Even then, however, it was not so much the actual distance which frightened me as the nature of the ground to be gone over. There were streams to be crossed, which at that time of the year would be swollen and perhaps impassable for us; marshy grounds to be traversed, which to a man on horseback were nothing, but to cross which on foot implied continual wettings; and we had only four matches left, and therefore no means of making a fire to dry ourselves by when once these were used. Taking the uncongenial season into consideration, we were not wrong in doubting whether our bodies would stand all these hardships. With proper food, no doubt they would; but there was another great difficulty. When once we had consumed the ostriches' eggs and the meat we had left, how were we to procure more? We had a dog, it is true; but how could we follow him on foot, when, in a few minutes, he could pursue a guanaco for ten miles, and run his prey to earth somewhere, far beyond our ken? Besides, within a certain distance from Sandy Point the guanacos cease altogether, and ostriches are very scarce. The Indians, Guillaume knew, were somewhere near the colony. We might, therefore, meet them on the road, in which case we should be all right; but, on the other hand, they might have struck towards the Cordilleras, which certainly would have been more in keeping with our general luck. Whatever happened, one thing was certain, and that was that we had a great deal of misery and hardship to face, even supposing we should have strength to overcome all difficulties and reach our destination in safety.
All these considerations passed through my mind in rapid succession, but having once looked the situation steadily in the face and contemplated it in all its bearings, my courage rose again, and I felt it was a great deal too soon to despair. After all, there are very few difficulties that are not to be vanquished by determination, and, my momentary fit of despondency over, I nerved myself to face whatever new trials might be in store for us.
Guillaume now told me how he had risen at daybreak and found the horses gone, the cord which had tied one of them being broken. Amongst the confused tracks he had seen footmarks of a puma, a circumstance which led him to suppose that this animal must have frightened the horses during the night, and caused them to stampede. He followed the tracks for a great distance, and then lost them in a plain of scoriæ, where it was, of course, impossible to trace them any further. As a last chance he had climbed several hills, and overlooked the surrounding country, without, however, being able to see the horses anywhere; and at last, completely exhausted, he had returned to the camp. Having rapidly reviewed our position, we resolved to commence our pilgrimage immediately, as time was precious, in view of the poor state of our larder. Not a moment was to be lost—not on account of catching the steamer; that was no longer uppermost in my mind—but we must now hurry over as much ground as possible daily, to save our lives.
I rolled two of my capas tightly together, and strapped them on my shoulders like a knapsack. Guillaume took a capa and a pair of saddle-bags, in one side of which he put the six remaining eggs, and in the other all that was left of the ostrich, which was not much after our supper of last night, and what we had given to the dog, for the bird, though fat, had unfortunately been small. With as strict an economy as was compatible with keeping up our strength, we had enough provisions to last us for four days; after that—well, quien sabe; but I had resolutely made up my mind not to think of the future, so all was right—for the present. We took our knives, of course, and one tin cup; our revolvers, as being too heavy, we left behind us, as well as our saddles, beds, superfluous clothes, etc., etc., for the benefit of the foxes, or whoever should chance to find them.
CHAPTER XIV.
We started off in tolerably good spirits, and it was well we did so, for we had to draw upon them considerably before the day was over. Our way lay over a short plain, and across the range of hills above mentioned. For the first two miles all went well, but after we had climbed a couple of hills, I began to feel distressed. My burden, which at the commencement had weighed lightly enough, now began seriously to incommode me, and I asked myself, if my strength was giving way before the journey had hardly begun, how was I to reach its end? Still, with closed teeth and bent brow, I dragged myself wearily along, determined not to give in. Guillaume was in no better plight than I. We had long since abandoned any attempt at conversation—it only used up our precious breath, and tired us the more.
At last we had to halt and rest a little, starting off again after a few minutes' breathing-time, till we were again obliged to stop to collect our strength; and in this manner we went on all that afternoon, panting up steep hills, and dragging ourselves along over plains which succeeded each other in weary monotony, and where the boisterous winds, blowing full against us, obliged us to double our exertions. At each fresh start we made I had to put forth my whole strength to nerve myself for the effort, and each time, I felt, would surely be the last. Somehow or other, I kept on, however. It is wonderful what one can do in the face of certain alternatives. I soon suffered from another cause; my feet, tender from long disuse, began to swell under these sudden exertions. I was unable, after suffering for some time, to keep my boots on, and had to continue the march barefooted, over pebbles and short grasses which were only slightly less merciless than the boots had been.
At sunset we found ourselves descending into a valley, where there was a small river. We had fortunately no necessity to cross it, as our road lay along the valley itself. In this region the bushes, which had gradually been getting scarcer, ceased altogether. In the country we were about to traverse, you may ride for leagues and leagues without being able to find a piece of wood big enough to make a toothpick with. The Indians, when they pass through this region, always bring sufficient firewood with them on their pack-horses to last them during the transit. I can in no way account for the absence in that particular region of the bushes peculiar to the rest of the country, especially as the soil, the formation, and the atmospheric conditions seem to be the same there as in the rest of Patagonia.
By the time we had gone a little way up the valley we were all but completely exhausted; my legs felt like lead, my breath came with difficulty, and I staggered along as if about to fall at every step under my pack, whose weight seemed to increase almost at every step. It soon became necessary for us to halt altogether. We threw off our burdens and stretched ourselves on the grass, to enjoy the luxury of a good rest before troubling ourselves about getting supper ready.
But this important task could not be long deferred, especially as it was getting dark. We therefore began to cast about for some substitute for firewood, of which, as I have already mentioned, there was absolutely none in that region. Guillaume consolingly remarked that as soon as our four matches were exhausted, we should have to eat our meat raw, and might as well, therefore, begin to do so at once. I was not of his opinion, however, feeling that the longer that unpleasant necessity was deferred the better. The only suitable combustible we were able to find was the dry dung of guanacos, of which we managed to collect a good heap. We purposed to ignite it with some dry grass, but as we only allowed ourselves one match that day, I trembled for the result. Carefully sheltering it from the wind, the match was at length struck in safety and applied to the grass. It blazed up quick enough, but it had to be fed some time before the dung could be coaxed into taking fire, or rather smouldering, for the flame it emitted was almost imperceptible. With the aid of the wind, the glow gradually spread itself over the whole heap, and in it we managed to roast our eggs and even to cook some meat. The latter had a disagreeable flavour, even to our hardened palates. As soon as we finished our supper, we lost no time in getting under our capas, now our only bed, as the fire held out but few enticements to linger over it longer than was absolutely necessary for cooking purposes.
At daybreak the next morning we got up, and in the heap of dung, which was fortunately still glowing, we cooked some eggs, and prepared for starting. I wrapped some pieces of cloth round my feet, to protect them from hurt, and then we saddled ourselves and continued the march. I felt very stiff, and altogether thoroughly done up. In fact, I did not think I should be able to go on for more than a couple of hours at most. Our path still lay through the valley alongside the river, and we had now come to the beaten track to Sandy Point, made in the course of long years by the Indians on their annual visit to that settlement.
Here we were pleasantly surprised by the sudden apparition of a big dog, who frisked and jumped about us in great glee, no doubt glad to have met with human beings. He probably belonged to some Indian, and had lost himself somehow in the pursuit of a guanaco, as frequently happens.
This was the first gleam of sunshine after our late bad luck, for the poor brute was very fat, and we foresaw that its flesh would prove a godsend if we should not happen to fall in with Indians. Our own dog was not worth killing, being merely skin and bone. In view of his probable fate, we called the new-comer 'Infeliz'—a name to which he soon got to answer. He became quite attached to me, little knowing why I paid him such anxious attentions.
We went on pretty well for some time, of course, with the usual halts every ten minutes. To-day, too, the weather took it into its head to change; the sun became unpleasantly warm, which, of course, increased our fatigue considerably. At about twelve o'clock the path broke off from the valley, and the country assumed a threatening appearance, hill rising above hill for a long distance. As we had walked more than six hours already, we allowed ourselves a long rest before facing the difficulties which now lay before us. We felt very hungry, too; but, not daring to use a match, we were obliged to eat some raw ostrich-meat. I thought it had a peculiarly revolting taste, and more than ever I deprecated the idea of perhaps having to undergo a regimen of uncooked meat. I wondered, too, how Infeliz would taste raw, and felt that I certainly would not try him unless pushed to the very last extremity.
When we felt somewhat restored, we arose, carefully collected the fragments of our meal, and then continued our wearisome journey. The path now lay across a succession of hills, or undulations, which were very steep and told fearfully upon us. We would rest a while on the crest of each, and then go at the next one with a rush, our teeth set and eyes bent on its summit; for if we flinched once on our upward course, or halted but a moment, we were done for, and had to take another rest previous to collecting our strength for a new spurt. Several times I thought I must give in, and at last I could literally hardly move one leg before the other. The perspiration rolled off my forehead in streams, and the weight of my capas seemed to break my back. Still we had set ourselves a certain goal, which was yet a long way off; and though I was inwardly wishing that Guillaume would give in, I was determined not to be first to speak, but to go on as long as he did whilst there was a step left in me. I believe he was in the same plight as I was, but kept on for the same reasons. At last a higher hill than usual fairly brought us to a regular standstill, and we threw ourselves down, feeling that, for that day at least, we could go no further.
We lay motionless for about half an hour, when I rose to take off my pack, and in so doing perceived a column of smoke, not far, at least to all appearance, from where we were. My shout of joyful surprise brought Guillaume to his feet, and we both examined it for some time, half doubting our own eyes, and fearful lest every moment it should prove a delusion. Nor were our feelings of pleasure wholly unmitigated by certain apprehensions that it might be some old fire that had been lit two or three days ago, and which was now burning up again. Guillaume told me that he had known fires to smoulder on in grassy glens for weeks together. It might be but an hour old, and yet those who had made it were, perhaps, already miles away in some direction, far from the path we must follow; and we could not signal our own whereabouts, as the country we were then crossing was bare of grass and bushes. Our doubts, however, were speedily set at rest. Even as we watched the first column with eager eyes, another rose up not far from it, and another still, and then we knew that the fires were being made by Indians, who were hunting on the plains. A little to the left of the smoke was a place called the 'Campo de Batalla,' where the Indians always camp when in that neighbourhood, and to it we accordingly directed our steps, as we were almost certain to find them there. The vicinity of human beings gave us new strength. All fatigue disappeared as if by magic; the hills, hitherto so formidable, seemed to shrink into pigmy mounds; my pack became light as a feather, and the rags round my feet seemed suddenly to possess the virtues of the famed seven-mile boots. Not only should we be able to get horses from the Indians, but, as they must have recently left the settlement, they would have plenty of tobacco, maté, sugar, and biscuit, with the thought of which I charmed away any relapse into exhaustion, which, as hill followed hill in endless succession, now and again threatened to overcome me. At last, about four o'clock, we descended into a valley, a sudden turn of which brought us in full view of the Indian encampment. My heart bounded at the sight of the tents, amongst which I could descry dark human figures in long robes moving slowly to and fro; hundreds of horses were grazing in the valley, whilst the yelping of the swarms of curs that infest the Indian camps fell on my ears like pleasant music.
The Indians were just returning from the chase, and were pouring down from the plains on all sides. They soon perceived us, and presently fifty or more horsemen came flying towards us at full gallop. In another moment we were surrounded by a chattering, laughing, gesticulating crowd, who escorted us towards the camp in triumph. One of their number, who could speak a little Spanish, asked us a thousand questions, the answers to which he translated for the benefit of the others, to whom every item of information seemed to furnish an excuse for the most unbounded merriment; they would all giggle and laugh, though what I had to say to them did not contain anything extraordinarily funny, at least as far as my perception of the humorous goes.
When we reached the camp, we were surrounded by another crowd of Indians, as eagerly curious as the first comers to know where we came from, what we had done with our horses, and where we were going to—in fact, all particulars as to our situation. As soon as one group left, another arrived; and in this manner we ran the gauntlet of the whole of the camp, everyone apparently deeming it incumbent on him to come and have a good stare and grin at us.
Having satisfied their curiosity, we felt ourselves at liberty to consult our own comfort; and Guillaume having discovered the whereabouts of the tent of a cacique of the name of Orkeke, with whom he was on intimate terms, we directed our steps towards it. Orkeke himself, we found, had not as yet returned from the chase; but his wife, an immensely fat and good-humoured-looking old squaw, accosted us in some friendly gutturals, of which the evident purport was that we were to make ourselves at home—an intimation on which we speedily acted. With a deep sigh of relief, I divested myself of the pack under whose weight I had trudged for so many a weary mile, and, stretching myself out on the ground, I inwardly congratulated myself that the unpleasant episode of our foot-pilgrimage was fortunately a thing of the past.
We had now, for the first time since we had seen the smoke, leisure to muse over our providential delivery from the serious danger that had threatened us—a danger whose full magnitude only became apparent now that we had no longer to fear it. But these thoughts did not occupy us long; very soon Orkeke arrived, heavily laden with the spoils of the chase. He seemed very pleased to see us, and greeted us affably in broken Spanish. To the story of our mishaps he listened with great interest, and when I told him that I had not taken maté or smoked for several weeks, he showed particular concern, and immediately produced a pipe and tobacco, and bade me smoke, at the same time telling his wife to prepare maté, remarking very justly, 'No fumar, no tomar maté; muy malo!' Smokers will feel with me when I say that my hand trembled whilst filling my pipe, and that, having lit it, I sat for a few minutes in a state of semi-ecstasy, enveloped in a fragrant cloud of the long-missed soul-soother. The maté, too, seemed delicious; and as a great treat, from a bag which contained similar treasures, Orkeke brought forth a musty biscuit, which he broke into three pieces, solemnly handing a share to Guillaume and me. The biscuit was coarse and black and hard, no doubt, but it melted away on my lips like a meringue, nor did I allow one crumb of it to be lost.
Orkeke was an admirable specimen of the Tehuelche race. He was tall and well proportioned, and, notwithstanding his great age, extremely vigorous and agile. His long grey hair and the benign expression of his face gave him the look of a venerable patriarch—a character which he rather affected to maintain. He was careful to inform me, at an early stage of our acquaintance, that he never got drunk, like the other Indians; that he never told a lie; and that his father had been converted to Christianity—a circumstance which he evidently considered to reflect in some way meritoriously on himself. On my asking him why he had not followed his father's example and become a Christian too, after a long pause he answered rather vaguely, "Quien sabe." I did not press the question any further, as the Indians who speak Spanish always make use of this expression when puzzled, or when they do not care to give a direct reply, and if once they proffer it as an answer, it is perfectly useless to attempt to elicit anything more explicit from them.
Orkeke told me that he remembered perfectly well having paid a visit to St. Julian, as a boy, when the Spanish colonists of Viedma were yet there. If that were true—and I have no reason to doubt his word—his age was now at least ninety-six or ninety-seven, and, judging by his looks, I thought he might easily live twenty or thirty years longer. His movements were as easy and as free from effort as those of a young man. Indeed, I should imagine few climates are healthier or more favourable to longevity than that of Patagonia; its crisp, dry air has a peculiarly beneficent effect both on mind and body, and under its influence one experiences a buoyancy of spirits, and a general well-being, which are quite astonishing.
Orkeke spoke Spanish with tolerable fluency, and I was able to have a long conversation with him on various topics, during which I gleaned some interesting information about the customs and thoughts of the Indians.
The tribe I was now amongst was more numerous than that of the Northern Tehuelches, but it seemed to me that they were, on the average, slightly inferior in physique to the Northerners, and certainly there were not so many pretty squaws among them as among the latter. Otherwise there was no marked distinction between them. The camp consisted of twelve tents, containing in all from four to five hundred souls. The whole tribe, I found, had just been paying their annual visit to Sandy Point, to receive the rations of sugar, biscuit, maté, and tobacco, which the Chilian Government accords them. These visits generally cost them rather dear, as the inhabitants of the colony, on these occasions, make a rich harvest of furs and feathers, with which, under the influence of aguadiente, the Indians are then extremely prodigal.
I made Orkeke promise to get me two horses the next morning, in order that we might immediately continue our journey, and having eaten a hearty supper, I went to sleep on a couch of furs, which Mrs. Orkeke had prepared for me, and, notwithstanding the incessant squalling of babies in various parts of the tent, I managed to pass a tolerable night.
The next morning, as soon as Orkeke had risen, I asked him to get the horses in readiness, as I was leaving at once. But there was an unpleasant surprise in store for me. Orkeke seemed to have no remembrance of what he had promised the previous evening, and coolly told me that he could not lend me any of his horses, as, according to him, they were all 'thin and tired,' 'Mi caballo, muy flaco, muy cansado,' was all I could get out of him in reply to my indignant demands for an explanation of the unaccountable change in his intentions. In vain I argued, entreated, and stormed; in vain I offered to pay him double the sum we had previously agreed on—nothing would move him, and finally I gave up pressing the matter, directing my energies instead to discovering some more accommodating Indian.
My task was not an easy one, and I soon found out that to drive a bargain with an Indian one must have the patience of Job and the temper of an angel. It is next to an impossibility to get a plain 'yes' or 'no' out of them, as they have an insuperable aversion to committing themselves finally, either one way or the other. The consequence is that one may haggle with them for hours, without arriving at any result, and without even being able to judge whether one is likely to arrive at any, so vague and circumlocutory are their answers. Unfortunately, too, I was obliged to employ an interpreter, thus reducing still further the chances of my coming to any definite understanding.
After having interviewed some forty Indians, who all, after more or less vacillation and delay, proffered the stereotyped objection, 'Mi caballo, muy flaco,' I began to despair of succeeding at all, and as a last resource, went back to Orkeke, who, I hoped, might possibly again have changed his mind and become less obdurate. But the obstinate old cacique was inexorable, and calmly recommended me to wait patiently for a few days, as very soon some traders would be coming from the colony. He could not understand that anyone could possibly be in a hurry. Indians never are; and I have no doubt that the fact of my being in such a desperate haste to get away awoke some suspicions in his mind as to my motives, and inclined him to persist in his refusal to accommodate me. I was at my wits' end. Nothing could be further from my intentions than to wait with the Indians till some trader should come to the camp. The very thought made me furious. I had not risked crossing Gallegos for that, and yet I must either remain or start off on foot, neither of which prospects I contemplated with much satisfaction.
Though my own attempts had failed, I thought that perhaps Orkeke might be able to negotiate more successfully for the hire of two horses from some one amongst his acquaintances; and as an inducement for him to exert himself in my behalf, I offered to give him a guanaco mantle. My proposal set him thinking, and presently he said: 'I know Indian—very rich man—three hundred horses—quien sabe, he lend you two.' Of course, I jumped at the suggestion, and proposed that we should immediately go and see this great and good man, the owner of three hundred horses. But Orkeke met my impetuosity with a tantalising 'Mas tarde,' and I had to restrain my impatience for more than an hour, during the course of which I relieved my feelings with many a bitter imprecation at Tehuelche supineness. At last Orkeke seemed to have nerved himself for the tremendous effort, and signified to me that he was ready to accompany me to the tent of the rich man. I approached this awful being, whom I found reclining at ease on his furs, with feelings of the deepest respect, for did he not hold the means of relieving me from the serious and aggravating plight which fate and the obstinacy of his brethren had brought me into?