Part 22

But it must be admitted, that the Araucanians have had far more than their just meed of praise. The romantic stories, in that endless epic of the rhymer Ercilla, have crept into history; and the credulous Molina has endorsed them: so that the true character of the Araucanian Indian has never been understood. Brave he has shown himself, beyond doubt, in defending his country against Spanish aggression; but so, too, has the Carib and Guaraon,—so, too, has the Comanche and Apache, the Yaqui of Sonora, the savage of the Mosquito shore, the Guaycuru of the Gran Chaco, and a score of other Indian tribes,—in whose territory the Spaniard has never dared to fix a settlement. Brave is the Araucanian; but, beyond this, he has few virtues indeed. He is cruel in the extreme,—uncivil and selfish,—filthy and indolent,—a polygamist in the most approved fashion,—a very tyrant over his own,—in short, taking rank among the beastliest of semi-civilized savages,—for it may be here observed, that he is not exactly what is termed a _savage_: that is, he does not go naked, and sleep in the open air. On the contrary, he clothes himself in stuff of his own weaving,—or rather, that of his slave-wives,—and lives in a hut which they build for him. He owns land, too,—beautiful fields,—of which he makes no use: except to browse a few horses, and sheep, and cattle. For the rest, he is too indolent to pursue agriculture; and spends most of his time in drinking _chicha_, or tyrannizing over his wives. This is the heroic Araucanian who inhabits the plains and valleys of Southern Chili.

Unfortunately, by passing to the other side of the Andes, he has not improved his manners. The air of the Pampas does not appear to be conducive to virtue; and upon that side of the mountains it can scarce be said to exist,—even in the shape of personal courage. The men of the pines and thistles seem to have lost this quality, while passing through the snows of the Cordilleras, or left it behind them, as they have also left the incipient civilization of their race. On the Pampas we find them once more in the character of the true savage: living by the chase or by plunder; and bartering the produce of the latter for the trappings and trinkets of personal adornment, supplied them by the unprincipled white trader. Puelches and Picunches, Pehuenches and Ranqueles, all share this character alike,—all are treacherous, quarrelsome, and cowardly.

But we shall now speak more particularly of their customs and modes of life, and we may take the “pine people” as our text,—since these are supposed to be most nearly related to the true Araucanians,—and, indeed, many of their “ways” are exactly the same as those of that “heroic nation.”

The “people of the pines” are of the ordinary stature of North-American Indians, or of Europeans; and their natural color is a dark coppery hue. But it is not often you can see them in their natural color: for the Pampas Indians, like nearly all the aboriginal tribes, are “painters.” They have pigments of black and white, blue, red, and yellow,—all of which they obtain from different colored stones, found in the streams of the Cordilleras. “Yama,” they call the black stone; “colo,” the red; “palan,” the white; and “codin,” the blue; the yellow they obtain from a sort of argillaceous earth. The stones of each color they submit to a rubbing or grinding process, until a quantity of dust is produced; which, being mixed with suet, constitutes the paint, ready for being laid on.

The Pampas Indians do not confine themselves to any particular “escutcheon.” In this respect their fancy is allowed a wide scope, and their fashions change. A face quite black, or red, is a common countenance among them; and often may be seen a single band, of about two inches in width, extending from ear to ear across the eyes and nose. On war excursions they paint hideous figures: not only on their own faces and bodies, but on their trappings, and even upon the bodies of their horses,—aiming to render themselves as appalling as possible in the sight of their enemies. The same trick is employed by the warriors of the prairies, as well as in many other parts of the world. Under ordinary circumstances, the Pampas Indian is not a _naked_ savage. On the contrary, he is well clad; and, so far from obtaining the material of his garments from the looms of civilized nations, he weaves it for himself,—that is, his wives weave it; and in such quantity that he has not only enough for his own “wear,” but more than enough, a surplus for trade. The cloth is usually a stuff spun and woven from sheep’s wool. It is coarse, but durable; and in the shape of blankets or “ponchos,” is eagerly purchased by the Spanish traders. Silver spurs, long, pointed knives, lance-heads, and a few other iron commodities, constitute the articles of exchange, with various ornamental articles, as beads, rings, bracelets, and large-headed silver bodkins to fasten their cloaks around the shoulders of his “ladies.” Nor is he contented with mere tinsel, as other savages are,—he can tell the difference between the real metal and the counterfeit, as well as the most expert assayer; and if he should fancy to have a pair of silver spurs, not even a Jew pedler could put off upon him the plated “article.” In this respect the Araucanian Indian has been distinguished, since his earliest intercourse with Europeans; and his Pampas kindred are equally subtle in their appreciation.

The Pampas Indian, when well dressed, has a cloak upon his shoulders of the thick woollen stuff already described. It is usually woven in colors; and is not unlike the “poncho” worn by the “gauchos” of Buenos Ayres, or the “serape” of the Mexicans. Besides the cloak, his dress consists of a mere skirt,—also of colored woollen stuff, being an oblong piece swathed around his loins, and reaching to the knee. A sash or belt—sometimes elaborately ornamented—binds the cloth around the waist. Boots of a peculiar construction complete the costume. These are manufactured in a very simple manner. The fresh skin taken from a horse’s hind leg is drawn on—just as if it were a stocking—until the heel rests in that part which covered the hock-joint of the original wearer. The superfluous portion is then trimmed to accommodate itself as a covering for the foot; and the boot is not only finished, but put on,—there to remain until it is worn out, and a new one required! If it should be a little loose at first, that does not matter. The hot sun, combined with the warmth of the wearer’s leg, soon contracts the hide, and brings it to “fit like a glove.” The head is often left uncovered; but as often a sort of skull-cap or helmet of horse-skin is worn; and not unfrequently a high, conical hat of palm-fibre. This last is not a native production, but an importation of the traders. So also is a pair of enormous rings of brass, which are worn in the ears; and are as bulky as a pair of padlocks. In this costume, mounted on horseback with his long lance in hand, the Pampas Indian would be a picturesque object; and really is so, when _clean_; but that is only on the very rarest occasions,—only when he has donned a new suit. At all other times, not only his face and the skin of his body, but every rag upon his back, are covered with grease and filth,—so as to produce an effect rather “tatterdemalion” than picturesque.

The “squaw” is costumed somewhat differently. First she has a long “robe,” which covers her from neck to heels, leaving only her neck and arms bare. The robe is of red or blue woollen stuff of her own weaving. This garment is the “quedeto.” A belt, embroidered with beads, called “quepique,” holds it around the waist, by means of a large silver buckle. This belt is an article of first fashion. Over the shoulders hangs the “iquilla,” which is a square piece of similar stuff,—but usually of a different dye; and which is fastened in front by a pin with a large silver head, called the “tupo.” The shock of thick, black hair—after having received the usual anointment of mare’s tallow, the fashionable hair-oil of the Pampas Indians—is kept in its place by a sort of cap or _coiffure_, like a shallow dish inverted, and bristling all over with trader’s beads. To this a little bell is fastened; or sometimes a brace of them are worn as ear-rings. These tinkle so agreeably in the ears of the wearer, that she can scarce for a moment hold her head at rest, but keeps rocking it from side to side, as a Spanish coquette would play with her fan.

In addition to this varied wardrobe, the Pampas belle carries a large stock of bijouterie,—such as beads and bangles upon her neck, rings and circlets upon her arms, ankles, and fingers; and, to set her snaky locks in order, she separates them by means of a stiff brush, made from the fibrous roots of a reed. _She_ is _picturesque_ enough, but never _pretty_. Nature has given the Araucanian woman a plain face; and all the adornment in the world cannot hide its homeliness.

The Pehuenche builds no house. He is a true nomade, and dwells in a tent, though one of the rudest construction. As it differs entirely from the tent of the prairie Indians, it may be worth while describing it.

Its framework is of reeds,—of the same kind as are used for the long lances so often mentioned; and which resemble _bambusa_ canes. They grow in plenty throughout the Pampas, especially near the mountains,—where they form impenetrable thickets on the borders of the marshy lakes. Any other flexible poles will serve as well, when the canes are not “handy.”

The poles being procured, one is first bent into a semicircle, and in this shape both ends are stuck into the ground, so as to form an arch about three feet in height. This arch afterwards becomes the doorway or entrance to the tent. The remaining poles are attached to this first one at one end, and at right angles; and being carried backward with a slight bend, their other ends are inserted into the turf. This forms the skeleton of the tent; and its covering is a horse-skin, or rather a number of horse-skins stitched together, making a sort of large tarpaulin. The skins are sewed with the sinews of the horse or ox,—which are first chewed by the women, until their fibres become separated like hemp, and are afterwards spun by them into twine.

The tent is not tall enough to admit of a man standing erect; and in it the Pehuenche crouches, whenever it snows, rains, or blows cold. He has sheep-skins spread to sleep upon, and other skins to serve as bed-clothes,—all in so filthy a condition, that but for the cold, he might find it far more comfortable to sleep in the open air. He never attempts to sweep out this miserable lair; but when the spot becomes _very_ filthy, he “takes up his sticks” and shifts his _penates_ to a fresh “location.” He is generally, however, too indolent to make a “remove,”—until the dirt has accumulated so as to “be in the way.”

The Pampas Indian is less of a hunter than most other tribes of savages. He has less need to be,—at least, in modern days; for he is in possession of three kinds of valuable domestic animals, upon which he can subsist without hunting,—horses, horned cattle, and sheep. Of course, these are of colonial origin. He hunts, nevertheless, for amusement, and to vary his food. The larger ostrich (_rhea Americana_), the guanaco, and the great “gama” stag of the Pampas (_cervus campestris_) are his usual game. These he captures with the _bolas_,—which is his chief implement for the chase. In the flesh of the stag he may find a variety, but not a delicacy. Its venison would scarce tempt a Lucullian palate,—since even the hungriest Gaucho will not eat it. It is a large beast, often weighing above three hundred pounds; and infecting the air with such a rank odor, that dogs decline to follow it in the chase. This odor is generated in a pair of glands situated near the eyes; and it has the power of projecting it at will,—just as skunks and polecats when closely chased by an enemy. If these glands are cut out immediately after the animal is killed, the flesh tastes well enough: otherwise it is too rank to be eatable. The Indians cure it of the “bad smell” by burying it for several days in the ground; which has the effect of “sweetening” it, while at the same time it makes it more tender.

But the Pampas Indian does not rely upon the chase for his subsistence. He is a small grazier in his way and is usually accompanied in his wanderings by a herd of horned cattle and sheep. He has also his stud of horses; which furnish the _staple_ of his food,—for whenever he hungers, a horse is “slaughtered.” Strictly speaking, it is not a horse; for it is the mare that is used for this purpose. In no part of the Pampas region,—not even in the white settlement,—are the mares used for riding. It would be considered derogatory to the character of either Gaucho or Indian to mount a mare; and these are kept only for breeding purposes. Not that the Indian is much of a horse-breeder. He keeps up his stock in quite another way,—by stealing. The same remark will apply to the mode by which he recruits his herds of horned cattle, and his flocks of sheep. The last he values only for their wool; out of which his garments are woven; and which has replaced the scantier fleece of the vicuña and guanaco,—the material used by him in days gone by.

From whom does he steal these valuable animals,—and in such numbers as almost to subsist upon them? That is a question that can be easily answered; though it is not exact language to say that he steals them. Rather say that he _takes_ them, by main force and in open daylight,—takes them from the Creole Spaniard,—the Gaucho and _estanciero_. Nay, he does not content himself always with four-footed plunder; but often returns from his forays with a crowd of captives,—women and children, with white skins and ruddy cheeks,—afterwards to be converted into his drudges and slaves. Not alone to the frontier does he extend these plundering expeditions; but even into the heart of the Spanish settlements,—to the estancias of grandees, and the gates of fortified towns; and, strange as it may read, this condition of things has been in existence, not for years, but, at intervals, extending over a century!

But what may read stranger still—and I can vouch for it as true—is, that _white men_ actually purchase this plunder from him,—not the human part of it, but the four-footed and the _furniture_,—for this, too, sometimes forms part of his booty. Yes, the surplus, of which the Indian can make no use or cares nothing about,—more especially the large droves of fine horses, taken from the Spaniards of Buenos Ayres,—are driven through the passes of the Cordilleras, and sold to the Spaniards of Chili! the people of one province actually encouraging the robbery of their kindred race in another! The very same condition of things exists in North America. The Comanche steals, or rather takes, from the white settler of Tamaulipas and New Leon,—the Apache rieves from the white settler of Chihuahua and Sonora: both sell to the white settlers, who dwell along the banks of the Rio del Norte! And all these settlers are of one race,—one country,—one kindred! These things have hitherto been styled _cosas de Mexico_. Their signification may be extended to South America: since they are equally _cosas de las Pampas_.

We are not permitted to doubt the truth of these appalling facts,—neither as regards the nefarious traffic, nor the captive women and children. At this very hour, not less than four thousand individuals of Spanish-Mexican race are held captives by the prairie tribes; and when Rosas swept the Pampas, he released fifteen hundred of similar unfortunates from their worse than Egyptian taskmasters,—the Puelches!

With such facts as these before our eyes, who can doubt the decline of the Spanish power? the utter enfeeblement of that once noble race? Who can contradict the hypothetical prophecy—more than once offered in these pages—that if the two races be left to themselves, the aboriginal, before the lapse of a single century, will once more recover the soil; and his haughty victor be swept from the face of the American continent?

Nor need such a change be too keenly regretted. The Spanish occupation of America has been an utter failure. It has served no high human purpose, but the contrary. It has only corrupted and encowardiced a once brave and noble race; and, savage as may be the character of that which would supplant it, still that savage has within him the elements of a future civilization.

Not so the Spaniard. The fire of his civilization has blared up with a high but fitful gleam. It has passed like the lightning’s flash. Its sparks have fallen and died out,—never to be rekindled again.

THE YAMPARICOS, OR ROOT-DIGGERS.

It is now pretty generally known that there are many _deserts_ in North America,—as wild, waste, and inhospitable as the famed Sahara of Africa. These deserts occupy a large portion of the central regions of that great continent—extending, north and south, from Mexico to the shores of the Arctic Sea; and east and west for several hundred miles, on each side of the great vertebral chain of the Rocky Mountains. It is true that in the vast territory thus indicated, the desert is not continuous; but it is equally true that the fertile stripes or valleys that intersect it, bear but a very small proportion to the whole surface. Many tracts are there, of larger area than all the British Islands, where the desert is scarce varied by an oasis, and where the very rivers pursue their course amidst rocks and barren sands, without a blade of vegetation on their banks. Usually, however, a narrow selvage of green—caused by the growth of cottonwoods, willows, and a few humbler plants—denotes the course of a stream,—a glad sight at all times to the weary and thirsting traveller.

These desert wastes are not all alike, but differ much in character. In one point only do they agree,—they are all _deserts_. Otherwise they exhibit many varieties,—both of aspect and nature. Some of them are level plains, with scarce a hill to break the monotony of the view: and of this character is the greater portion of the desert country extending eastward from the Rocky Mountains to about 100° of west longitude. At this point the soil gradually becomes more fertile,—assuming the character of timbered tracts, with prairie opening between,—at length terminating in the vast, unbroken forests of the Mississippi.

This eastern desert extends parallel with the Rocky Mountains,—throughout nearly the whole of their length,—from the Rio Grande in Mexico, northward to the Mackenzie River. One tract of it deserves particular mention. It is that known as the _Llano estacado_, or “staked plain.” It lies in Northwestern Texas, and consists of a barren plateau, of several thousand square miles in extent, the surface of which is raised nearly a thousand feet above the level of the surrounding plains. Geologists have endeavored to account for this singular formation, but in vain. The table-like elevation of the Llano estacado still remains a puzzle. Its name, however, is easier of explanation. In the days of Spanish supremacy over this part of Prairie-land, caravans frequently journeyed from Santa Fé in New Mexico, to San Antonio in Texas. The most direct route between these two provincial capitals lay across the Llano estacado; but as there were neither mountains nor other landmarks to guide the traveller, he often wandered from the right path,—a mistake that frequently ended in the most terrible suffering from thirst, and very often in the loss of life. To prevent such catastrophes, _stakes_ were set up at such intervals as to be seen from one another, like so many “telegraph posts;” and although these have long since disappeared, the great plain still bears the name, given to it from this circumstance.

Besides the contour of surface, there are other respects in which the desert tracts of North America differ from one another. In their vegetation—if it deserves the name—they are unlike. Some have no vegetation whatever; but exhibit a surface of pure sand, or sand and pebbles; others are covered with a stratum of soda, of snow-white color, and still others with a layer of common salt, equally white and pure. Many of these salt and soda “prairies”—as the trappers term them—are hundreds of square miles in extent. Again, there are deserts of scoria, of lava, and pumice-stone,—the “cut-rock prairies” of the trappers,—a perfect contrast in color to the above mentioned. All these are absolutely without vegetation of any sort.

On some of the wastes—those of southern latitudes,—the cactus appears of several species, and also the wild agave, or “pita” plant; but these plants are in reality but emblems of the desert itself. So, also, is the _yucca_, which thinly stands over many of the great plains, in the southwestern part of the desert region,—its stiff, shaggy foliage in no way relieving the sterile landscape, but rather rendering its aspect more horrid and austere.

Again, there are the deserts known as “chapparals,”—extensive jungles of brush and low trees, all of a thorny character, among which the “mezquite” of several species (_mimosas_ and _acacias_), the “stink-wood” or creosote plant (_kœberlinia_), the “grease-bush” (_obiona canescens_), several kinds of _prosopis_, and now and then, as if to gratify the eye of the tired traveller, the tall flowering spike of the scarlet _fouquiera_. Further to the north—especially throughout the upper section of the Great Salt Lake territory—are vast tracts, upon which scarce any vegetation appears, except the _artemisia_ plant, and other kindred products of a sterile soil.

Of all the desert tracts upon the North-American continent, perhaps none possesses greater interest for the student of cosmography than that known as the “Great Basin.” It has been so styled from the fact of its possessing a hydrographic system of its own,—lakes and rivers that have no communication with the sea; but whose waters spend themselves within the limits of the desert itself, and are kept in equilibrium by evaporation,—as is the case with many water systems of the continents of the Old World, both in Asia and Africa.

The largest lake of the “Basin” is the “Great Salt Lake,”—of late so celebrated in Mormon story: since near its southern shore the chief city of the “Latter-day Saints” is situated. But there are other large lakes within the limits of the Great Basin, both fresh and saline,—most of them entirely unconnected with the Great Salt Lake, and some of them having a complete system of waters of their own. There are “Utah” and “Humboldt,” “Walker’s” and “Pyramid” lakes, with a long list of others, whose names have been but recently entered upon the map, by the numerous very intelligent explorers employed by the government of the United States.

Large rivers, too, run in all directions through this central desert, some of them falling into the Great Salt Lake, as the “Bear” river, the “Weber,” the “Utah,” from Utah Lake,—upon which the Mormon metropolis stands,—and which stream has been absurdly baptized by these free-living fanatics as the “Jordan!” Other rivers are the “Timpanogos,” emptying into Lake Utah; the “Humboldt,” that runs to the lake of that name; the “Carson” river; besides many of lesser note.