Part 30

Before proceeding to describe the modes of life practised by the Patagonian giants, a word or two about the country they inhabit.

It may be generally described as occupying the whole southern part of South America,—from the frontier of the Spanish settlements to the Straits of Magellan,—and bounded east and west by the two great oceans. Now, the most southern Spanish (Buenos-Ayrean) settlement is at the mouth of Rio Negro; therefore, the Rio Negro—which is the largest river south of the La Plata—may be taken as the northern boundary of Patagonia. Not that the weak, vitiated Spanish American extends his sway from the Atlantic to the Andes: on the contrary, the Indian aborigines, under one name or another, are masters of the whole interior,—not only to the north of the Rio Negro, but to the very shores of the Caribbean Sea! Yes, the broad inland of South America, from Cape Horn to the sea of the Antilles, is now, as it always has been, the domain of the Red Indian; who, so far from having ever been reduced by conquest, has not only resisted the power of the Spanish sword, and the blandishments of the Spanish cross; but at this hour is encroaching, with constant and rapid strides, upon the blood-stained territory wrested from him by that _Christian conquest_!

And this is the man who is so rapidly to disappear from the face of the earth! If so, it is not the puny Spaniard who is destined to push him off. If he is to disappear, it will be at such a time, that no Spaniard will be living to witness his extermination.

Let us take Patagonia proper, then, as bordered upon the north by the Rio Negro, and extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific. In that case it is a country of eight hundred miles in length, with a breadth of at least two hundred,—a country larger than either France or Spain. Patagonia is usually described as a continuation of the great plains, known as the “Pampas,” which extend from the La Plata River to the eastern slope of the Andes. This idea is altogether erroneous. It is true that Patagonia is a country of plains,—excepting that portion of it occupied by the Andes, which is, of course, a mountain tract, much of it resembling Tierra del Fuego in character more than Patagonia. Indeed, Patagonia proper can hardly be regarded as including this mountain strip: since the Patagonian Indians only inhabit the plains properly so called. These plains differ essentially from those of the Pampas. The latter are based upon a calcareous formation: and produce a rank, rich herbage,—here of gigantic thistles and wild artichokes,—there of tall grasses; and, still nearer the mountains, they are thinly covered with copses of low trees. The plains of Patagonia on the other hand, are of tertiary formation, covered all over with a shingly pebble of porphyry and basalt, and almost destitute of vegetation. Here and there are some tufts of scanty grass with a few stunted bushes in the valleys of the streams, but nothing that can be called a tree. A surface drear and arid, in places mottled with “salinas” or salt-lakes; with fresh water only found at long intervals, and, when found, of scanty supply. There are many hilly tracts, but nothing that can be called mountains,—excepting the snow-covered Cordilleras in the west. The Patagonian plain is not everywhere of equal elevation: it rises by steps, as you follow it westward, beginning from the sea-level of the Atlantic shore; until, having reached the _piedmont_ of the Andes, you still find yourself on a plain, but one which is elevated three thousand feet above the point from which you started. At all elevations, however, it presents the same sterile aspect; and you perceive that Patagonia is a true desert,—as much so as Atacama, in Peru, the desert of the Colorado in the north, the “barren grounds” of Hudson’s Bay, the Sahara and Kalahari, Gobi, or the steppe of Kaurezm. To the South-African deserts it bears a more striking resemblance than to any of the others,—a resemblance heightened by the presence of that most remarkable of birds,—the ostrich. Two species stalk over the plains of Patagonia,—the _struthio rhea_ and _struthio Darwinii_. The former extends northward over the Pampas, but not southward to the Straits of Magellan; the latter reaches the Straits, but is never seen upon the Pampas. The ranges of both meet and overlap near the middle of the Patagonian plain.

In addition to the ostrich, there are other large birds that frequent the steppes of Patagonia. The great condor here crosses the continent, and appears upon the Atlantic shores. He perches upon the cliffs of the sea,—as well as those that overhang the inland streams,—and builds his nest upon the bare rock. Two species of _polyborus_, or vulture-eagles,—the “carrancha” and “chiniango,”—fly side by side with the condor; and the black turkey-vultures are also denizens of this desert land. The red puma, too, has his home here; the fox of Azara; and several species of hawks and eagles.

With the exception of the first-mentioned—the ostrich—all these beasts and birds are predatory creatures; and require flesh for their subsistence. Where do they get it? Upon what do they all prey? Surely not upon the ostrich: since this bird is bigger than any of the birds of prey, and able to defend itself even against the great condor. There are only one or two other species of birds upon which the eagles might subsist,—a partridge and two kinds of plover; but the vultures could not get a living out of partridges and plovers. Small quadrupeds are alike scarce. There are only two or three species; and very small creatures they are,—one a sort of mole, “terutero,” and several kinds of mice. The latter are, indeed, numerous enough in some places,—swarming over the ground in tracts so sterile, that it is difficult to understand upon what they subsist. But vultures do not relish food, which they require to kill for themselves. They are too indolent for that; and wherever they are found, there must be some source of supply,—some large quadrupeds to provide them with their favorite food,—carrion. Otherwise, in this desert land, how should the ravenous puma maintain himself?—how the vultures and vulture-eagles? and, above all, upon what does the Patagonian himself subsist,—a man of such great bulk, as naturally to require more than the ordinary amount of food? The answer to all these questions, then, is, that a quadruped _does_ exist in the deserts of Patagonia; which, if it furnish not all these creatures with their full diet supplies, does a large proportion of it. This quadruped is the _guanaco_.

Before proceeding to give an account of the guanaco, let us paint the portrait of the Patagonian himself.

As already observed, he is nearly seven feet in height, without any exaggeration in the way of a hat. He wears none, but suffers his long black hair to hang loosely over his shoulders, or, more frequently, gathers it into a knot or club upon the crown of his head. To keep it from straggling into his eyes, he usually wears a narrow strap of guanaco-skin around his forehead, or a plaited band of the hair of the same animal; but, although possessing ostrich-feathers at discretion, he rarely indulges in the fashion of wearing a plume,—he knows he is tall enough without one. Over his shoulders, and hanging nearly to his heels, he wears a loose mantle of guanaco skins; which is of sufficient width to wrap round his body, and meet over his breast,—should he feel cold enough to require it. But he is not of a chilly nature; and he often throws this mantle entirely aside to give him the freedom of his arms; or more generally ties a girdle round it, and leaves the upper part to fall back from his shoulders, and hang down over the girdle. This mantle—with the exception of a small pouch-like apron in front—is the only “garment,” the Patagonian wears upon his body; but his lower limbs have a covering of their own. These are encased in a sort of boots or moccasons,—but differing from all other boots and moccasons, in the fact of their being without _soles_! They are made of the same material as the mantle,—that is, of the skin of the _guanaco_,—but sometimes also of the skin of a horse’s shank,—for the Patagonian, like the Pampas Indian, is in possession of this valuable animal.

This soleless boot covers the leg all round from below the knee, passing over the top of the foot like a gaiter; it extends also around the heel, and a little under it, but not so far as the instep, thus leaving the greater part of the sole bare, and the toes peeping out in front! They are, in reality, nothing more or less than gaiters, but gaiters of _guanaco_-skin, with the hair turned outward, and worn, not over a pair of boots or shoes, as gaiters usually are, but upon the naked shanks.

I have been thus particular in my description of the Patagonian _chaussure_; but you will understand my reasons, when I tell you that, from this trifling circumstance, not only has a vast territory of country, but the people who inhabit it, obtained the appellation by which both have long been known to the civilized world, that is, _Patagonian_.

When the sailors who accompanied Magellan first saw these colossal men, they noticed a peculiar circumstance in relation to their feet. The flaps, or “uppers,” of the gaiters, extending loosely across the tops of their feet, and exaggerated in breadth by the long hair that fringed out from their edges, gave to these Indians the appearance of having paws or “patas;” and the name _patagones_, or “duck-feet,” was given them by the sailors,—ever prone to the bestowal of a ludicrous epithet. This name, in a slightly altered form, they have borne ever since,—so that Patagonia means the country of the _duck-footed_ men.

The gaiters of the Patagonians have their peculiar purpose. They are not worn merely for the sake of keeping the legs warm, but also as a protection against the thorny shrubs which in Patagonia, as in all desert lands, are exceedingly abundant.

The mantle and moccasons, then, constitute the Patagonian’s costume; and it does not differ so widely from that of his neighbor the Fuegian,—the chief points of difference being in the size and material.

Of course the guanaco-skin is much larger than that of the common seal; and a good Patagonian cloak would furnish “doublets” for a whole tribe of the diminutive Fuegians. Perhaps his ample garment has something to do in producing the exaggerated accounts that have been given of the stature of the Patagonians. Certain it is, that a man thus apparelled looks larger than he otherwise would do; and presents altogether a more imposing appearance. The Caffre, in his civet-cat “kaross,” and the Pawnee Indian, in his robe of shaggy buffalo-hide, loom very large upon karroo and prairie,—much larger in appearance than they really are. It is but natural, therefore, to suppose that the Patagonian, attired in his guanaco mantle, and seen against the sky, standing upon the summit of a conspicuous cliff, would present a truly gigantic appearance.

When first seen in this position he was on foot. It was in the year 1520,—before the Spaniards had set foot upon South-American soil,—and of course before the horse became naturalized to that continent. In less than thirty years afterward, he appeared upon these same cliffs bestriding a steed: for this noble animal had extended his range over the plains of America,—even at an earlier period than his European owner. When the Spaniards, in their after-attempts at conquering the Indians of the Pampas and those of the northern prairies, entered upon these great plains, they encountered, to their great astonishment, their red enemies upon horseback, brandishing long lances, and managing fiery chargers with a skill equal to their own!

Among the earliest tribes that obtained possession of the horse, were those of the Pampas: since the first of these animals that ran wild on the plains of America were those landed in the La Plata expedition of Mendoza,—whence they became scattered over the adjacent pampas of Buenos Ayres.

From the banks of the La Plata, the horse passed rapidly southward to the Straits of Magellan; and from that hour the Patagonian walked no more. With the exception of a spur,—usually a sharp stick of wood, upon his heel,—the only additional article of his “wear,” the horse has made no change in his costume, nor in the fashion of his toilet. He still paints his face, as Magellan first saw it,—with a white ring encircling one eye, and a black or red one around the other; with one half of his body colored black, and a white sun delineated upon it, while the other half is white, forming the “ground” for a black moon! Scarce two individuals, however, wear the same escutcheon; for the fashion of having eyes, arms, and legs of two different colors—just as our ancestors used to wear their doublets and hose—is that followed by the Patagonians.

Notwithstanding this queer custom,—usually regarded as savage,—it would be unjust to call the Patagonian a _savage_. If we overlook the circumstance of his painting himself,—which, after all, is scarce more absurd than numberless practices of civilized life,—if we excuse him for too scantily covering the nakedness of his person, and relishing his food a little “underdone,” we find little else, either in his habits or his moral nature that would entitle him to be termed a savage. On the contrary, from all the testimony that can be obtained,—in all the intercourse which white men have had with him,—there is scarce an act recorded, that would hinder his claim to being considered as civilized as they. Honorable and amiable, brave and generous, he has ever proved himself; and never has he exhibited those traits of vindictive ferocity supposed to be characteristic of the untutored man. He has not even harbored malice for the wrongs done him by the unprincipled adventurer Magellan: who, in his treatment of these people, proved himself more of a savage than they. But the Patagonian restrained his vengeance; and apparently burying the outrage in oblivion, has ever since that time treated the white man with a generous and dignified friendship. Those who have been shipwrecked upon his solitary shores, have had no reason to complain of the treatment they have received at his hands. He is neither cannibal, nor yet barbarian,—but in truth a gentleman,—or, if you prefer it, a _gentleman savage_.

But how does this gentleman maintain himself? We have already seen that he is not a fisherman,—for he owns no species of boat; and without that his chances of capturing fish would be slight and uncertain. We have stated, moreover, that his country is a sterile desert; and so it is,—producing only the scantiest of herbage; neither plant, nor tree, that would furnish food; and incapable of being cultivated with any success. But he does not attempt cultivation,—he has no knowledge of it; nor is it likely he would feel the inclination, even if tempted by the most fertile soil. Neither is he pastoral in his habits: he has no flocks nor herds. The horse and dog are his only domestic animals; and these he requires for other purposes than food. The former enables him to pass easily over the wide tracts of his sterile land, and both assist him in the chase,—which is his true and only calling. One of the chief objects of his pursuit is the ostrich; and he eats the flesh of this fine desert bird. He eats it, whenever he can procure it; but he could not live solely upon such food: since he could not obtain it in sufficient quantity; and were this bird the only means he had for supplying his larder, he would soon be in danger of starvation. True, the ostrich lays a great many eggs, and brings forth a large brood of young; but there are a great many hungry mouths, and a great many large stomachs among the Patagonian people. The ostrich could never supply them all; and were it their only resource, the bird would soon disappear from the plains of Patagonia, and, perhaps, the race of Patagonian giants along with it.

Fortunately for the Patagonian, his country furnishes him with another kind of game, from which he obtains a more sufficient supply; and that is the guanaco. Behold yonder herd of stately creatures! There are several hundreds of them in all. Their bodies are covered with long, woolly hair of a reddish-brown color. If they had antlers upon their heads, you might mistake them for stags,—for they are just about the size of the male of the red deer. But they have no horns; and otherwise they are unlike these animals,—in their long slender necks, and coat of woolly hair. They are not deer of any kind,—they are _guanacos_. These, then, are the herds of the Patagonian Indian; they are the game he chiefly pursues; and their flesh the food, upon which he is mainly subsisted.

I need not here give the natural history of the guanaco. Suffice it to say that it is one of the four (perhaps five) species of _llamas_ or “camel-sheep” peculiar to the continent of South America,—the other three of which are the _vicuña_, the true _llama_, and the _paco_, or _alpaca_. The llama and alpaca are domesticated; but the vicuña, the most graceful of all, exists only in a wild state, like the guanaco. The four kinds inhabit the table-lands of the Andes, from Colombia to Chili; but the guanaco has extended its range across to the Atlantic side of the continent: this only in the territory south of the La Plata River. On the plains of Patagonia it is the characteristic quadruped: rarely out of sight, and usually seen in herds of twenty or thirty individuals; but sometimes in large droves, numbering as many as five hundred. There the puma—after the Indian of course—is its greatest enemy,—and the _débris_ of _his_ feast constitutes the food of the vultures and vulture-eagles,—thus accounting for the presence of these great birds in such a desert land.

The guanaco is among the shyest of quadrupeds; and its capture would be difficult to any one unacquainted with its habits. But these betray them to the skilled Patagonian hunter,—who is well acquainted with every fact in the natural history of the animal.

The Patagonian mode of capturing these creatures is not without many peculiarities in hunting practice. His first care is to find out their whereabouts: for the haunts which the guanacos most affect are not the level plains, where they might be seen from afar, but rather those places where the ground is hilly or rolling. There they are to be met with, ranged in extended lines along the sides of the hills, with an old male keeping watch upon the summit of some eminence that overlooks the flock. Should the sentinel espy any danger, or even suspect it, he gives the alarm by uttering a shrill, whistling cry, somewhat resembling a neigh. On hearing this well-known signal, the others at once take to flight, and gallop straight for the side of some other hill,—where they all halt in line, and stand waiting to see if they are followed. Very often the first intimation which the hunter has of their presence, is by hearing their strange signal of flight,—which may be described as a sort of triangular cross between squealing, neighing, and whistling.

Shy as they are, and difficult to be approached, they have the strange peculiarity of losing all their senses when put into confusion. On these occasions they behave exactly like a flock of sheep: not knowing which way to run; now dashing to one side, then to the other, and often rushing into the very teeth of that danger from which they are trying to escape!

Knowing their stupidity in this respect, the Patagonian hunter acts accordingly. He does not go out to hunt the guanacos alone, but in company with others of his tribe, the hunting-party often comprising the whole tribe. Armed with their “chuzos,”—light cane spears of eighteen feet in length,—and mounted on their well-trained steeds, they sally forth from their encampment, and proceed to the favorite pasturing-ground of the guanacos. Their purpose is, if possible, to effect the “surround” of a whole herd; and to accomplish this, it is necessary to proceed with great skill and caution. The animals are found at length; and, by means of a deployment of dogs and horsemen, are driven towards some hill which may be convenient to the pasture. The instinct of the animal guiding it thither, renders this part of the performance easy enough. On reaching the hill, the guanacos dash onward, up to its summit; and there, halting in a compact crowd, make front towards their pursuers. These meanwhile have galloped into a circle,—surrounding the eminence or all sides; and, advancing upwards amidst loud yells and the yelping of their dogs, close finally around the herd, and rush forward to the attack.

The long chuzos do their work with rapidity; and, in a few minutes, numbers of the guanacos lie lifeless among the rocks. The dogs, with some men, form an outer circle of assailants; and should any guanacos escape through the line of horsemen, they are seized upon by the dogs, and pinned to the spot,—for it is another sheep-like trait in the character of this animal, that the moment a dog—even though he be the merest cur—seizes hold of it, it neither attempts further flight nor resistence, but remains “pinned” to the spot as if under a paralysis of terror. They sometimes give battle, however, though never to a dog; and their mode of assault is by kicking behind them,—not with their hoofs as horses do, but with the knee-joints, the hind legs being both raised at once. Among themselves the males fight terrible battles: biting each other with their teeth, and often inflicting cruel acerations.

Strange to say, when the guanacos are found solitary, or only two or three together, they are far less shy than when assembled in large herds. At such times, the feeling of curiosity seems stronger than that of fear within them; and the hunter can easily approach within a dozen paces of one, by simply cutting a few capers, or holding up something that may be new to it,—such as a strip of colored rag, or some showy article of any kind. It was by such devices that the Patagonian captured these creatures, before possession of the horse enabled him to effect their destruction in the more wholesale fashion of the “surround.”

By tumbling about over the ground, he was enabled to bring the game within reach,—not of his bow and arrows; nor yet of his long spear,—for he did not use it for such a purpose,—and, of course, not of a gun, for he never had heard of such a weapon. Within reach of what then? Of a weapon peculiarly his own,—a weapon of singular construction and deadly effect; which he knew how to employ before ever the white man came upon his shores, and which the Spaniards who dwell in the Pampas country have found both pride and profit in adopting. This weapon is the “bolas.”

It is simple and easily described. Two round stones,—the women make them round by grinding the one against the other,—two round stones are covered with a piece of guanaco raw hide, presenting very much the appearance of cricket-balls, though of unequal size,—one being considerably smaller than the other. Two thongs are cut; and one end of each is firmly attached to one of the balls.