Part 31

The other ends of the thongs are knotted to each other; and when the strings are at full stretch, the balls will then be about eight feet apart,—in other words, each thong should be four feet in length. The bolas are now made, and ready for use. The chief difficulty in their manufacture lies in the rounding of the stones; which, as above observed, is the work of the women; and at least two days are required to grind a pair of bola-stones to the proper spherical shape. To handle them requires long practice; and this the Patagonian has had: for, ever since the young giant was able to stand upon his feet, he has been in the habit of playing with the bolas. They have been the toy of his childhood; and to display skill in their management has been the pride of his boyish days; therefore, on arriving at full maturity, no wonder he exhibits great dexterity in their use. He can then project them to a distance of fifty yards,—with such precision as to strike the legs of either man or quadruped, and with such force, that the thong not only whips itself around the object struck, but often leaves a deep weal in the skin and flesh. The mode of throwing them is well known. The right hand only is used; and this grasps the thongs at their point of union, about half-way between the ends. The balls are then whirled in a circular motion around the head and, when sufficient centrifugal power has been obtained, the weapon is launched at the object to be captured. The aim is a matter of nice calculation,—in which arm, eye, and mind, all bear a part,—and so true is this aim, in Patagonian practice, that the hunter seldom fails to bring down or otherwise cripple his game,—be it ostrich, cavy, or guanaco.

By these bolas, then, did the Patagonian hunter capture the guanaco and ostrich in times past; and by the same weapon does he still capture them: for he can use it even better on horseback than on foot. Either the bird or the quadruped, within fifty yards, has no chance of escape from his unerring aim.

The bolas, in some districts, have been improved upon by the introduction of a third ball; but this the Patagonian does not consider an _improvement_. Wooden balls are sometimes employed; and iron ones, where they can be had,—the last sort can be projected to the greatest distance.

The Patagonian takes the young guanacos alive; and brings them up in a state of domestication. The little creatures may often be observed, standing outside the tents of a Patagonian encampment,—either tied by a string, or held in hand by some “infant giant” of the tribe. It is not solely for the pleasure of making pets of them, that the young guanacos are thus cherished; nor yet to raise them for food. The object aimed at has a very different signification. These young guanacos are intended to be used as _decoys_: for the purpose of attracting their own relatives,—fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, and aunts, even to the most distant thirty-second cousinship,—within reach of the terrible bolas!

This is effected by tying the innocent little creature to some bush,—behind which the hunter conceals himself,—and then imitating the mother’s call; which the Indian hunter can do with all the skill of a ventriloquist. The young captive responds with the plaintive cry of captivity,—the parents are soon attracted to the spot, and fall victims to their instinct of natural affection. Were it not for this, and similar stratagems adopted by the Patagonian hunter, he would pursue the guanaco in vain. Even with the help of his pack of dogs, and mounted upon the fleet Spanish horse, the guanaco cannot be hunted with success. Nature, in denying to these animals almost every means of defence, has also bestowed upon them a gift which enables them to escape from many kinds of danger. Of mild and inoffensive habits,—defenceless as the hare,—they are also possessed of a like swiftness. Indeed, there is perhaps no quadruped—not even the antelope—can get over the ground as speedily as the guanaco or its kindred species the vicuña, Both are swift as the wind; and the eye, following either in its retreat over the level plain, or up the declivity of a hill, is deluded into the fancy that it is watching some great bird upon the wing.

There are certain seasons during which the guanaco is much more difficult to approach than at other times; but this is true of almost every species of animal,—whether bird or quadruped. Of course, the tame season is that of sexual intercourse, when even the wild beasts become reckless under the influence of passion. At other times the guanacos are generally very shy; and sometimes extremely so. It is not uncommon for a herd of them to take the alarm, and scamper off from the hunter, even before the latter has approached near enough to be himself within sight of them! They possess great keenness of scent, but it is the eye which usually proves their friend, warning them of the approach of an enemy—especially if that enemy be a man upon horseback—before the latter is aware of their proximity. Often a cloud of dust, rising afar off over the plain, is the only proof the hunter can obtain, that there was game within the range of his vision. It is a curious circumstance connected with hunting on these great plains,—both on the Pampas and in Patagonia,—that a man on foot can approach much nearer to any game than if he were mounted upon a horse. This is true not only in relation to the guanaco and ostrich, but also of the large Pampas deer (_cervus campestris_); and indeed of almost every animal that inhabits these regions. The reason is simple enough. All these creatures are accustomed to seeing their human enemy only on horseback: for “still hunting,” or hunting afoot, is rarely or never practised upon the plains. Not only that, but a man on foot, would be a rare sight either to an ostrich or guanaco; and they would scarce recognize him as an enemy! Curiosity would be their leading sentiment; and, being influenced by this, the hunter on foot can often approach them without difficulty. The Patagonian, knowing this peculiarity, not infrequently takes advantage of it, to kill or capture both the bird and the quadruped.

This sentiment of the brute creation, on the plains of Patagonia, is directly the reverse of what may be observed in our own fields. The sly crow shows but little of this shyness, so long as you approach it on a horse’s back; but only attempt to steal up to it on foot,—even with a thick hawthorn hedge to screen you,—and every fowler knows how wary the bird can prove itself. Some people pronounce this _instinct_. If so, instinct and reason must be one and the same thing.

Besides hunting the guanaco, much of the Patagonian’s time is spent in the chase of the ostrich; and, to circumvent this shy creature, he adopts various _ruses_. The American ostrich, or more properly _rhea_, has many habits in common with its African congener. One of these is, when pursued it runs in a straight track, and, if possible, _against_ the wind. Aware of this habit, the Patagonians pursue it on horseback,—taking the precaution to place some of their party in ambush in the direction which the bird is most likely to run. They then gallop hastily up to the line of flight, and either intercept the _rhea_ altogether, or succeed in “hoppling” it with the bolas. The moment these touch its long legs, both are drawn suddenly together; and the bird goes down as if shot!

Drake and other voyagers have recorded the statement that the Patagonians attract the rhea within reach, by disguising themselves in a skin of this bird. This is evidently an untruth; and the error, whether wilful or otherwise, derives its origin from the fact, that a stratagem of the kind is adopted by the Bushmen of Africa to deceive the ostrich. But what is practicable and possible between a pigmy Bushman and a gigantic African ostrich, becomes altogether impracticable and improbable, when the _dramatis personæ_ are a gigantic Patagonian and an American _rhea_. Moreover, it is also worthy of remark, that the _rhea_ of the Patagonian plains is not the larger of the two species of American ostrich, but the smaller one (_rhea Darwinii_), which has been lately specifically named after the celebrated naturalist. And justly does Mr. Darwin merit the honor: since he was the first to give a scientific description of the bird. He was not the first, however,—as he appears himself to believe,—to discover its existence, or to give a record of it in writing. The old Styrian monk, Dobrizhoffer, two centuries before Mr. Darwin was born, in his “History of the Abipones” clearly points to the fact that there were two distinct species of the “avestruz,” or South-American ostrich.

Mr. Darwin, however, has confirmed Dobrizhoffer’s account; and brought both birds home with him; and he, who chooses to reflect upon the subject, will easily perceive how impossible it would be for a Patagonian to conceal his bulky _corpus_ under the skin of a _rhea Darwinii_, or even that of its larger congener, the _rhea_ _Americana_. The skin of either would be little more than large enough to form a cap for the _colossus_ of the Patagonian plains.

In the more fertile parts of Patagonia, the large deer (_cervus campestris_) is found. These are also hunted by the Patagonian, and their flesh is esteemed excellent food; not, however, until it has lain several days buried underground,—for it requires this funereal process, to rid it of the rank, goat-like smell, so peculiar to the species. The mode of hunting this deer—at least that most likely to insure success—is by stealing forward to it on foot.

Sometimes a man may approach it, within the distance of a few yards,—even when there is no cover to shelter him,—by walking gently up to it. Of all the other quadrupeds of the Pampas,—and these plains are its favorite _habitat_,—the _cervus campestris_ most dreads the horseman:—since its enemy always appears in that guise; and it has learnt the destructive power of both lazo and bolas, by having witnessed their effects upon its comrades. The hunter dismounted has no terrors for it; and if he will only keep lazo and bolas out of sight,—for these it can distinguish, as our crow does the gun,—he may get near enough to fling either one or the other with a fatal precision.

The “agouti” (_cavia Patagonica_) frequently furnishes the Patagonian with a meal. This species is a true denizen of the desert plains of Patagonia; and forms one of the characteristic features of their landscape. I need not describe its generic characters; and specifically it has been long known as the “Patagonian cavy.” Its habits differ very little from the other South-American animals of this rodent genus,—except that, unlike the great capivare, it does not affect to dwell near the water. It is altogether a denizen of dry plains, in which it burrows, and upon which it may be seen browsing, or hopping at intervals from one point to another, like a gigantic rabbit or hare. In fact, the cavies appear to be the South-American representatives of the hare family,—taking their place upon all occasions; and, though of many different species,—according to climate, soil, and other circumstances,—yet agreeing with the hares in most of their characteristic habits. So much do some of the species assimilate to these last, that colonial sportsmen are accustomed to give them the Old-World appellation of the celebrated swift-footed rodent. The Patagonian cavies are much larger than English hares,—one of them will weigh twenty-five pounds,—but, in other respects, there is a great deal of resemblance. On a fine evening, three or four cavies may be seen squatted near each other, or hopping about over the plains, one following the other in a direct line, as if they were all proceeding on the same errand! Just such a habit is frequently observed among hares and rabbits in a field of young corn or fallow.

The Patagonian boys and women often employ themselves in seeking out the ostriches’ nests, and robbing them of their eggs,—which last they find good eating. In the nests of the smaller species which we have already stated to be the most common in the Patagonian country,—they are not rewarded so liberally for their trouble. Only from sixteen to twenty eggs are hatched by the _rhea Darwinii_ and about twenty-five to thirty by the _rhea Americana_. It will be seen, that this is far below the number obtained from the nest of the African ostrich (_struthio camelus_),—in which as many as sixty or seventy eggs are frequently found. It would appear, therefore, that the greater the size of the bird, belonging to this genus the greater the number of its brood. Both the American rheas follow the peculiar habit of the true ostrich: that is, several hens deposit their eggs in the same nest; and the male bird assists in the process of incubation. Indeed, in almost every respect—except size and general color of plumage—the American and African ostriches resemble each other very closely; and there is no reason in the world why a pedantic compiler should have bestowed upon them distinct generic names. Both are true _camel birds_: both alike the offspring, as they are the ornament, of the desert land.

Another occupation in which the Patagonian engages—and which sometimes rewards him with a meal—is the snaring of the Pampas partridge (_nothuria major_). This is usually the employment of the more youthful giants; and is performed both on foot and on horseback. A small species of partridge is taken on foot; but the larger kind can be snared best from the back of a horse. The mode is not altogether peculiar to Patagonia: since it is also practised in other parts of America,—both north and south,—and the bustard is similarly captured upon the _karoos_ of Africa. During the noon hours of the day, the performance takes place: that is, when the sun no longer casts a shadow. The locality of the bird being first ascertained, the fowler approaches it, as near as it will allow. He then commences riding round, and round, and round,—being all the while watched by the foolish bird, that, in constantly turning its head, appears to grow giddy, and loses all dread of danger. The Indian each moment keeps lessening his circle; or, in other words, approaches by a spiral line, continually closing upon its centre. His only weapon is a long light reed,—something like the common kind of cane fishing-rod, seen in the hands of rustic youth in our own country. On the end of this reed he has adjusted a stiff snare; the noose of which is made from the epidermis of an ostrich plume, or a piece of the split quill; and which, being both stiff and elastic, serves admirably for the purpose for which it is designed.

Having at length arrived within a proper distance to reach the beguiled bird, the boy softly stops his horse, bends gently sideward, and, adroitly passing his noose over the neck of the partridge, jerks the silly creature into the air. In this way an Indian boy will capture a dozen of these birds in a few hours; and might obtain far more, if the sun would only stay all day in the zenith. But as the bright orb sinks westward, the elongated shadow of the horseman passes over the partridge before the latter is within reach of the snare; and this alarming the creature, causes it to take flight.

The Patagonian builds no house; nor does he remain long in one place at a time. The sterile soil upon which he dwells requires him to lead a nomade life; passing from place to place in search of game. A tent is therefore his home; and this is of the simplest kind: the tent-cloth consisting of a number of guanaco skins stitched together, and the poles being such as he can obtain from the nearest tract of thicket or _chapparal_. The poles are set bow-fashion in the ground, and over these the skin covering is spread,—one of the bent poles being left uncovered, to serve as a doorway. Most of the Patagonian’s time is occupied in procuring game: which, as we have seen, is his sole sustenance; and when he has any leisure moments, they are given to the care of his horse, or to the making or repairing his weapons for the chase. Above all, the bolas are his especial pride, and ever present with him. When not in actual use, they are suspended from his girdle, or tied sash-like around his waist,—the balls dangling down like a pair of tassels.

Only during his hours of sleep, is this national weapon ever out of the hands of the Patagonian giant. Had the wonderful giant of our nurseries been provided with such a sling, it is probable that little Jack would have found in him an adversary more difficult to subdue!

THE FUEGIAN DWARFS.

The great continent of South America, tapering like a tongue to the southward, ends abruptly on the Straits of Magellan. These straits may be regarded as a sort of natural canal, connecting the Atlantic with the Pacific Ocean, winding between high rocky shores, and indented with numerous bays and inlets. Though the water is of great depth, the Straits themselves are so narrow that a ship passing through need never lose sight of land on either side; and in many places a shell, projected from an ordinary howitzer, would pitch clear across them from shore to shore! The country extending northward from these straits is, as already seen, called _Patagonia_; that which lies on their southern side is the famed “land of fire,” _Tierra del Fuego_.

The canal, or channel, of the Straits of Magellan does not run in a direct line from the Atlantic to the Pacific. On the contrary, a ship entering from the former, instead of passing due west, must first run in a southwest direction,—rather more south than west. This course will continue, until the ship is about half-way between the two oceans. She will then head almost at a right angle to her former course; and keep this direction—which is nearly due northwest—until she emerges into the Pacific.

It will thus be seen, that the Straits form an angle near their middle; and the point of land which projects into the vertex of this angle, and known to navigators as Cape Forward, is the most southern land of the American _continent_. Of course this is not meant to apply to the most southern point of American land,—since Tierra del Fuego must be considered as part of South America. The far-famed “Cape Horn” is the part of America nearest to the South Pole; and this is a promontory on one of the small elevated islands lying off the southern coast of Tierra del Fuego itself. Tierra del Fuego was for a long time regarded as a single island; though, even in the voyage of Magellan, several large inlets, that resembled channels, were observed running into the land; and it was suspected by that navigator, that these inlets might be passages leading through to the ocean. Later surveys have proved that the conjectures of the Spano-Portuguese voyager were well founded; and it is now known that instead of a single island, the country called Tierra del Fuego is a congeries of many islands, of different shapes and sizes,—separated from one another by deep and narrow channels, or arms of the sea, with an endless ramification of sounds and inlets. In the western part—and occupying more than three fourths of their whole territory—these close-lying islands are nothing else than mountains,—several of them rising five thousand feet above the level of the water, and stepping directly down to it, without any foot-hills intervening! Some of them have their lower declivities covered with sombre forests while, farther up, nothing appears but the bare brown rocks, varied with blue glaciers, or mottled with masses of snow. The more elevated peaks are covered with snow that never melts; since their summits rise considerably above the snow-line of this cold region.

These mountain-islands of Tierra del Fuego continue on to Cape Horn, and eastward to the Straits of Le Maire, and the bleak islet of Staaten Land. They may, in fact, be considered as the continuation of the great chain of the Andes, if we regard the intersecting channels—including that of Magellan itself—as mere clefts or ravines, the bottoms of which, lying below the level of the sea, have been filled with sea-water. Indeed, we may rationally take this view of the case: since these channels bear a very great resemblance to the stupendous ravines termed “barrancas” and “quebradas,” which intersect the Cordilleras of the Andes in other parts of South America,—as also in the northern division of the American continent.

Regarding the Straits of Magellan, then, and the other channels of Tierra del Fuego, as great _water-barrancas_, we may consider the Andes as terminating at Cape Horn itself, or rather at Staaten Land: since that island is a still more distant extension of this, the longest chain of mountains on the globe.

Another point may be here adduced, in proof of the rationality of this theory. The western, or mountainous part of Tierra del Fuego bears a strong resemblance to the western section of the continent,—that is, the part occupied by the Andes. For a considerable distance to the north of the Magellan Straits, nearly one half of the continental land is of a mountainous character. It is also indented by numerous sounds and inlets, resembling those of Tierra del Fuego; while the mountains that hang over these deep-water ravines are either timbered, or bare of trees and snow-covered, exhibiting glacier valleys, like those farther south. The whole physical character is similar; and, what is a still more singular fact, we find that in the western, or mountainous part of Patagonia, there are no true Patagonians; but that there the water-Indians, or Fuegians, frequent the creeks and inlets.

Again, upon the east,—or rather northeast of Tierra del Fuego,—that angular division of it, which lies to the north of the Sabastian channel presents us with physical features that correspond more nearly with those of the plains of Patagonia; and upon this part we find tribes of Indians that beyond doubt are true Patagonians,—and not Fuegians, as they have been described. This will account for the fact that some navigators have seen people on the Fuegian side that were large-bodied men, clothed in guanaco skins, and exhibiting none of those wretched traits which characterize the Fuegians; while, on the other hand, miserable, stunted men are known to occupy the mountainous western part of Patagonia. It amounts to this,—that the Patagonians _have_ crossed the Straits of Magellan; and it is this people, and not Fuegians, who are usually seen upon the champaign lands north of the Sebastian channel. Even the guanaco has crossed at the same place,—for this quadruped, as well as a species of deer, is found in the eastern division of Tierra del Fuego. Perhaps it was the camel-sheep—which appears to be almost a necessity of the Patagonian’s existence—that first induced these water-hating giants to make so extensive a voyage as that of crossing the Straits at Cape Orange!

At Cape Orange the channel is so narrow, one might fancy that the Patagonians, if they possessed one half the pedestrian stretch attributed to the giants of old, might have stepped from shore to shore without wetting their great feet!

Perhaps there are no two people on earth, living so near each other as the Patagonians and Fuegians, who are more unlike. Except in the color of the skin and hair, there is hardly a point of resemblance between them. The former seems to hate the sea: at all events he never goes out upon, nor even approaches its shore, except in pursuit of such game as may wander that way. He neither dwells near, nor does he draw any portion of his subsistence from the waters of the great deep,—fish constituting no part of his food.