A NUMEROUS GUANACO HERD--A PAMPA HERMIT--I'ARIA AGAIN
LOSES THE WAY--CHORLITOS--A NEW EMOTION--A MOON
RAINBOW--WEATHER WISDOM--OPTIMIST AND PESSIMIST--
WILD-FOWL ABUNDANT--BAD LUCK.
The next day found us once more in the saddle, jogging along over the
plains with the hopes of a speedy arrival at the Cordilleras to cheer
us, under the depression of spirits which the dreary monotony of the
country could not fail to produce. The character of the landscape was
what we had been accustomed to since leaving Cabo Negro, being in this
region, if anything, possibly more barren than usual.
This day's ride was memorable for the immense number of guanacos which
covered the plains in all directions. On arriving at a broad
depression we were surprised by the sight of a herd of these animals,
which could not have numbered less than five thousand. This enormous
living mass defiled past us up the side and over the brow of an
escarpment which bound the depression referred to, occupying a space
of time of about ten minutes--although they were going at a very quick
pace--and once or twice before the day was over we met an equally
numerous herd. How such an extraordinary number of animals can find
subsistence on the barren plains, which they even seem to prefer to
the grassy ravines, is a matter difficult of explanation. Certain it
is that the withered pampa grass must contain great nourishing
properties, as the guanacos thrive and grow very fat on it. Although
they are generally rather shy, we passed one herd composed of some
unusually tame animals. As we approached them, instead of running
away, the whole herd came slowly trotting towards us, staring at us
with naïve unconcern, which showed that they were innocent of the
chase. As it chanced, we had plenty of meat, so we left them
unmolested. It was not often that we found them so tame, especially
when we happened to be short of meat; in such cases, with the usual
perverseness of things, they would scarcely allow one to approach
within rifle-range.
As we went on we observed a column of smoke to the westward, which
Gregorio judged to proceed from some fire near the Cordilleras; and
from his account it marked the camp of an eccentric Englishman, named
Greenwood, who, it appears, particularly affects that region, and who
scrupulously avoids contact with his fellow-creatures, scarcely ever
coming down to Sandy Point. In fact, according to Gregorio, he seemed
to live the life of a hermit. He had renounced the world and its
vanities, even to the extent of disdaining the ordinary rough comforts
of the other inhabitants of the pampa. Clothed in the most primitive
fashion, he roams along the slopes of the Cordilleras, and rather than
make a trip to the colony to lay in a store of provisions, passes a
whole year on a diet of ostrich and guanaco meat, pure and simple.
I was rather interested in this species of Wild Man of the Woods, and
kept a sharp look out as we journeyed through that region in the hopes
of seeing him. But, if near us at any time--and of course our fires,
had he chosen to come, gave sufficient indication of our
whereabouts--he did not relax his rule of exclusiveness in our favour,
and I, consequently, never had an opportunity of making his
acquaintance.
During the march we started up a male ostrich, which had about forty
young ones under its care. Though we called our dogs back, nothing
could restrain them, and they gave chase, killing one of the small
ostriches before we could get up to them; the male bird and the others
escaped. The flesh of the young ostrich is not very palatable, so we
left the bird, taking only its legs, which make very nice handles for
umbrellas and whips. On this day I'Aria again distinguished himself by
losing the way, he having been entrusted by the other guides with the
leadership on this occasion, as he was supposed to be better
acquainted than any one with this particular region.
For quite two hours we followed him in all directions through an
extensive beechwood thicket, in search of the springs we were to camp
by that night; and when they were at last found, it was by Gregorio,
and in quite another direction than the one in which I'Aria, with his
usual pertinacious confidence, was taking us. He came in for a good
deal of abuse from his colleagues, and a fair share of black looks
from us, all of which he bore with the cheerful indifference which
characterised him under all circumstances.
The present was to be our last camp among beeches, as we had now to
strike across a perfectly woodless region, on our way to the point at
which we intended entering the Cordilleras. These occasional patches
of beeches are only to be found in the vicinity of the mountains; in
the plains that stretch down to the coast nothing is to be met with in
the way of fuel but "berberis" and a few other scrubby kinds of
bushes. We therefore made the most of our present abundance of wood,
and revelled in huge fires, in order to lay in a store of warm
memories at least to carry with us into the bleak region we were about
to enter. At dinner this day we tasted a novelty in the way of fowl,
of such excellence that I cannot let the occasion pass without
expatiating for a moment on its merits. In the daytime we had met with
large flights of a bird which the natives call "chorlito," or
"batatu," in species something between a golden plover and a woodcock.
These birds come down to Patagonia in incredible numbers at this
season, to feast on the ripe cranberries which grow everywhere in
profusion, and on which the ostriches, ibis, and wild geese all feed
and thrive. We had shot some of these "chorlitos," and they had been
roasted for dinner on the spit, along with some snipe and wild duck we
had brought with us from Gallegos. At dinner, however, they were at
first rather neglected, as we had got rather tired of birds, having
had so much of them at Laguna Blanca. Presently, however, dinner being
finished, some one of our party, in a spirit of careless curiosity
rather than from any desire to satisfy an already satiated appetite,
pulled one of these chorlitos off the spit, and with a half-deprecating
air took a bite of it. But when he had done so, the sudden alteration
in his bearing from apathy to activity was a sight to see. The
expression on his face, till then one of weary indifference, gave way
to a look of intense astonishment, which finally became one of placid
delight, as bit by bit the chorlito disappeared down his throat.
Though he did not speak, his silent action spoke volumes of eloquent
recommendation, and, as may be imagined, we were soon all engaged in
eating chorlitos; for a time no sound being heard but the smacking of
lips, the crunching of bones, and occasionally such exclamations as
"Stunning!" "By Jove!" "Delicious!" etc. etc. The fact is, we had
discovered what some Persian king offered half his kingdom for--a new
emotion--for so seductively succulent, so exquisitely flavoured, so
far beyond anything the gourmet might dream of in the sublimest flight
of his imagination, is the flesh of the cranberry-fed chorlito, that
the sensation it produces on the palate when tasted for the first time
may, without hyperbole, be described as rising to the dignity of an
emotion.
Unfortunately, as we travelled northward we seemed to leave the region
of these birds, and only on this and two other occasions were we able
to feast upon them.
We witnessed a phenomenon that night in the shape of a moon rainbow,
and many were the conjectures as to whether it presaged good or bad
weather. Rain is the one thing above all others calculated to make an
open-air life unpleasant, and a fear of it being constantly present to
our minds, nearly every evening meteorological speculations formed a
staple topic of conversation for the whole camp. A great amount of
weather wisdom was developed among us, and very soon a party spirit
was imported into the question, our camp splitting into two
sections--Optimists and Pessimists. Just before bedtime the sky would
be conned, and the various weather indications eagerly discussed,
often with some heat; and it was amusing to see how frequently the
optimists would enlist as arguments in favour of their prophecies of
fine weather, the very same phenomena of cloud or temperature on
which, on the other hand, the pessimists grounded their equally
confident prognostications of rain. On occasions when these
discussions had been carried on with more than usual earnestness,
should the rain suddenly begin to patter down on the tents in the
middle of the night, one might often hear conversations like the
following:--
_Pessimist_ (in tone of triumph, evidently pleased that it was
raining, as his antagonist was thereby confounded). "Well! who was
right about the rain? I told you it was sure to come!"
_Optimist_ (cheerily, and half implying that he believes it isn't
raining at all). "It is not raining. Well, a drop or two, perhaps, but
that's nothing; it will soon be over."
_Pessimist_ (fervently praying that it may rain cats and dogs for the
next twelve hours). "You will think it's something though, when you
are swamped. (Confidently) It's bound to rain till morning."
_Optimist_ (scornfully). "Rain till morning! Stuff! Why, it never
rains long with a full moon" (or no moon, as may suit the case).
_Pessimist_ (derisively). "That's exactly when it does rain. Didn't
you know that?"
_Optimist_ (pertinaciously). "Why, only yesterday you said yourself
that one might be certain it would not rain long with a full moon, so
there!"
_Pessimist_ (conveniently forgetful). "I'm sure I never said anything
of the kind."
_Optimist_ gives vent to a sleepy but uncomplimentary ejaculation
against people generally who don't know what they are talking about.
_Pessimist_ retorts with drowsy ditto, whereupon follows silence, or
silence broken by snores.
On this particular evening the halo was naturally a strong feature in
the discussion, and much ingenious special pleading was employed on
both sides to prove that its presence was an infallible indication of
rain or no rain. This time the optimists gained a signal victory, as
the night was fine throughout.
The next day was spent in shooting wild-fowl down by a big lake which
lay about a couple of miles distant from the camp. I shot a great many
lovely specimens of water-fowl, the like of which I had never seen
before, and loaded my horse with a great quantity of geese, duck, and
plover. Riding home quietly after my day's sport I started up a big
ostrich, who rose from the ground not more than a couple of yards
distant. How I longed for one of the greyhounds, and shouted loudly to
François, whom I could descry in camp idly doing nothing, but he could
not or would not hear. Galloping towards him, I hastily explained in
which direction the ostrich had disappeared, and mounting his horse he
went off in pursuit. An hour later he returned empty-handed. He had
come across the ostrich and given chase, but the bird, taking to the
beech woods, had disappeared therein, closely followed by the dogs.
After a long and fruitless search for both, he had been obliged to
return without his dogs to the camp. Doubtless, as he observed, they
had managed to kill their prey, and were even then indulging in a
heavy feed. His words were verified when, later on, the animals
returned, presenting an undeniable appearance of having partaken of a
large repast. Gregorio had been absent all day in search of guanaco,
but as he had gone on foot and taken no dogs with him, he had been
unable to secure the one or two which he had managed to wound. So,
altogether, our attempts in the chase did not on this occasion
flourish.