WE THINK OF RETURNING--GOOD-BYE TO THE CORDILLERAS--THE
LAST OF THE WILD HORSES--MOSQUITOES--A STORMY NIGHT--
A CALAMITY--THE LAST OF OUR BISCUIT--THE UTILITY OF
FIRE-SIGNALS.
A few more days spent in the Cordilleras brought us near the time when
it was necessary to begin to think of returning to Sandy Point. Our
provisions were beginning to sink rapidly; tea and coffee and sugar we
still had plenty of, but the biscuit bags were getting ominously low,
and all our other dainties had already been consumed; and many of our
camps were painfully remembered in connection with this or that
article of food, which had been partaken of there for the last time.
Thus, near "Los Bargnales" we had finished our last tin of butter;
"Los Morros" witnessed the broaching of our last tin of preserved
milk; and here, in the Cordilleras, we ruefully swallowed our last
dish of porridge. Guanaco meat is good, so is ostrich meat; good, too,
is an open-air, gipsy life in a bright climate, with lots of sport
and pleasant companionship; but the goodness of all these things is
materially enhanced by the accompaniment of good cheer, and materially
depreciated by the lack of it. Thus, when our daily _menu_ began to
consist of a series of ingenious changes on the monotonous theme of
ostrich and guanaco meat, varied only by baked biscuits, our thoughts
somehow began to run in the groove of home; and we often found
ourselves talking of "dear old England" and its roast beef in a strain
of affectionate longing. Somehow the air of Patagonia did not seem so
bracing and inspiriting as at first; we began to grow sceptical on the
subject of guanaco and ostrich hunting; we discovered that the wild
duck were too tame to give real good sport, and that snipe-shooting in
a country where these birds get up in flocks, is simply a matter of
loading and pulling the trigger. Discomforts and hardships, of which
we once made light, we now began to take as serious matters, and our
tempers, once so sweet and accommodating, had begun to grow acrid and
touchy. We all felt more inclined to dwell on the weight of our
individual opinions, and less disposed to value those of our
companions. Once we had avoided discussions, as liable to disturb the
harmony which reigned among us; now we welcomed them as pleasant
irritants, and even went out of our way to provoke them. The result
was that one day, on somebody's suggesting that perhaps we had better
think of returning; after a little opposition, as a matter of course
(for in our then mood it was quite sufficient for anybody to propose a
plan for everybody else to immediately gainsay it), we unanimously
agreed that, considering that we had seen a good deal of Patagonia,
considering, too, that our provisions were nearly exhausted, and that
our horses were very stale, it was better to start at once.
So one morning the packhorses were driven up, and the familiar
occupation of loading them gone through. It had now become a much
simpler matter than formerly, and we were enabled to comfort ourselves
with the reflection that the loss in our larder was a gain as regards
the time economised every day in packing up.
Before leaving our pretty camp we carved our names on one of the
trees, and erected a cairn, on the top of which we left a bottle--the
only emblem of civilisation we could spare. Then, mounting, we turned
our backs on the Cordilleras, and set out towards the ravine we had
entered by, whose name, among the traders, is "The Wild Horse Ravine."
As we were riding along, a solitary horse suddenly appeared on the
crest of a hill, and, after eyeing us for a moment, came tearing down
towards us at a frantic gallop, with a loud neigh, and perhaps
dangerous intentions. Our troop of horses scattered in all directions;
Gregorio and I'Aria got out their "bolas," prepared for emergencies,
and we curiously awaited the sequel of the incident. Nearer and nearer
came the untamed steed, without abating his speed one jot, and
evidently determined to charge right at us. We began to feel
uncomfortable, but put our trust in Gregorio's deftness, though it was
perhaps well it was not put to the test. When within about ten yards
of us the wild horse suddenly stopped, stood still for one second, and
then turned, and, with two sets of "bolas" whizzing harmlessly round
his ears, went bounding away as fast as he had come, never stopping
till he reached the top of the hill he had first appeared on. This was
the last we saw of the "Bagnales."
Late in the afternoon we crossed the ravine where we had camped before
entering the Cordilleras. Here we were assailed by a thick cloud of
mosquitoes, who annoyed us and our poor horses horribly, buzzing round
us, and biting viciously wherever they could settle. For a time
nothing was to be heard but angry exclamations and objurgations,
mingled with occasional cries of fiendish joy as one of us succeeded
in destroying half a dozen of our thirsty tormentors with one slap of
the hand. But from the fury of their numbers there was no refuge,
opposition only increased their virulence, and those who were fiercest
and most energetic in driving them off were always surrounded by the
thickest cloud. Relief only came when we got out of the ravine into
the plain, and there one puff of wind swept our enemy clean away in a
second, not one mosquito remaining to curse at or to kill.
Thankful for our release from this annoyance, we were not disposed to
grumble very much at the oppressive heat to which we were exposed
during the whole of the day, though the sun beat down on us from a
cloudless sky with overpowering force, and our burnt and blistered
faces smarted painfully under its fiery rays. We camped that night
near a broad lagoon, and for the next few days continued our journey
over the plains, without anything of note occurring. Hitherto we had
been pretty fortunate as regards the weather, and the nights
especially, with hardly an exception, had been calm and fine. But one
march before reaching Coy-Inlet River we camped in a broad valley,
where our experience of Patagonian nights was unpleasantly varied.
Shortly after we had gone to bed, the misgivings which the threatening
aspect of the sky had called up, as we took a last glance at the
weather before turning in, were more than realised. The wind began to
pipe ominously through the grass, and before long it was blowing a
regular gale. A sudden squall carried our tents clean out of their
pickets, and sent them whirling through the air. A scene of the most
uncomfortable confusion ensued. It was pouring with rain, pitch dark,
and the wind was blowing with such force that it was hard to keep
one's legs. Rugs, and clothes, and smouldering embers were being blown
in all directions; everybody was blundering about in the darkness,
tripping up over something, or falling against some one else; and the
howling of the wind, the rush of the river, the chorus of loud
imprecations in various languages, and the unearthly moaning and
whimpering of the dogs, made up as wild a scene of noisy confusion as
could possibly be imagined.
Several vain attempts were made to set up the tents, but the wind was
too strong; and at last, perfectly drenched through, we had to give up
the attempt, and crawl into whatever furs first came to hand, to wait
till the storm should pass over. This it did not do till about four
o'clock in the morning, just as it was getting light. It was too late
or early to go to bed again then, so we crept out, sleepy, and damp,
and miserable, and drank hot coffee round a smoking fire, till the sun
got up and warmed us thoroughly.
We were to camp that evening by the Coy-Inlet River, and as it was a
good way off we set out soon after breakfast. We passed several herds
of guanaco, and also a herd of about eighty or a hundred ostriches. I
had never seen so many together before. We gave chase to them, but the
dogs got so excited, running first after one ostrich and then after
another, that at last they all got away. A calamity happened to us
that afternoon. The mare who carried the two little bags with all that
remained of our greatest treasure--our biscuits, suddenly took fright
at something, and galloped wildly away. We followed her course with
anxious eyes and beating hearts, not daring to go after her, lest it
should aggravate her fears. For a time the pack sat firmly, and we
began to breathe, but even while we watched, oh, horror! it began to
incline towards one side, and then gradually slid over. The moment the
mare felt it underneath her she began to kick out, and galloping
quicker and quicker, in a very few seconds she was packless and
pacified. Then only did we gallop forward to know the worst, and the
worst was bad indeed. A long trail of broken biscuits, sown in the
grass, marked the course the unfortunate mare had taken, and when we
got to the bags only a few small handfuls remained. We tried to gather
together what we could, but the biscuit, by long travel, had broken
into fine dust, and it was quite impossible to pick much out of the
long grass it had fallen into. Our last kettle had also severely
suffered in the fracâs, a big hole appearing in its side when, after a
long search, it was at last found. Guillaume talked hopefully of being
able to mend it, but failing this desirable consummation, farewell the
cheering cup of maté; farewell the morning bowl of grateful coffee;
farewell content--the camp-life's chiefest comfort gone! Slowly and
mournfully we tied up what was left of the biscuits in a small canvas
bag, which Gregorio secured to his saddle, and then, after having
devoted a quarter of an hour to grazing on all fours on such fragments
as could be found among the grass, we continued our journey,
reflecting on the vanity of all things.
We arrived at Coy-Inlet River that evening, and fording it, camped
near the bank. It rained again during the night, but as there was
little or no wind, it did not matter much, and excepting a pervading
sense of dampness, we suffered no great discomfort. Continuing our
march that day over the plains that lay between Coy-Inlet River and
the Gallegos, we saw the smoke of numerous fires in the distance; but
there was no response to the fires we lit in answer, and so we
concluded that they were only old fires, which were still smouldering.
The next day one of our party had an opportunity of practically
testing the value of fires as a means of signalling one's whereabouts
in the pampa. He had got up early in the morning, and had gone out on
foot at about five o'clock with his rifle, to try and stalk a guanaco.
At ten o'clock he had not returned. As we had only a short march to
make that day, it did not matter if we started a little later than
usual, so we lay about, waiting for his return. Eleven, twelve o'clock
came, but still no signs of him. He had now been away more than seven
hours, and I began to think that something must have happened to him.
We therefore rode up on the plains to look for him, lighting fires at
intervals, to show the position of the camp, and anxiously scanning
the horizon to see whether he had also made a fire. But though we
rode about for a long time nothing was to be seen, and we went back to
the camp, wondering what could have happened. Just as we were in the
middle of a perplexed discussion as to what steps to take in the
matter, to our relief he suddenly came into the camp, blood-stained
and tired, and carrying the head and ribs of a guanaco on his back.
Shortly after leaving the camp he had wounded a guanaco, which went
off, however, and led him a long dance for two or three hours, without
his being able to come within range of it again. In despair, he at
last fired a couple of shots at it from a long range, but, as it
seemed, without reaching his mark. These shots exhausted his
ammunition, our supply of ball-cartridges being very low, and he
having only allowed himself three rounds. Loath to abandon the wounded
animal, he had followed it pertinaciously over ravines and hills,
always vowing to himself that beyond a certain point he would follow
no farther, but always being lured on by the signs of exhaustion the
guanaco was showing, to go just a little farther. At last he had the
satisfaction of seeing it lie down, and with a shout of triumph ran
forward to despatch it with his hunting-knife. But at his approach
the guanaco jumped up again, and slowly as it ran, it was enabled to
outdistance its relentless pursuer, who was already thoroughly done up
with his exertions; but feeling that with patience he must conquer at
last, he felt less inclined than ever to abandon his prey. Already
numerous hawks and condors were circling over the doomed guanaco, and
the thought that the fruit of his labours would only go to provide a
feast for these hateful marauders was an additional incentive to
persevere. At last success rewarded his efforts. Waiting till the
guanaco lay down once more, he approached it by degrees, and then,
when within twenty yards or so of it, made a dash towards it. It
stumbled in trying to get up, and he had just time to rush up and
catch it by the ear, and with a happy stroke of his long hunting-knife
end its sufferings. It was only when he had cut it up, and laden
himself with the best parts, that he began to reflect that in the
excitement of the chase he had quite forgotten in which direction the
camp lay. He had followed the guanaco now to the right, now to the
left, often having to run to keep it in view, and all he knew was that
several hours must have elapsed since he started in its pursuit. He
lit several fires, but he only had a few matches, and the fires
unfortunately soon went out, so that he had no means of showing us his
own whereabouts. However, he struck out in a direction in which he
imagined the camp must lie, and kept wearily trudging on under his
load, which, tired as he was, he was naturally loath to part from.
After he had gone a good distance he looked around, and then the
skyline behind him appeared to be singularly like that he remembered
having seen on leaving the camp. But then the skyline to the left,
somehow, had the same look too. Which was the right one? He was just
revolving this puzzling question in his mind, in no very pleasant
humour, when he caught a glimpse of the smoke of the fires we had lit,
and happily not far off, in the direction he had instinctively chosen
from the first as the right one. The sight gave him new vigour, and
though he had still a good distance to go, he managed to reach the
camp at last, without having to throw away the meat which had cost him
such a hard day's work.