CABO NEGRO--HOME NEWS--CIVILISATION AGAIN--OUR
DISREPUTABLE APPEARANCE--PUCHO MISSING--THE COMING OF
PUCHO--PUCHO'S CHARACTERISTICS.
We had still three days to wait till the date for the arrival of the
steamer, and as we by no means liked the idea of having to pass them
in Sandy Point, we resolved to remain at Cabo Negro for a couple of
days more, and only get into the colony in time to settle with our
guides, and make ourselves look a little civilised against going on
board.
But as we were naturally most anxious to get our correspondence, my
brother rode into Sandy Point to fetch it. He returned, bringing a
bagful of letters and newspapers, and we devoted a whole afternoon to
their perusal, and to discussing their contents. These letters seemed
to bring us back to the world again, to the world and its almost
forgotten responsibilities, pains, and pleasures, which but the day
before had seemed as remote to us as if we had quitted the earth
altogether, and were living in some other planet. How many things
seemed to have happened since we had been away, and how the interest
in these events was magnified, hearing of them as we did, thousands of
miles away from home, after so long an absence! Occurrences which, in
the bustle and noise of ordinary existence, would hardly have excited
more than few exclamations of surprise, or scarcely a passing thought,
now seemed to assume the most important proportions, and were
discussed at inordinate length, and with the keenest interest. There
was a letter from the gamekeeper, telling with interminable prosiness
how cleverly he had surprised, in flagrante delicto, the man whom he
had long and so wisely suspected of poaching; how, notwithstanding
every care on his part, the severe winter had proved too much for a
favourite old setter; and, thanks to his efforts, how extraordinary a
number of pheasants there was in the copses, etc. Another from the
head stable-man, with intelligence of a similar nature from his
department; lengthy documents from the agent, telling how one tenant
couldn't pay his rent, how another wouldn't though he could, how one
lot of cottages required repairing, and how advantageous to the
property, if a fresh lot were built; the peculiarity of all these
epistles being the predominance of the bad over the good news. Then
were letters telling how A. had married, and "the very last woman one
would have thought, too;" how B. had got a divorce, "and no wonder,
one might have seen that all along;" how C. had gone off to shoot big
game in the Rocky Mountains; and how D. had merely gone and shot
himself--and so forth, and so forth; every trivial item affording us a
goodly space for lengthy gossip, a luxury which, since our departure
for the plains, had so signally failed us. It is only when unable to
indulge in it that we find what an important factor the tittle-tattle
and small talk of ordinary life is, in general conversation.
There were several papers too in our budget, and we devoured their
three-months' old intelligence with no less avidity and eagerness than
that with which we had perused our letters.
That day passed, and the next, and then the hour came for us to saddle
up once more, and ride in to Sandy Point. As may be imagined, this
time we did not jog along behind the pack-horses. Leaving these to the
care of the guides, to come on at their leisure, we cantered merrily
on alone--along the familiar path by the shore of the Straits. As the
huts of Sandy Point came in sight, we began to realise that at last we
were getting back to civilisation, and prospectively to England, and
already plans of what we were to do on arriving home were formed and
discussed. There was only one night more to pass before setting foot
on board the steamer which was to take us back to the world; but so
impatient were we, that even that short time seemed all too long, and
we wondered if it ever would pass.
Soon we were trotting along the streets of Sandy Point; and, reaching
Pedro's house, dismounted, and found ourselves under a roof once more!
Pedro, advised of our coming, had prepared breakfast for us, and,
without more ado, we sat down to it. We handled our knives and forks
very awkwardly at first; it required almost an effort to eat in a
civilised manner, and, accustomed of late to take our meals in a
recumbent position, we by no means felt very comfortable in our
chairs. And now, for the first time, the scales fell from our eyes,
and the sight of the clean table-cloth and neat room caused us to
become aware of our own personal appearance, and the enviable "giftie"
was ours, of seeing ourselves as others saw us. The sight was certainly
not a delectable one. Our looks and garments were not out of keeping
with our late life in the pampas, but, surrounded by cleanliness and
civilisation, they were decidedly out of place. We had performed our
ablutions as often and as thoroughly as circumstances would permit,
but they had not permitted much. The men of our party, particularly,
were unpleasant to look at. Their hair had grown long and elfin; their
faces were tanned to a dark red-brown, which the dust, and the smoke
from the camp-fires had deepened into--well--black; and their unshaven
chins were disfigured by a profuse growth of coarse stubble. Our
clothes did not bear close inspection, the blood of many a guanaco,
the grease of many an ostrich-dinner, the thorn of many a califaté
bush, had left their marks; and, altogether, a more ruffianly,
disreputable lot than we looked it would be hard to imagine. But hot
water, soap, and razors, and a change of raiment, did wonders; and
when, after several hours' hard work, we met again we were scarcely
able to recognise one another.
We passed the day in settling with the guides, and in packing up our
few traps in anticipation of the arrival of the steamer early next
morning.
Feeling tired, I went to sleep early, but the comfort I expected from
lying between sheets again was by no means vouchsafed me, and the
soft mattress and cool sheets, instead of inviting slumber, seemed to
frighten it away. I felt half inclined to get up and go to sleep on
the floor. However, my eyes closed at last; and from a dream, in which
I was once more chasing the ostrich in sight of the memorable
Cleopatra Peaks, I was awakened by Mr. Dunsmuir banging at my door,
telling me that the steamer had arrived and that it was time to be
off. I jumped up and dressed hurriedly, and found all the others ready
to go on board. The luggage had already been put into a boat, and
there was nothing further to be done but to say good-bye to our guides
and walk down to the jetty to embark.
I had only one regret on leaving Sandy Point. The day we arrived at
Cabo Negro one of our dogs, called "Pucho," who was rather a favourite
of mine, and whom I wished to take with me to England, was suddenly
missing. Pucho, a peculiar dog, had joined us under peculiar
circumstances at our camp at Laguna Larga. We were quietly sitting
round the camp-fire after dinner, when suddenly the dogs jumped up and
began to bark furiously at some unseen enemy. We got up and peered out
into the dusk, but could see nothing, though it was evident that
something there was, for the growls of our dogs increased in
earnestness and fury every instant. "A puma!" suggested somebody, but
our horses were grazing quietly, so it could not be a puma. "An
Indian, or some trader, perhaps!" was another equally unfounded
surmise. What could it be? Here, as if to settle the mystery at once,
the dogs all rushed out of one accord, and for a few moments we could
hear a terrible snarling and growling going on in the distance. It
came nearer and nearer, and then the cause of the commotion was
explained. Surrounded by our dogs, who were giving it a by no means
friendly welcome, a strange dog walked slowly towards the camp-fire.
It bore its tail between its legs, seeming half-humbly,
half-defiantly, to crave admission into our circle. Its humble
demeanour, however, only bore reference to _us_, for the defiant
manner in which it occasionally bared its white teeth, and turned on
our dogs whenever they came too near, showed that it cared little for
them. We called out in friendly tones, and this settled its bearing
for once and for all. It turned round, made one savage dash at one or
two of its tormentors, and then calmly made its way towards the fire,
looked out for the most comfortable spot, stretched itself leisurely,
and lay down with its head resting on its crossed paws, seemingly as
much at home as if it had known us all its life. I ventured to stroke
it, but my advances were received in a most unfriendly, and,
considering its position of alien outcast, audaciously impertinent
manner, for it snapped viciously at me. But from the first "Pucho," as
we called him, made it a point of distinctly refusing to be
patronised. He joined us, he gave us to understand, not on sufferance,
not as a suppliant for our favours, not as a guest even, but as an
equal; and this status he claimed as regards us only, for as to our
dogs, he ignored them completely, though willing, as subsequently
appeared, to make use of their good services. He looked sleek and fat,
a circumstance which led us to think highly of his powers of speed, as
it is by no means easy for a dog to run down a guanaco singly, and
most dogs who lose their master, as this dog had evidently done, soon
die of starvation. We therefore congratulated ourselves on his
arrival, as we hoped he would be able to afford our own dogs help in
the chase. But we had grievously reckoned without our host. The next
day, on the march, a guanaco was sighted close to us. Now was the
time. "Choo! choo! Pucho!" we shouted, expecting to see him speed out
like an arrow after the guanaco. But nothing could have been further
from his thoughts. He looked first at us and then at the guanaco for
a moment, not without interest, perhaps, but certainly without showing
the slightest inclination to hostile demonstration. Then, with another
look at us, which said as plainly as words could, "Well, that's a
guanaco, no doubt, but what then?" he quietly trotted on. We were very
angry at seeing our hopes deceived, besides being surprised at his
extraordinary demeanour; but Gregorio, giving the dog the benefit of
the doubt, said that perhaps it had only been trained to run
ostriches, as Indians frequently teach their dogs to do. This seemed
plausible enough, and our confidence in Pucho was momentarily
restored. Presently an ostrich started up. Now then: "Choo! choo!
Pucho!" was the excited cry again. All the other dogs flew out like
the wind after the bird, and Pucho followed them. But only at a trot,
and apparently merely to judge how the other dogs behaved, for he soon
stopped, and contented himself with watching the chase till it
disappeared from view, and then he leisurely came back to his usual
post at my horse's heels. Everybody was enraged with him; Francisco
suggested that being a "bouche inutile," Pucho should be knocked on
the head with the bolas; but I could not hear of this, and Pucho's
life was spared. And so he remained with us, and I had ample
opportunities for studying his peculiar character. As on the first
day, so he continued. Although generally there or thereabouts when a
distribution of the spoils took place, he never once helped the dogs
in the chase. That this did not arise from inability or want of speed,
but rather from a sense of his own superior dignity, was shown by the
fact of his once having been seen to pursue and catch a fox, a feat
none of our other dogs were capable of. Amongst other peculiarities he
had a way of mysteriously disappearing if the day's march was too
long. "Where is Pucho?" was a frequent cry, and "Thank God, he's gone
at last!" was an ejaculation often heard on these occasions. But so
sure as the guanaco-rib for dinner was done to a turn, the soup ready,
and the fire blazing comfortably, so sure would Pucho suddenly appear
on the scene, look out for the most cosy spot near the fire, and
cheerfully await his supper, as if nothing had happened.
When, therefore, he was missing at Cabo Negro, I took little notice,
thinking he would be sure to turn up. But dinner-time came, and no
Pucho; nor did he appear again, even when we went on to Sandy Point.
This was the thought that was troubling me as I walked down to the
pier, for I had taken a liking to this dog, or I had better say I
held him in reverential awe; for I think he would object himself to
the term "like," as savouring of patronage. Half absently, therefore,
before going down the ladder into the boat, I turned round to take a
last look for Pucho. Surely that is a dog coming down the street, I
thought, as I looked up; and right enough it was a dog, and what is
more, Pucho himself! There was no mistaking the calm mien, the
leisurely trot. He picked his way along the battered pier, half wagged
his tail as he saw me--a great condescension, and then, without a
moment's hesitation, led the way down the ladder into the boat, much
to the surprise of my companions, who had thought and hoped that they
had really seen the last of him.
I took him, or rather he came to England _with_ me, and as I write
this he is sitting in the cosiest corner by my fire, a privilege he
allows my pet terrier to share with him, an act very foreign to his
usual nature, and one for which I have never been able to account.
So here we are on board at last. We say good-bye to Mr. Dunsmuir, the
anchor is weighed, the screw goes round, and we are off. Sandy Point
disappears from view; one by one Cape Negro and Cape Gregorio are
passed, and before I know it--so engrossed am I in the thoughts that
crowd into my mind at the sight of these well-known points--we are
abreast of Cape Virgins. It fades again astern, there is no land on
either side, and Patagonia, bleak and silent and solemn, with the days
we spent on its mysterious shores, is behind us.
As I write, these days come vividly to my mind again, and in fancy I
once more behold that distant desert land,--the land of the lonely
plains, where the guanaco and the ostrich and the Red Indians roam far
from the ken of mankind, and where I spent a careless, happy time,
which I can never forget. I remember the days when, after a long and
weary ride, I slept, pillowed on my saddle, the open sky above me, a
sounder and sweeter sleep than I had ever slept before; I remember
those grand mountain-scenes, where we traced the wild horse to his
home, through beechwood glens, by lonely lakes, by mountain torrents,
where no mortal foot had ever trod before me. I remember many an
exciting chase and many a pleasant evening spent round the cheery
camp-fire. I remember, too, many a discomfort--the earthquake, the
drenching rains, the scorching sun, the pitiless mosquitoes, and the
terrible blasting winds. But from the pleasure with which I look back
on my wild life in Patagonia, these unpleasant memories can detract
but little. Taking it all in all, it was a very happy time, and a time
on whose like I would gladly look again.
THE END.
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.
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Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
On page 15, Paõ de Agucar possibly should be Paõ de Azucar.