"CABBAGES AND KINGS"
One of the failings of new countries, like that of youth generally, is
conceit. Yet, on second thought, it is a useful offence, for it carries
a people light-heartedly over rough ground which older nations dare not
face and so turn aside.
In the new lands the settlers have the constant panorama of achievement
before their eyes. They remember things as they were ten years ago, see
them now, and are convinced that nowhere in the world has such progress
been made as they are making. Anybody who hints a doubt is scowled upon.
And the buoyancy of spirit, a sort of rampant optimism about themselves,
is fostered by a bent of mind to read about what goes on in "rotten old
Europe." A gracious Providence helps them to take notice only of the
good things in their own country, and to have a quick eye for the bad
things in other countries. Further, as all new lands need settlers, the
official flag-waving and trumpet-blowing to attract immigrants is
garish. You can, as a rule, reduce the value of the advertisements by
half, and still be quite sure that more than justice remains.
I have been induced to write the preceding paragraph because, as I
am not a hired agent to proclaim the wonders of Argentina, but merely a
man who has studied some of its capabilities on the spot, I have no
desire, in my endeavour to give a true portrait, to ignore the warts and
occasional blemishes. Of course, the Argentine thinks his land the most
remarkable in the world. In many respects I am disposed to agree with
him. But it is not without spot. For instance, the first thing he is
enthusiastic about is the climate. The freedom from severe winters, with
the possibility for cattle to remain in the open all the year round, is
an advantage. But in the Argentine winter (our summer) there are cold,
wretched, rainy days which are depressing. In their summer (our winter)
the heat is sometimes intense, especially in the northern region. I know
of the fine, clear, bracing climate of the plains, filling one's veins
with energy and the joy of living. I have enjoyed the charm of Mendoza,
the healthiest of all the towns in the Republic. Where I am inclined to
part company with the Argentine is when he wants to argue that the
climate of the whole country is adorable.
Take Buenos Aires. The new arrival is not only entranced with the
development and the encircling beauty of the city, but, with continuous
blue skies and glorious sunshine, he is prone to underline the usual
nice things about the climate. Then, one day, he feels uncomfortable,
limp, saggy in body and mind. The slight breeze is from the north, and
it seems to bring heavy inertia from the Brazilian forests. The old
inhabitants have probably got used to the "norther"--they show no
diminution in vigour--but the muscle-slackening and wearying effect on
the new-comer is undoubted. Most of Buenos Aires is built on low-lying
ground, much of it reclaimed from the shallow Plate, and the air is
relaxing. Though the sun is delightful, it is anything but invigorating.
So you reach the conclusion that, whilst Buenos Aires has usually most
delightful weather, it has an indifferent climate.
There are striking changes in temperature in Argentina. Within half an
hour of being broiled you may feel as though you had passed into a
refrigerator. Hurricanes sometimes sweep vast areas, and
everything--trees, buildings, crops--are mown down by the blasts. In the
sandy stretches the sand is swept up like a thick cloud, and, though
_estancieros_ shut every door and fasten every window, it is not long
before every room has an inch depth of sand. I have travelled all night
in a sleeping car with double windows to resist the sand, but it
filtered through nevertheless, and in the morning I found the only white
spot in the compartment was where my cheek had rested on the pillow.
Life on a ranch has the glamour of romance about it. The town-bred
Englishman, dissatisfied with his lot, lets his fancy roam to the
prairies of North America or the pampas of South America, and his
imagination glows with the conjured picture of cowboy life--quaintly
dressed, always well-mounted, and with nothing to do but ride over the
plains rounding up wandering cattle. As I have explained in an earlier
chapter, many of the large _estancias_ are not occupied by their owners;
a manager with a salary is put in charge, and he usually has several
young Englishmen as assistants. There are a number of peons. The
manager, usually married, has a decent house. The assistants have a
plain, bachelor establishment, and live in common. The peons rarely have
anything better than ramshackle quarters. Distances are enormous.
Frequently, outside the little clump of trees which is the
distinguishing feature of all _estancias_, there is nothing to be seen
as far as the eye can range but featureless prairie. The railways may be
many miles away. The country has comparatively few towns--really a good
point about an agricultural land--and though they are all attractive,
only Spanish is spoken. Months may elapse between the visits of an
Englishman to a town. He has to rise early; he has to work hard; the
glamour of cowboy life soon goes; he and his mates have told each other
all their stories; visitors are rare; there is practically no women's
society. At first the tendency is to be homesick. But in time the man
gets used to the life; possibly he may be happy. He, however, is far
removed from refining influences. He may have a fondness for reading,
but life in the saddle is so hard that at night, after supper and
receiving instructions from the "boss" for the next day, and having a
chat over work, there is little disposition to do anything except have a
game of cards, and then turn in.
It is no unusual thing for an _estancia_ to be fifty miles square. If
so, it is divided into three or four sections, with a manager over each.
Even then the property to be looked after is extensive. Though for food
there is plenty of beef and mutton, there is little variety. The men are
out by four in the morning, and breakfast is often no more than
biscuits, washed down with maté (native tea). There is a solid meal
about eleven o'clock, generally boiled meat, by no means always
attractively served. After dark, between seven and eight o'clock, there
is supper: meat, coffee, and biscuits. The surroundings are coarse and
dirty, and sometimes disgusting. Of course, conditions are occasionally
much better than these; but I think I am fairly describing the average
quarters of the young Englishman who goes out to Argentina to be
assistant on an _estancia_. What gave me frequent surprise was not that
the life roughened them, but that so many retained the kindly courtesies
of their homes in England.
The great thing is that the life is healthy. As years pass it gets a
grip of a man, so that even if he has the chance to return to
civilisation he generally prefers the camp. There is the driving of
cattle to the railway and loading them--often difficult work--into the
trucks to take them to the freezing factories. There is the cutting of
alfalfa and the shearing of sheep. There is breaking-in of colts and
looking after the stock.
A neighbouring _estancia_ may be twenty miles away. But Sunday is a
holiday, except for absolutely necessary work, and men will start off at
two o'clock in the morning to have a jollification with friends,
generally to witness some horse-racing, about which all the _estancias_
for fifty miles round are excited, and with a bottle of beer as first
prize. Maybe once or twice a year a wandering parson drops into an
_estancia_. Whatever be the religious views of the hands--supposing they
have any--the visitor is well received, and, be he Roman Catholic or
Protestant, he proceeds to "fill them up." He brings them something they
do not often think about. At the least he is a diversion. Undoubtedly
his praying and preaching have an effect, because for several days after
he has gone the men are serious, and language is not quite so ruddy as
formerly. Then arises the question of the rival merits of horses over a
level two miles, and the trend of thought changes.
The rural roads, as I have said, are shocking, especially after wet
weather, for they are no more than tracks across mother earth. But man
is an adaptable creature, and the Englishman gets used to the bad roads.
The very discomforts facilitate companionship. No man out on the road
and needing a meal has the slightest hesitation about dropping into an
_estancia_ and making himself at home. Young fellows will spend their
money; and, as they cannot get rid of it after the way of the towns, it
goes in buying horses to race or ponies for polo; because if there are a
dozen youngsters within hail they invariably form a polo club. Folk
think nothing of travelling across country many miles to witness a polo
match on the Sunday. Usually the matches take place at different
_estancias_ on successive Sundays, and if there should be a homely
English girl about--well, she receives as much attention as a real
beauty would get in Mayfair.
Where two or three men are gathered together in England the odds are
that conversation will turn to golf. Wherever men living in Argentina
meet, be they Spanish, Italian, or English, they talk about
horse-racing. I cannot recall that I ever met a man in the Republic who
was not interested in horse-racing. I have already described what goes
on at Palermo. But besides the swagger races at Palermo, and the races
amongst the natives, the English like to have their camp races every few
months. Not only is there the excitement of the contests, but there is
real warmth in the hearts of men meeting old friends. Everybody knows
what every horse has done; everybody is acquainted with the riders.
There is betting, but nothing like to the same extent as amongst the
born Argentines, who are gamblers, every mother's son, and will bet on
anything and everything.
Sometimes one reads in English newspapers and telegrams how, on the
arrival of emigrant ships in Australia and New Zealand, there is
hustling amongst the ladies of those countries to get hold of the girls
who are arriving as domestic servants. Every new country has its
domestic servant problem, and Argentina is no exception. Unless
wealthy, most people in the towns live in small flats, which is partly
due to the excessive house rent, but also because servants are scarce
and dear. The foreigner who has to make shift with an Argentine servant
is either driven mad or deserves a medal for an angelic temper. I
confess that at Cordoba I did meet with an English family who had
nothing but praise for their native servants. But mostly I had to listen
to tragic stories of dirtiness, theft, and unblushing lying. The trouble
with so many of these Latins is that, even when willing, they seem quite
incapable of learning. Of course, this applies to the lowest classes.
When you get amongst the business folk you find they are quite as cute
as North Americans--as the Argentines always speak of the people of the
United States. After having a dozen incompetent servants in twelve
unhappy months, many an English housewife ceases her search for a decent
servant and does the work herself.
There may be a Merchandise Marks Act in Argentina. What I am quite sure
about is, that it is the very paradise of the faked imitation article.
There are certain things in Europe, be they mineral waters, or
field-glasses, or razors, which are well known. It is possible to get
the real thing in Buenos Aires, but it is six to one you get a faked
article. The Argentines fake French wines of well known _châteaux_. You
pay a big price expecting to get a good cigar, and more likely than not
you get a brand with a well-imitated band. All the well-known Scotch
whiskies are imitated, and there are half a hundred "famous" whiskies
that are never heard of outside the Republic. I searched the whole of
Buenos Aires to get some briarwood pipes made by well-known
manufacturers. I was offered pipes bearing their names, but they were
all fakes. "Sheffield" cutlery is often the shoddiest product of
Germany. England has still a reputation for turning out a first-class
article, but my experience was corroborated by men I consulted in Buenos
Aires; it was impossible, or exceedingly difficult, to get the genuine
thing. I am not going to write that Argentina is responsible for the
shiploads of imitation muck which is dumped upon her shores. But there
are certainly some manufacturers in some parts of the world who make
cheap and nasty things, affix well-known English names, and do an
enormous business in exporting them to the Republic.
The "fool" Englishman is to be encountered on the boats sailing to the
Argentine. He does not read the newspapers, except the sporting columns,
and "books are so dull"; but somebody has told him Argentina is a
wonderful place with no end of "stuff" to be picked up. So with a
first-class ticket to "B.A.," and enough cash in his pocket to keep him
at the Plaza Hotel for a fortnight, he hopes to make his fortune.
"No end of Johnnies make lots of money," he explains as a preliminary to
proceeding to do the same himself.
"What do you intend to do?" is quietly asked.
"Oh, anything. I think I'd like to go on one of those _estancia_ things;
awfully jolly riding about all day rounding up beastly bullocks."
"Got any letters of introduction?"
"Yes; I've got two from a fellow at my club, awfully decent sort, who
met a couple of ripping Argentines in the Riviera summer before last,
but smelling with gold. They ought to put a chap in for something worth
having; what?"
That is not a fancy picture. I have met two of that type in one voyage,
and the above is a fairly good example of their hopes and credentials.
Without any qualification they land in Buenos Aires and have the haziest
knowledge what they propose to do next. Possibly they have some vague
ideas that wealthy Argentines will be down at the wharf eager to help
good-looking young Englishmen. The young Englishman proceeds to use his
letters of introduction, and finds that one of the men is in Europe and
nobody ever heard of the other. What next? The Englishman does not know.
He cannot speak a word of Spanish. He hangs round the hotel lounge, and
spends a lot of time in the American bar downstairs. At the end of four
days he confides to you he is "fed up with the stinking hole," and has
wired to the "old man" to send him enough "stuff" to take him home. Then
at the end of a week he returns to England in the same boat as that by
which he arrived, quite convinced Argentina is a place which he was
jolly lucky to get out of.
[Illustration: A REGATTA NEAR BUENOS AIRES.]
There was another young fellow, somewhat more spry than the example I
have given. I met him in the street one morning, and he was furious. He
had been in the running for the secretaryship of an English company that
had some big contracts in Argentina, and he had been ruled out at last
because he did not speak Spanish. That was his grievance. He knew he
could mess along somehow, and could always get somebody to explain if he
had to talk business with an Argentine who did not speak English; so
what was the good of having to swat to learn the lingo?
One of the biggest financiers in Argentina told me one day that whilst
plenty of young Englishmen made their way--indeed, if competent, they
were preferred to other foreigners--he was astonished at the way others
missed their opportunities. My friend, an Englishman himself, but who
has lived all his life in the country, and speaks Spanish more fluently
than he does English, has his finger in many concerns. Young men who
have come out to posts, and are not making the progress they hoped, go
to him to see if he can give them a helping hand.
"Delighted," he says; "I want to help my own countrymen as much as
possible. How long have you been in 'B.A.'?"
"Eight years."
"Then you speak Spanish like an Argentine, eh?"
"Well--er--no; but I've picked up enough to scrape along on."
"Could you take charge of a hundred Argentines and talk business to them
as well as an Argentine?"
"No; I wouldn't like to say that."
"Could you write a technical business letter in Spanish?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Good day, my young friend. I should have been glad to have helped you,
but I want a man who would not be sure to make mistakes."
There is a number of that pattern of Englishman in Buenos Aires. There
are excuses for them. They go out under a three- or a five-years'
contract to some post. A lad is a stranger in a strange land, and has
yet to pick up Spanish. He naturally consorts with his own countrymen.
They dine together; they meet in the same café; they belong to the same
club; they seek their pleasures together. It is very hard for a fellow
under such circumstances to become quick with the language, or extend
his knowledge to any great extent as to the Argentine way of doing
things. He can get all his requirements with a sort of pidgin-Spanish.
So at last he does not bother. That is the kind of man who sticks in the
same position all his life, and occasionally rails at his luck in not
getting a big post.
That is one side of the picture. There is the other. I have in my mind a
man who holds a high position in Argentina. When he went out twenty
years ago he saw that the first essential was to know the language. At
the risk of being thought unsociable, he lived with Spanish Argentines
for two years, and made friends with young Argentines rather than with
Englishmen. He made it a habit to read the Buenos Aires Spanish morning
papers. He has gone ahead and done exceedingly well, although I would
not describe him as a brilliant business man. Then there was a youth
with whom I made acquaintance on the boat. I noticed he was spending a
good deal of his time with a Spanish grammar. He told me he was going
out under a five-years' contract to be a clerk in one of the banks. "But
I am not going to stop a bank clerk," he confided to me, "though that
will be all right for five years. By then I hope to have got a good grip
of the language and picked up something about Argentina, and if then I'm
not able to go to some boss and get one of the good jobs, well, it will
be my own fault." With that spirit he would be a success. All over the
country I was meeting Englishmen of that standard, and, because they can
be relied upon, they are esteemed and trusted.
But I am not going to sing the praises of Argentina from a British
immigrant's point of view. First of all, take the case of the unskilled
labourer, the artisan, and the agriculturist. There is no man so
conservative in this world as the British working man. He has an
inherent contempt for all foreigners when he gets close to them, chiefly
because their ways are not his ways. So the working man who went out to
Argentina would be handicapped by not knowing the language; he would be
confused with the money; he would dislike the food; the way in which
the working class lives out there would disgust him. At the other end of
the string is the great capitalist. Capital knows no language, and owes
allegiance to no country. The capitalist with shrewdness, intelligent
anticipation, can make money quickly; in no country can a man get so
quick a turnover of his capital as in this Republic.
Between these two classes is an army of men who go into the railway
service, into the offices of great English firms, into banks. They get
better paid in Argentina, but living is three times as heavy as at home.
Take the case of a young friend of mine. He had a situation in England
at £200, and, with his amusements, he had but little left over. He got a
situation in Argentina at £700 a year. Living, more or less in similar
style to the way he did at home, cost him £400 a year. But he had £300 a
year over, and that was not £300 a year in Argentine value, but £300 a
year in English value, because he was investing it for the time when he
would return to his native land.
Of course there are promotions and superior posts to be obtained.
Occasionally a man will break away and get hold of something which will
lead to fortune. These cases, however, are the exceptions. The great
fortunes do not grow out of business, as they do in the United States,
for up to the present Argentina is not to be reckoned with as a
manufacturing country. They come to men who have colossal finance to
manipulate. To the great financier Argentina can give untold wealth.
There are, of course, cases of men who started with nothing, and can
now give their wives a £20,000 necklace. But to the man who lands in
Argentina with nothing but his muscle, or a salaried job, although his
position will be improved, and he can save more than ever he made in the
Old Country, the chances are against his ever joining the ranks of the
nabobs.
[Illustration: A FINE ARGENTINE BRIDGE.]