A CAPTIVE AMONG ARGENTINE INDIANS
Till the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Guaranian Indians
(with the Abipons and other sub-tribes) were in possession of a great
part of Southern Brazil, Paraguay, and Eastern Argentina. They were
one of the strongest of the Indian peoples, unusually tall and
athletic, and, so long as they had reliable leaders, well able to hold
their own against the Portuguese. But owing to internal dissensions,
intermarriages with Europeans, and more especially to the crushing
defeat by the colonists, in 1820, of their great chief Andresito
Artegas, they had become, by the middle of the century, a negligible
quantity.
Much of their trouble with the Portuguese was of their own seeking;
for, not content with beating off their attacks, they were perpetually
making unprovoked raids upon peaceful farmsteads, carrying off not only
cattle, but European boys and girls, of whom they not infrequently
made slaves. A typical instance of this sort of thing came under the
notice of Mr. Peter Campbell, better known as Don Pedro, _Commandante
de Marinos_, or Admiral of the Fleet, who from 1819 onwards was in the
employ of the Argentine Government.
Two Portuguese girls, with their little brother, were returning on
horseback to their father's farm near Cordoba, when a series of
frantic yells behind them warned them that savages were in pursuit. A
single glance back was sufficient to show how futile all attempts at
flight would probably be; the redskins were well mounted and used to
riding at breakneck pace, while the girls' horses, not too spirited at
the best of times, were jaded with a long, hot journey.
The cries--rendered more savage and blood-curdling by the Indian
practice of simultaneously clapping the lips with the palm of the
hand--grew louder and more bewildering. The boy lost control of his
horse--the youngest and fastest of the three--and was soon well ahead
of his sisters, the younger of whom, Ascencion by name, had the
presence of mind to scream to him to ride straight on to Cordoba, if
possible, and warn the military authorities there. The words were
hardly out of her mouth when a shriek came from her sister, who was a
dozen yards behind.
"I am taken. Do not desert me."
Ascencion turned her head, only to see the chief himself, a
splendid-looking elderly man, riding straight for her own bridle.
In another minute both girls were prisoners. Each was dragged from her
saddle and lifted to that of her captor; their two horses were handed
to some young Indians who rode in the rear, and then they found
themselves being whirled away in the direction of the Parana River,
which lay some hundred and seventy miles distant. The cavalcade made
no halt till long after dark, when it arrived at a _tolderia_ or
native encampment. Here the girls were handed over to the womenfolk,
who, after robbing them of all their finery, took them to separate
tents and told them what would be their future duties.
Worn out with grief and excitement, Ascencion threw herself on the
ground in her wigwam (_toldos_) and, refusing food, sobbed herself to
sleep. When she awoke, it was day; she was alone in the tent, and now
had leisure to examine it and its contents. This was soon done. The
miserable abode was a pyramidal hut, each side about nine feet long
and consisting merely of a few tall slender sticks, across which a
rough matting of straw, like a collection of old bottle cases, was
laid. Through the matting sufficient daylight struggled to show that
the only furniture of the _toldos_ consisted of half a dozen bows of
great length, and a few gourds, fashioned into drinking-cups.
She was creeping to the entry in the hope of finding out her sister's
whereabouts, when agitated shouts resounded through the camp.
"Flee, flee! The Cordoban soldiers are coming."
Those shouts were the sweetest music she had ever heard. Heedless of
the danger she might incur, she rushed into the open, calling loudly
for her sister.
What followed was very like a nightmare. Redskinned, half-naked
figures flitted backwards and forwards, screaming incoherently, in her
tongue and their own. Then all of a sudden the tents round about
seemed to rise up of themselves and collapse. A lengthy, rumbling
chorus of shouts came from a hundred yards away, followed by a carbine
volley whose bullets knocked up the dust all round her, and one of
which laid a young Indian dead, almost within a yard of her. Then she
caught sight of her sister being lifted into a saddle, and while she
endeavoured to attract her attention, a hand was pressed over her own
mouth and strong arms swung her on to a horse which seemed to come
from nowhere. She knew nothing more till she found herself being borne
at a tearing speed across the plain, lashed inextricably to the
cacique's body.
She stole a glance over her shoulder. Less than half a mile away she
could see, through a cloud of dust, a string of straggling mounted
figures, half a dozen riding ahead, and seven or eight more trying in
vain to keep up with them; and from the flash of the sun-rays on their
scabbards and metal horse-furniture, she knew them to be white men.
But would they overtake her captors? The distance increased, then
lessened considerably, then began slowly to increase again. She heard
a few shots fired by the pursuers, but these took no effect. The space
between them grew greater than ever, for even while the Cordobans'
horses slackened their speed and flagged, those of the Indians seemed
only to gain fresh strength; and at last she looked away, again losing
all heart. For the soldiers had come to a dead stop, and in a few
minutes she would be carried out of all sight of them. A howl of
triumph and derision rose from the Abipons; nevertheless, they did not
draw bridle till they came in sight of another _tolderia_, whose
occupants would form such a reinforcement as would enable them to defy
any but a very strong company of white men.
Ascencion had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours and had held no
communication with her sister since their separation. She was now
handed over to the care of a motherly old body who was a relative of
the cacique, and presumably a person of some importance in the tribe.
Not only did she at once supply the girl with food and drink, but she
promised to make interest for her sister to be placed with her.
This promise was fulfilled, and for the next week or two the girls
shared the old woman's hut together at night, being kept by day in
attendance on the cacique's wife, who, if she made them work hard at
cooking, corn-grinding, and rough weaving, was at least not unkind to
them. But this is not to say that these Indians were not cruel by
nature and habit. One day after a foraging party had returned, the
cacique approached the two prisoners, and addressing them in
Portuguese, said roughly:
"Come with me. Come and see what is in store for any of your friends
who attempt to rescue you."
They followed him tremblingly to the centre of the camp, and there
found a young Spaniard, bound hand and foot to pegs that were driven
into the ground. He had been caught wandering in the forest, and,
being unarmed, was an easy capture.
At a word from the chief, a dozen men stepped back from the prostrate
lad, and drawing their bows, each sent an arrow straight at him. Every
arrow but one transfixed the body; that one was ceremoniously burnt
and its ashes buried; it was in disgrace for having missed its mark.
This murder was the only exhibition of cruelty which Ascencion
witnessed at that camp, though almost every day the cacique
threatened her and her sister with death if they made any attempt to
escape. As far as they could gather, they were to be kept till the
next general meeting of the tribe, and then sold or bartered as wives
to the two highest bidders.
When they had been in captivity a little over a fortnight some young
men of the tribe rode hastily into the camp one evening and called
excitedly for the cacique. They had, said they, been pursued by a
strong party of Macabi Indians (one of the Peruvian sub-tribes) who
had never altogether lost sight of them, and were even now making a
descent on the camp.
Instantly the whole tribe turned out, with bows, spears, hatchets, and
some few even with muskets. The alarm was no false one. The Macabis,
about eighty in number, badly mounted, but far better armed than were
the Abipons, were in sight, and would soon endeavour to surround the
_tolderia_, the inhabitants of which, so far from showing any sign of
unreadiness to do battle, or anxiety as to the issue thereof, were
quickly and joyously disposing themselves to the best advantage.
Indeed, they were the first to open fire; but the harmless volley from
the half-dozen ramshackle old muskets was answered by a deadly shower
of well-aimed bullets from at least forty guns.
The two slave girls, crouching with some other women in one of the
huts, could catch glimpses of the fight through the chinks in the
matting. To an outsider it might seem that Ascencion would care little
as to the result of the conflict, but the Peruvians were a fierce
tribe, far more uncivilised than their enemies--who were, for the most
part, Christians--and to fall into their hands would probably involve
far worse treatment than she had undergone at the hands of her
original captors.
Presently, as the darkness began to fall, she saw a score of the young
men separate themselves from the rest of the defenders, and begin to
untether some of the horses. Then one of them hastened into her tent
and bade her and those with her hurry out to the horses. The Macabis
were steadily gaining the upper hand, and all the women were to be
escorted by as many of the tribe as could be spared, towards a small
and semi-permanent camp on the river, between Chamorra and Goya. No
time was lost in obeying, and Ascencion had already been lifted up
behind the cacique's wife, when her sister, who was waiting to be
mounted on the next horse, threw up her arms and fell without a cry.
One of the enemy's bullets had pierced her breast and the poor girl
lay dead.
From that time Ascencion knew little or nothing of what happened; she
had an indistinct recollection of an all-night ride, then of resting,
once in green woods, and once on a burning, sandy plain; then of a
second long march in the dark; but that was all. For she was in a
fever which did not leave her till some days after their arrival at
the river _tolderia_; and, when next she left her hut, the first thing
she saw was the remainder of the tribe returning from the long battle.
They had been beaten, but nevertheless had inflicted such a blow on
the victors as crippled all attempts at pursuit of them.
Then began again the same wearisome life as before, only more
intolerable now that Ascencion had lost her sister. But one
afternoon, when most of the men were away hunting, the cacique came up
to her as she was preparing for her daily task of fetching water from
the river, and showing his knife threateningly, observed:
"There is a boat's crew of white men making for the shore. Stay here
till they are gone. If you speak to one of them you shall die."
The caution seemed needless enough, for by this time the poor girl had
become so cowed and destitute of hope, that she had little heart to
attempt escape. Moreover, it was quite possible that men of her own
race might be no more desirable neighbours than the Indians. And so
she sat down where she was, under a tree, feeling but little interest
in the coming of the sailors. Looking listlessly towards the row of
trees that hid the river from her view, she presently caught sight of
the cacique ushering two white men towards his _toldos_, and evidently
bearing himself with great obsequiousness towards them. The taller of
the two entered, but the other began idly to walk about the camp,
exchanging cheery words with the women at work there. Very soon he was
standing by Ascencion's side. She was hesitating whether to answer a
civil greeting of his, when he said quickly:
"But you are not an Indian girl, surely?"
Then she forgot all caution and all indifference to her condition. She
had heard her own language spoken by one of her own people!
"No; I am Portuguese. I am a prisoner," she whispered eagerly.
"Why not escape then?"
"Alas; they would kill me. No one will help me."
"I'll find someone who will," said the young man, who wore a naval
commander's uniform; and he ran to the cacique's tent, Ascencion
following him more slowly. In another minute both strangers
reappeared, talking earnestly in a language which the girl could only
suppose to be English, as the second sailor was very tall and of fair
complexion. When they had almost reached her, the Portuguese officer
suddenly touched his cap and set off running full speed back towards
the river. The other beckoning to her, and addressing her gently in
tolerable Portuguese, said:
"Is it true that you are a prisoner, my poor lass?"
The girl hesitated, for the cacique, who had guessed something of the
import of the white men's conversation, was laying his hand on the
haft of his knife. But the Englishman noticed the action, and
immediately began to finger his sword-hilt.
"Speak up," he said; "there is nothing to be afraid of."
Then, interrupted every now and then by indignant remonstrance or
denial from the chief, Ascencion told her story.
"Very well," said the sailor at length. "Come on board my ship; I
shall take you up the river to Corrientes, and leave you with some
English ladies till your friends can be communicated with."
"Not so fast, Senor," said the cacique, assuming a more bullying tone.
"Of course you can take her--if you like to pay the price I----"
The officer whipped out his sword. "This is the only price I pay," he
said curtly.
[Illustration: A PLUCKY RESCUE
The Indians surrounded the officer and the shrinking Portuguese girl. The
Cacique threatened him with his hatchet, but a touch of the Englishman's
sword-point at his throat made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian
made at him with a knife, only to receive such a blow across the ear with
the flat of the sword as knocked him to the ground.]
The cacique laughed contemptuously, and with a single shout summoned
the couple of dozen men who happened to be within hearing, and who
surrounded the Englishman and the shrinking girl in an instant,
swinging their war-hatchets, and yelling one against the other.
"Oh, stop that din, do," said the officer with good-humoured
impatience. "Listen to me, my lads. I am Commandante Don Pedro--or
plain Peter Campbell, if you like that better. I've got a cutter and
twenty men a few yards away, to say nothing of a ten-gun brig with
sixty hands aboard of her, in the stream. Now, are you going to stand
clear?"
Brigs and cutters were meaningless to the Indians; but what they did
understand was the sudden appearance from among the trees of Don
Edwardo, the Portuguese captain, followed by a dozen sturdy
seamen--English, Yankee, and Portuguese, armed with muskets and
cutlasses.
The cacique re-echoed his war-cry and threatened Campbell with his
hatchet; but a touch of the Englishman's sword-point at his throat
made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian made at the "admiral"
with a knife--only to receive such a blow across the ear with the flat
of the sword as knocked him to the ground. The tramp of the seamen
stopped, and, at the command, muskets were slung and cutlasses drawn.
The cacique bade his men drop their arms--almost a needless
recommendation.
"Take her," he said sullenly.
Campbell pointed to the man whom he had knocked down. "Take away his
knife," he said, addressing his boatswain, a burly Yankee. "Now--you
have attempted to kill an Englishman, and you shall die." Don Pedro
felt the edge of the knife and gave it a final "strop" on his palm.
"I'm going to cut his head off, as a warning to the rest of you," he
said, so sternly that the Indians and even the cacique uttered little
cries of terror.
Ascencion began to think that Englishmen were no more merciful than
other people; for, as the Indian crouched whimpering at Don Pedro's
feet, he stooped and brandished the knife with all the coolness of a
butcher. But, to her amazement, when he stood up again, the head was
still in its normal position, while, in his left hand, Campbell held
the braided pigtail of hair, full five feet long, which had proudly
adorned the head of the would-be assassin; and he, still doubting his
good fortune in having got off so cheaply, sprang up and made headlong
for the woods.
This is but one of the scores of anecdotes told of the celebrated
soldier of fortune, Peter Campbell, who, whatever may have been his
faults, was never known to show fear, to be disloyal to his employers
or unjust to the Indians; indeed, by his unfailing good nature and
sense of fairness and fun, he succeeded in adjusting many a tribal or
political grievance which in the hands of most men, however
well-meaning, would probably have ended in bloodshed.
The Portuguese girl was taken up the river, and when she returned to
her parents she was accompanied by a husband, for she married an Irish
settler in Corrientes.