Faith in the _estancia_ as a field for my activities had been weak
from the first; the Mayordomo's words on his return had extinguished it
altogether; and after hearing that ostrich parable I had only remained
from motives of pride. I now determined to go back towards Montevideo,
not, however, over the route I had come by, but making a wide circuit
into the interior of the country, where I would explore a new field, and
perhaps meet with some occupation at one of the _estancias_ on the
way. Riding in a south-westerly direction towards the Rio Marlo in the
Tacuarembó department, I soon left the plains of Paysandù behind me,
and, being anxious to get well away from a neighbourhood where I
was expected to kill someone, I did not rest till I had ridden about
twenty-five miles. At noon I stopped to get some refreshment at a little
roadside _pulpería_. It was a wretched-looking place, and behind the
iron bars protecting the interior, giving it the appearance of a wild
beast's cage, lounged the storekeeper smoking a cigar. Outside the bar
were two men with English-looking faces. One was a handsome young fellow
with a somewhat worn and dissipated look on his bronzed face; he was
leaning against the counter, cigar in mouth, looking slightly tipsy, I
thought, and wore a large revolver slung ostentatiously at his waist.
His companion was a big, heavy man, with immense whiskers sprinkled with
grey, who was evidently very drunk, for he was lying full-length on a
bench, his face purple and swollen, snoring loudly. I asked for bread,
sardines, and wine, and, careful to observe the custom of the country
I was in, duly invited the tipsy young man to join in the repast. An
omission of this courtesy might, amongst proud and sensitive Orientals,
involve one in a sanguinary quarrel, and of quarrelling I had just then
had enough.
He declined with thanks, and entered into conversation with me; then
the discovery, quickly made, that we were compatriots gave us both great
pleasure. He at once offered to take me to his house with him, and
gave a glowing account of the free, jovial life he led in company with
several other Englishmen--sons of gentlemen, every one of them,
he assured me--who had bought a piece of land and settled down to
sheep-farming in this lonely district. I gladly accepted the invitation,
and when we had finished our glasses he proceeded to wake the sleeper.
“Hullo, I say, Cap, wake up, old boy,” shouted my new friend. “Quite
time to go home, don't you know. That's right--up you come. Now let
me introduce you to Mr. Lamb. I'm sure he's an acquisition. What, off
again! Damn it, old Cloud, that's unreasonable, to say the least of it.”
At length, after a great deal of shouting and shaking, he succeeded in
rousing his drunken companion, who staggered up and stared at me in an
imbecile manner.
“Now let me introduce you,” said the other. “Mr. Lamb. My friend,
Captain Cloudesley Wriothesley. Bravo! Steady, old cock--now shake
hands.”
The Captain said nothing, but took my hand, swaying forwards as if about
to embrace me. We then with considerable difficulty got him on to his
saddle and rode off together, keeping him between us to prevent him
from falling off. Half an hour's ride brought us to my host Mr.
Vincent Winchcombe's house. I had pictured to myself a charming little
homestead, buried in cool greenery and flowers, and filled with pleasant
memories of dear old England; I was, therefore, grievously disappointed
to find that his “home” was only a mean-looking _rancho,_ with a ditch
round it, protecting some ploughed or dug-up ground, on which not one
green thing appeared. Mr. Winchcombe explained, however, that he had not
yet had time to cultivate much. “Only vegetables and such things, don't
you know,” he said.
“I don't see them,” I returned.
“Well, no; we had a lot of caterpillars and blister beetles and things,
and they ate everything up, don't you know,” said he.
The room into which he conducted me contained no furniture except a
large deal table and some chairs; also a cupboard, a long mantelpiece,
and some shelves against the walls. On every available place were pipes,
pouches, revolvers, cartridge-boxes, and empty bottles. On the table
were tumblers, cups, a sugar-basin, a monstrous tin teapot, and a
demijohn, which I soon ascertained was half-full of Brazilian rum, or
caña. Round the table five men were seated smoking, drinking tea and
rum, and talking excitedly, all of them more or less intoxicated. They
gave me a hearty welcome, making me join them at the table, pouring out
tea and rum for me, and generously pushing pipes and pouches towards me.
“You see,” said Mr. Winchcombe, in explanation of this convivial
scene, “there are, altogether, ten of us settlers here going in for
sheep-farming and that sort of thing. Four of us have already built
houses and bought sheep and horses. The other six fellows live with
us from house to house, don't you know. Well, we've made a jolly
arrangement--old Cloud--Captain Cloud, don't you know, first suggested
it--and it is that every day one of the four--the Glorious Four we are
called--keeps open house; and it's considered the right thing for the
other nine fellows to drop in on him some time during the day, just
to cheer him up a bit. Well, we soon made the discovery--old Cloud, I
fancy, made it--that tea and rum were about the best things to have on
these occasions. To-day it was my day, and to-morrow it will be some
other fellow's, don't you know. And, by Jove, how lucky I was to meet
you at the _pulperia!_ It will be ever so much jollier now.”
I had certainly not stumbled upon a charming little English paradise in
this Oriental wilderness, and as it always makes me uncomfortable to
see young men drifting into intemperate habits and making asses of
themselves generally, I was not rapturously delighted with “old Cloud's”
system. Still, I was glad to find myself with Englishmen in this distant
country, and in the end I succeeded in making myself tolerably happy.
The discovery that I had a voice pleased them greatly, and when,
somewhat excited from the effects of strong cavendish, rum, and black
tea, I roared out:
And may his soul in heaven dwell
Who first found out the leather botél,
they all got up and drank my health in big tumblers, and declared they
would never let me leave the colony.
Before evening the guests departed, all except the Captain. He had sat
with us at the table, but was too far gone in his cups to take part in
the boisterous fun and conversation. Once in about every five minutes he
had implored someone in a husky voice to give him a light for his pipe,
then, after two or three ineffectual puffs, he would let it go out
again. He had also attempted two or three times to join in the chorus of
a song, but soon relapsed again into his imbecile condition.
Next day, however, when he sat down refreshed by a night's sleep to
breakfast, I found him a very agreeable fellow. He had no house of his
own yet, not having received his money from home, he confidentially
informed me, but lived about, breakfasting in one house, dining in a
second, and sleeping in a third. “Never mind,” he would say, “by and by
it will be my turn; then I will receive you all every day for six weeks
to make it all square.”
None of the colonists did any work, but all spent their time lounging
about and visiting each other, trying to make their dull existence
endurable by perpetual smoking and tea and rum drinking. They had
tried, they told me, ostrich-hunting, visiting their native neighbours,
partridge-shooting, horse-racing, etc.; but the partridges were too
tame for them, they could never catch the ostriches, the natives didn't
understand them, and they had finally given up all these so-called
amusements. In each house a peon was kept to take care of the flock and
to cook, and as the sheep appeared to take care of themselves, and the
cooking merely meant roasting a piece of meat on a spit, there was very
little for the hired men to do.
“Why don't you do these things for yourselves?” I innocently asked.
“I fancy it wouldn't quite be the right thing, don't you know,” said Mr.
Winchcombe.
“No,” said the Captain gravely, “we haven't quite come down to that
yet.”
I was greatly surprised to hear them. I had seen Englishmen sensibly
roughing it in other places, but the lofty pride of these ten
rum-drinking gentlemen was quite a new experience to me.
Having spent a somewhat listless morning, I was invited to accompany
them to the house of Mr. Bingley, one of the Glorious Four. Mr. Bingley
was really a very nice young fellow, living in a house far more worthy
of the name than the slovenly _rancho_ tenanted by his neighbour
Winchcombe. He was the favourite of the colonists, having more money
than the others, and keeping two servants. Always on his reception-day
he provided his guests with hot bread and fresh butter, as well as with
the indispensable rum-bottle and teapot. It therefore happened that,
when his turn came round to keep open house, not one of the other nine
colonists was absent from his table.
Soon after our arrival at Bingley's the others began to appear, each one
on entering taking a seat at the hospitable board, and adding another
cloud to the dense volume of tobacco smoke obscuring the room. There
was a great deal of hilarious conversation; songs were sung, and a vast
amount of tea, rum, bread and butter, and tobacco consumed; but it was
a wearisome entertainment, and by the time it was over I felt heartily
sick of this kind of life.
Before separating, after “John Peel” had been sung with great
enthusiasm, someone proposed that we should get up a fox-hunt in real
English style. Everyone agreed, glad of anything, I suppose, to break
the monotony of such an existence, and next day we rode out, followed
by about twenty dogs, of various breeds and sizes, brought together from
all the houses. After some searching about in the most likely places, we
at length started a fox from a bed of dark-leafed _mio-mio_ bushes. He
made straight away for a range of hills about three miles distant, and
over a beautifully smooth plain, so that we had a very good prospect of
running him down. Two of the hunters had provided themselves with horns,
which they blew incessantly, while the others all shouted at the top of
their lungs, so that our chase was a very noisy one. The fox appeared to
understand his danger and to know that his only chance of escape lay
in keeping up his strength till the refuge of the hills was reached.
Suddenly, however, he changed his course, this giving us a great
advantage, for by making a short cut we were all soon close at his
heels, with only the wide level plain before us. But reynard had his
reasons for what he did; he had spied a herd of cattle, and in a very
few moments had overtaken and mixed with them. The herd, struck with
terror at our shouts and horn-blowing, instantly scattered and flew in
all directions, so that we were able still to keep our quarry in sight.
Far in advance of us the panic in the cattle ran on from herd to herd,
swift as light, and we could see them miles away fleeing from us, while
their hoarse bellowings and thundering tread came borne by the wind
faintly to our ears. Our fat lazy dogs ran no faster than our horses,
but still they laboured on, cheered by incessant shouts, and at last ran
into the first fox ever properly hunted in the Banda Orientál.
The chase, which had led us far from home, ended close to a large
_estancia_ house, and while we stood watching the dogs worrying their
victim to death, the _capatas_ of the establishment, accompanied by
three men, rode out to inquire who we were, and what we were doing.
He was a small dark native, wearing a very picturesque costume, and
addressed us with extreme politeness.
“Will you tell me, señores, what strange animal you have captured?” he
asked.
“A fox,” shouted Mr. Bingley, triumphantly waving the brush, which he
had just cut off, over his head. “In our country--in England--we hunt
the fox with dogs, and we have been hunting after the manner of our
country.”
The _capatas_ smiled, and replied that, if we were disposed to join him,
it would afford him great pleasure to show us a hunt after the manner of
the Banda Orientál.
We consented gladly, and, mounting our horses, set off at a swinging
gallop after the _capatas_ and his men. We soon came to a small herd of
cattle; the _capatas_ dashed after them, and, unloosening the coils of
his lasso, flung the noose dexterously over the horns of a fat heifer he
had singled out, then started homewards at a tremendous pace. The cow,
urged forward by the men, who rode close behind, and pricked it with
their knives, rushed on, bellowing with rage and pain, trying to
overtake the _capatas_, who kept just out of reach of its horns; and
in this way we quickly reached the house. One of the men now flung
his lasso and caught the beast's hind leg; pulled in two opposite
directions, it quickly came to a standstill; the other men, now
dismounting, first ham-strung, then ran a long knife into its throat.
Without removing the hide, the carcass was immediately cut up, and the
choice pieces flung on to a great fire of wood, which one of the men had
been making. In an hour's time we all sat down to a feast of _carne
con cuero_, or meat roasted in the hide, juicy, tender, and exquisitely
flavoured. I must tell the English reader who is accustomed to eat meat
and game which has been kept till it is tender, that before the
tender stage is reached it has been permitted to get tough. Meat, game
included, is never so tender or deliciously flavoured as when cooked
and eaten immediately after it is killed. Compared with meat at any
subsequent stage, it is like a new-laid egg or a salmon with the cream
on, compared with an egg or a salmon after a week's keeping.
We enjoyed the repast immensely, though Captain Cloud bitterly lamented
that we had neither rum nor tea to wash it down. When we had thanked
our entertainer and were about to turn our horses' heads homewards, the
polite _capatas_ once more stepped out and addressed us.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “whenever you feel disposed to hunt, come to me
and we will lasso and roast a heifer in the hide. It is the best dish
the republic has to offer the stranger, and it will give me great
pleasure to entertain you; but I beg you will hunt no more foxes over
the ground belonging to this _estancia,_ for you have caused so great a
commotion amongst the cattle I am placed here in charge of, that it
will take my men two or three days to find them all and bring them back
again.”
We gave the desired promise, plainly perceiving that fox-hunting in the
English fashion is not a sport adapted to the Oriental country. Then we
rode back, and spent the remaining hours at the house of Mr. Girling,
of the Glorious Four, drinking rum and tea, smoking unlimited pipes of
cavendish, and talking over our hunting experience.