thickest upon the map—the horse-Indian of the Pampas extends his forays
at will; his “range” meeting, and, in some cases, “dovetailing” into
that of the tribes dwelling upon the northern side of these settlements.
The latter, in their turn, carry their plundering expeditions across to
the Campos Parexis, on the head-waters of the Amazon, whence stretches
the independent territory, far and wide to the Amazon itself; thence to
the Orinoco, and across the _Llanos_ to the shores of the Maracaibo
Gulf—the free range of the independent Goajiros.
This immense belt of territory, then, is in actual possession of the
aborigines. Although occupied at a few points by the white race,—Spanish
and Portuguese,—the occupation scarce deserves the name. The settlements
are sparse and rather _retrograde_ than _progressive_. The Indian ranges
through and around them, wherever and whenever his inclination leads
him; and only when some humiliating treaty has secured him a temporary
respite from hostilities does the colonist enjoy tranquillity. At other
times he lives in continual dread, scarce daring to trust himself beyond
the immediate vicinity of his house or village, both of which he has
been under the necessity of fortifying.
It is true that at one period of South-American history things were not
quite so bad. When the Spanish nation was at the zenith of its power a
different condition existed; but even then, in the territory indicated,
there were large tracts circumstanced just as at the present
hour,—tracts which the Spaniards, with all their boasted warlike
strength, were unable even to _explore_, much less to subdue. One of
these was that which forms the subject of our sketch, “El Gran Chaco.”
Of all the tracts of wild territory existing in South America, and known
by the different appellations of _Pampas_, _Paramos_, _Campos Parexis_,
the _Puna_, the _Pajonal_, _Llanos_, and _Montañas_, there is none
possessed of a greater interest than that of _El Gran Chaco_,—perhaps
not one that equals it in this respect. It is interesting, not only from
having a peculiar soil, climate, and productions, but quite as much from
the character and history of its inhabitants, both of which present us
with traits and episodes truly romantic.
The “Gran Chaco” is 200,000 square miles in extent, or twice the size of
the British Isles. Its eastern boundary is well defined, being the
Paraguay river, and its continuation the Parana, down to the point where
the latter receives one of its great western tributaries, the Salado;
and this last is usually regarded as the southern and western boundary
of the Chaco. Northward its limits are scarcely so definite; though the
highlands of Bolivia and the old missionary province of Chiquitos,
forming the water-shed between the rivers of the La Plata and the
Amazonian basins—may be geographically regarded as the termination of
the Chaco in that direction. North and south it extends through eleven
degrees of latitude; east and west it is of unequal breadth,—sometimes
expanding, sometimes contracting, according to the ability of the white
settlers along it borders to maintain their frontier. On its eastern
side, as already stated, the frontier is definite, and terminates on the
banks of the Paraguay and Parana. East of this line—coinciding almost
with a meridian of longitude—the Indian of the Gran Chaco does not roam,
the well-settled province of Corrientes and the dictatorial government
of Paraguay presenting a firmer front of resistance; but neither does
the colonist of these countries think of crossing to the western bank of
the boundary river to form any establishment there. He dares not even
set his foot upon the territory of the Chaco. For a thousand miles, up
and down, the two races, European and American, hold the opposite banks
of this great stream. They gaze across at each other: the one from the
portico of his well-built mansion, or perhaps from the street of his
town; the other, standing by his humble “toldo,” or mat-covered
tent,—more probably, upon the back of his half-wild horse, reined up for
a moment on some projecting promontory that commands the view of the
river. And thus have these two races gazed at each other for three
centuries, with little other intercourse passing between them than that
of a deadly hostility.
The surface of the Gran Chaco is throughout of a champaign character. It
may be described as a vast plain. It is not, however, a continuation of
the Pampas, since the two are separated by a more broken tract of
country, in which lie the sierras of Cordova and San Luis, with the
Argentine settlements already mentioned. Besides, the two great plains
differ essentially in their character, even to a greater extent than do
the Pampas themselves from the desert steppes of Patagonia. Only a few
of the annual and vegetable productions of the Gran Chaco are identical
with those of the Pampas, and its Indian inhabitants are altogether
unlike the sanguinary savages of the more southern plain. The Chaco,
approaching many degrees nearer to the equator, is more tropical in its
character; in fact, the northern portion of it is truly so, lying as it
does within the torrid zone, and presenting the aspect of a tropical
vegetation. Every inch of the Chaco is within the palm region; but in
its northern half these beautiful trees abound in numberless species,
yet unknown to the botanist, and forming the characteristic features of
the landscape. Some grow in forests of many miles in extent, others only
in “clumps,” with open, grass-covered plains between, while still other
species mingle their graceful fronds with the leaves and branches of
dicotyledonous trees, or clapsed in the embrace of luxuriant llianas and
parasitical climbers form groves of the most variegated verdure and
fantastic outlines. With such groves the whole surface of the Chaco
country is enamelled; the intervals between being occupied by plains of
rich waving grass, now and then tracts of morass covered with tall and
elegant reeds, a few arid spots bristling with singular forms of
_algarobia_ and _cactus_, and, in some places, isolated rocky mounds, of
dome or conical shape, rising above the general level of the plains, as
if intended to be used as watch-towers for their guardianship and
safety.
Such are the landscapes which the Grand Chaco presents to the eye—far
different from the bald and uniform monotony exhibited in the aspect of
either Prairie or Pampa; far grander and lovelier than either—in point
of scenic loveliness, perhaps, unequalled on earth. No wonder, then,
that the Indian of South America esteems it as an earthly Elysium; no
wonder that the Spaniard dreams of it as such,—though to the Spanish
priest and the Spanish soldier it has ever proved more of a Purgatory
than a Paradise. Both have entered upon its borders, but neither has
been able to dwell within its domain; and the attempts at its conquest,
by sword and cross, have been alike unsuccessful,—equally and fatally
repulsed, throughout a period of more than three hundred years. At this
hour, as at the time of the Peruvian conquest,—as on the day when the
ships of Mendoza sailed up the waters of the Parana,—the Gran Chaco is
an unconquered country, owned by its aboriginal inhabitants, and by them
alone. It is true that it is _claimed_, both by Spaniard and Portuguese;
and by no less than four separate claimants belonging to these two
nationalities. Brazil and Bolivia, Paraguay and the Argentine
Confederation, all assert their title to a slice of this earthly
paradise; and even quarrel as to how their boundary lines should
intersect it!
There is something extremely ludicrous in these claims,—since neither
one nor other of the four powers can show the slightest basis for them.
Not one of them can pretend to the claim of conquest; and far less can
they rest their rights upon the basis of occupation of possession. So
far from possessing the land, not one of them dare set foot over its
borders; and they are only too well pleased if its present occupants are
contented to remain within them. The claim, therefore, of both Spaniard
and Portuguese, has no higher title, than that some three hundred and
fifty years ago it was given them by the Pope,—a title not less
ludicrous than their kissing the Pope’s toe to obtain it!
In the midst of these four conflicting claimants, there appears a fifth,
and that is the real owner,—the “red Indian” himself. His claim has
“three points of the law” in his favor,—possession,—and perhaps the
fourth, too,—the power to keep possession. At all events, he has held it
for three hundred years against all odds and all comers; and who knows
that he may not hold it for three hundred years more?—only, it is to be
hoped, for a different use, and under the influence of a more
progressive civilization.
The Indian, then, is the undoubted lord of the “Gran Chaco.” Let us drop
in upon him, and see what sort of an Indian he is, and how he manages
this majestic domain.
After having feasted our eyes upon the rich scenery of the land,—upon
the verdant plains, mottled with copses of “quebracho” and clumps of the
_Caranday_ palm,—upon landscapes that resemble the most lordly parks, we
look around for the mansions and the owners. The mansion is not there,
but the owner stands before us.
We are at once struck by his appearance: his person tall and straight as
a reed, his frame muscular his limbs round and well-proportioned,
piercing coal-black eyes, well-formed features, and slightly aquiline
nose,—and perhaps we are a little surprised at the light color of his
skin. In this we note a decided peculiarity which distinguishes him from
most other tribes of his race. It is not a _red_ Indian we behold, nor
yet a _copper-colored_ savage; but a man whose complexion is scarce
darker than that of the mulatto, and not at all deeper in hue than many
a Spaniard of Andalusian descent, who boasts possession of the purest
“sangre azul;” not one shade darker than thousands of Portuguese
dwelling upon the other side of the Brazilian frontier.
And remember, that it is the _true_ skin of the Chaco Indian we have
before our view,—and not a _painted_ one,—for here, almost for the first
time, do we encounter the native complexion of the aboriginal,
undisfigured by those horrid pigments which in these pages have so often
glared before the eyes of our readers.
Of paint, the Chaco Indian scarce knows the use; or, at all events,
employs it sparingly, and only at intervals, on very particular and
ceremonial occasions. We are spared, therefore, the describing his
_escutcheon_, and a positive relief it is.
It would be an interesting inquiry to trace out the cause of his thus
abstaining from a custom almost universal among his race. Why does he
abjure the paint?
Is it because he cannot afford it, or that it is not procurable in his
country? No; neither of these can be offered as a reason. The “annotto”
bush (_Bixa orellana_), and the wild-indigo, abound in his territory;
and he knows how to extract the colors of both,—for his women do extract
them, and use them in dying the yarn of their webs. Other dyewoods—a
multitude of others—he could easily obtain; and even the cochineal
cactus, with its gaudy vermilion parasite, is indigenous to his land. It
cannot be the scarcity of the material that prevents him from employing
it,—what then?
The cause is unexplained; but may it not be that this romantic savage,
otherwise more highly gifted than the rest of his race, is endowed also
with a truer sense of the beautiful and becoming? _Quien sabe?_
Let it not be understood, however, that he is altogether free from the
“taint,”—for he _does_ paint sometimes, as already admitted; and it must
be remembered, moreover, that the Chaco Indians are not all of one
tribe, nor of one community. There are many associations of them
scattered over the face of this vast plain, who are not all alike,
either in their habits or customs, but, on the contrary, very unlike;
who are not even at all times friendly with each other, but occupied
with feuds and _vendettas_ of the most deadly description. Some of these
tribes paint most frightfully, while others of them go still farther,
and _scarify_ their faces with the indelible _tattoo_,—a custom that in
America is almost confined to the Indians of the Chaco and a few tribes
on the southern tributaries of the Amazon. Happily this custom is on the
decline: the men practise it no longer; but, by a singular perversity of
taste, it is still universal among the women, and no Chaco belle would
be esteemed beautiful without a cross of bluish-black dots upon her
forehead, a line of like points extending from the angle of each eye to
the ears, with a variety of similar markings upon her cheeks, arms, and
bosom. All this is done with the point of a thorn,—the spine of a
_mimosa_, or of the _caraguatay_ aloe; and the dark purple color is
obtained by infusing charcoal into the fresh and bleeding punctures. It
is an operation that requires days to complete, and the pain from it is
of the most acute and prolonged character, enduring until the poisoned
wounds become cicatrized. And yet it is borne without a murmur,—just as
people in civilized life bear the painful application of hair-dyes and
tweezers.
I need not say that the hair of the Chaco Indian does not need to be
dyed,—that is, unless he were to fancy having it of a white, or a red,
or yellow color,—not an uncommon fancy among savages.
His taste, however, does not run that way any more than among civilized
dandies, and he is contented with its natural hue, which is that of the
raven’s wing. But he is not contented to leave it to its natural growth.
Only a portion of it,—that which covers the upper part of his head,—is
permitted to retain its full length and flowing glories. For the
remainder, he has a peculiar _tonsure_ of his own; and the hair
immediately over the forehead—and sometimes a stripe running all around
above the ears, to the back of the head—is either close shaven with a
sharp shell, or plucked entirely out by a pair of horn tweezers of
native manufacture. Were it not that the long and luxuriant tresses that
still remain,—covering his crown, as with a crest,—the shorn circle
would assimilate him to some orders of friars; but, notwithstanding the
similarity of tonsure, there is not much resemblance between a Chaco
Indian and a brother of the crucifix and cowl.
This mode of “dressing the hair” is not altogether peculiar to the
Indian of the Gran Chaco. It is also practised by certain prairie
tribes,—the Osage, Pawnee, and two or three others; but all these carry
the “razor” a little higher up, leaving a mere patch, or “scalp-lock,”
upon the crown.
The Chaco tribes are beardless by nature; and if a few hairs chance to
show themselves upon cheek or chin, they are carefully “wed” out. In a
like fashion both men and women serve their eyebrows and
lashes,—sacrificing these undoubted ornaments, as they say, to a
principle of utility, since they allege that they can _see better
without them_! They laugh at white men, who preserve these appendages,
calling them “ostrich-eyed,”—from a resemblance which they perceive
between hairy brows and the stiff, hair-like feathers that bristle round
the eyes of the rhea, or American ostrich,—a well-known denizen of the
Gran Chaco.
The costume of the Chaco Indian is one of exceeding simplicity; and in
this again we observe a peculiar trait of his mind. Instead of the
tawdry and tinsel ornaments, in which most savages delight to array
themselves, he is contented with a single strip of cloth, folded tightly
around his loins. It is usually either a piece of white cotton, or of
wool woven in a tri-color of red, white, and blue, and of hues so
brilliant, as to produce altogether a pretty effect. The wear of the
women scarce differs from that of the men, and the covering of both,
scant as it is, is neither inelegant nor immodest. It is well adapted to
their mode of life, and to their climate, which is that of an eternal
spring. When cold winds sweep over their grassy plains, they seek
protection under the folds of a more ample covering, with which they are
provided,—a cloak usually made of the soft fur of the “nutria,” or
South-American otter, or a robe of the beautiful spotted skin of the
jaguar. They wear neither head-dress nor _chaussure_,—neither pendants
from the nose, nor the hideous lip ornaments seen among other tribes of
South America; but many of them pierce the ears; and more especially the
women, who split the delicate lobes, and insert into them spiral
appendages of rolled palm-leaf, that hang dangling to their very
shoulders. It will be observed, therefore, that among the Chaco tribes
the women disfigure themselves more than the men, and all, no doubt, in
the interest of _fashion_.
It will be seen that the simple dress we have described leaves the limbs
and most part of the body bare. To the superficial observer it might be
deemed an inelegant costume, and perhaps so it would be among Europeans,
or so-called “whites.” The deformed figures of European people—deformed
by ages of toil and monarchical serfdom—would ill bear exposure to the
light, neither would the tripe-colored skin, of which they are so
commonly conceited. A very different impression is produced by the rich
brunette hue,—bronze, if you will,—especially when, as in the case of
the Chaco Indian, it covers a body of proper shape, with arms and limbs
in symmetrical proportion. Then, and then only, does costly clothing
appear superfluous, and the eye at once admits that there is no fashion
on earth equal to that of the human form itself.
Above all does it appear graceful on horseback, and almost universally
in this attitude does the Chaco Indian exhibit it. Scarce ever may we
meet him afoot, but always on the back of his beautiful horse,—the two
together presenting the aspect of the Centaur. And probably in the
resemblance he approaches nearer to the true ideal of the Grecian myth,
than any other horseman in the world; for the Chaco Indians differ not
only from other “horse-Indians” in their mode of equitation, but also
from every other equestrian people. The absurd high-peaked saddles of
Tartar and Arab, with their gaudy trappings, are unknown to
him,—unknown, too, the ridiculous paraphernalia, half-hiding the horse,
in use among Mexicans, South-American Spaniards, and even the Indians of
other tribes,—despised by him the plated bits, the embroidered bridles,
and the tinkling spurs, so tickling to the vanity of other New-World
equestrians. The Chaco horseman needs no such accessories to his
elegance. Saddle he has none, or only the slightest patch of
jaguar-skin,—spurs and stirrups are alike absent. Naked he sits upon his
naked horse, the beautiful curvature of whose form is interrupted by no
extraneous trappings,—even the thong that guides him scarce observable
from its slightness. Who then can deny his resemblance to the centaur?
Thus mounted, with no other saddle than that described, no bridle but a
thin strip of raw hide looped around the lower jaw of his horse, he will
gallop wildly over the plain, wheel in graceful curves to avoid the
burrows of the _viscacha_, pass at full speed through the close-standing
and often thorny trunks of the palms, or, if need be, stand erect upon
the withers of his horse, like a “star rider” of the Hippodrome. In this
attitude he looks abroad for his enemies, or the game of which he may be
in search; and, thus elevated above surrounding objects, he discovers
the ostrich far off upon the plain, the large deer (_cervus
campestris_), and the beautiful spotted roebucks that browse in
countless herds upon the grass-covered savannas.
The dwelling of the Chaco Indian is a tent, not covered with skins, but
usually with mats woven from the epidermis of young leaves of a
palm-tree. It is set up by two long uprights and a ridge-pole, over
which the mat is suspended—very much after the fashion of the _tente
d’abri_ used by Zouave soldiers. His bed is a hammock, swung between the
upright poles, or oftener, between two palm-trees growing near. He only
seeks shelter in his tent when it rains, and he prevents its floor
getting wet by digging a trench around the outside. He cares little for
exposure to the sun; but his wife is more delicate, and usually carries
over her head a large bunch of _rhea_ feathers, _à la parasol_, which
protects her face from the hot scorching beams.
The tent does not stand long in one situation. Ample as is the supply
which Nature affords in the wilds of the Chaco, it is not all poured out
in any one place. This would be too much convenience, and would result
in an evil consequence. The receiver of such a benefit would soon become
indolent, from the absence of all necessity for exertion; and not only
his health, but his moral nature, would suffer from such abundance.
Fortunately no such fate is likely to befall the Indian of the Chaco.
The food upon which he subsists is derived from many varied sources, a
few of which only are to be found in any one particular place, and each
only at its own season of the year. For instance, upon the dry plains he
pursues the _rhea_ and _viscacha_, the jaguar, puma, and partridges; in
woods and marshy places the different species of wild hogs (peccaries).
On the banks of rivers he encounters the tapir and capivara, and in
their waters, fish, _utrias_, geese, and ducks. In the denser
forest-covered tracts he must look for the various kinds of monkeys,
which also constitute a portion of his food. When he would gather the
legumes, of the _algarobias_—of several species—or collects the sugary
sap of the _caraguatay_, he must visit the tracts where the _mimosæ_ and
_bromelias_ alone flourish; and then he employs much of his time in
searching for the nests of wild bees, from the honey of which and the
seeds of the _algarobia_ he distils a pleasant but highly intoxicating
drink. To his credit, however, he uses this but sparingly, and only upon
grand occasions of ceremony; how different from the bestial
chicha-drinking revellers of the Pampas!
These numerous journeys, and the avocations connect with them, hinder
the Chaco Indian from falling into habits of idleness, and preserve his
health to a longevity that is remarkable: so much so, that “to live as
long as a Chaco Indian,” has become a proverbial expression in the
settlements of South America.
The old Styrian monk Dobrezhoffer has chronicled the astounding facts,
that among these people a man of eighty is reckoned to be in the prime
of manhood; that a hundred years is accounted a common age; and that
many of them are still hale and hearty at the age of one hundred and
twenty! Allowing for a little exaggeration in the statements of the
monk, it is nevertheless certain that the Indians of the Gran Chaco,
partly owing to their fine climate, and partly to their mode of life and
subsistence, enjoy health and strength to a very old age, and to a
degree unknown in less-favored regions of the world. Of this there is
ample and trustworthy testimony.
The food of the Chaco Indian is of a simple character, and he makes no
use either of salt or spices. He is usually the owner of a small herd of
cattle and a few sheep, which he has obtained by plundering the
neighboring settlements of the Spaniards. It is towards those of the
south and west that he generally directs his hostile forays; for he is
at peace with the riverine provinces,—Brazilian, Paraguayan, and
Correntine.