HUNTING THE OSTRICH.
Before we set out from the coasts of Patagonia, Captain Joker, together
with several of his crew--myself among the number--who had ingratiated
themselves in the good graces of the natives, received an invitation
from the chief to go with him upon an ostrich-hunt in the interior.
We gladly accepted the offer.
The chief, whose name was Walgilka--I spell it to produce the
pronunciation as I remember it--signified the day upon which we were to
start, and promised to have the requisite number of horses in readiness.
The party who were to accompany him consisted of the captain, the second
mate (Pat Pickle), Tony Trybrace, Bluefish, Dicky Drake and myself.
Dicky had specially ingratiated himself with the chieftain by presenting
that individual with an old, dog-eared testament, which was looked upon
by the natives as containing something of mystical import.
On the appointed morning, we duly landed, each provided with a musket,
and were escorted by several natives to Walgilka's lodge, which was
located inland, about a mile from the coast.
When we came in sight of it, we saw that about twenty horses were in
waiting, saddled and bridled after the primitive manner of the
Patagonians.
The horses are not large, but are strong and wiry; usually of an iron
gray or sorrel hue. The "saddle" is merely a wolf or guanaco skin bound
over the back in several folds; and the "bridle" consists of a stout
thong of hide made fast, from shifting, at the throat, but connected
with a piece of hide of greater thickness, which goes through the mouth
after the manner of a bit.
As I gazed upon these uncouth, stirrupless steeds, I must confess that
my heart sunk within me, and, in imagination, I felt sore already, as I
thought of the ten or fifteen mile gallop that was probably in store for
us. But I put as cheerful a face on the matter as was possible.
The chieftain came out from his lodge, attended by numerous huntsmen,
armed with their spears and bows, in readiness for the chase. He
greeted us cordially, and in a short time we were mounted and moving at
a brisk pace for the prairies of the interior, where the ostriches most
do congregate.
It would be impossible to chase the ostrich successfully if he started
as fresh as his pursuer, as they are not only far fleeter than the
swiftest steed, but have also far greater powers of endurance. But they
have a way of managing it in Patagonia, by which the birds are taken at
a disadvantage. It is one of the peculiarities of the ostrich of South
America to always run before the wind, if possible, when pursued.
The strong gales that are prevalent, and, indeed, almost incessant in
this region, blowing against their plumes from behind, thus serve to
give them a considerable acceleration of speed. Therefore, when a
Patagonian chief decides to have a day of ostrich-hunting, he usually,
the night beforehand, sends some of his people twenty or thirty miles
down the coast (that is, if a _south_ wind is blowing, for instance.)
These outriders then proceed inland, and slowly drive what birds they
may meet with northward. The men do not approach near enough to cause
any excessive alarm, but maintain a sufficient distance in the rear to
keep the timid creatures on a moderate trot before the wind, giving them
no time to halt for any considerable length of time. In this way, they
keep them almost perpetually on a trot for the entire distance of twenty
or thirty miles, whatever it may be. Then the sagacious chieftain, with
his train of fresh horsemen, do not have much difficulty in running down
the poor ostriches, already fatigued from their long thirty-mile trot.
In this way the endurance of the ostrich is tested by the combined
endurance of two stout horses, and, of course, is found wanting.
Dicky Drake, when he heard of this _modus operandi_, swore that it was a
mean, unfair thing on the ostrich, and vowed, if it wasn't for the sake
of seeing the thing through, he would drop the enterprise.
Well, _our_ outriders had been dispatched down the coast on the
preceding night, and Walgilka assured us we should meet with excellent
sport. The inevitable, incessant rain of Patagonia was falling, but not
heavily, and we had come to look upon a mere drizzle almost as a
sunshiny day.
At length we broke from the rough country, upon a bare hill, whence, far
below and beyond us, rolled the glorious land of the pampas--portions of
it almost as level as a floor, but the greater part rolling like the
billows of the sea. A large troop of ostriches were feeding below us,
and we could see several herds of horses and guanacos in the distance.
Walgilka immediately gave the signal to charge, and, with a ringing
shout, we dashed down the hill upon the astonished ostriches, who
immediately started off at a tremendous pace.
"They run well for having just finished a twenty-mile trot!" said Tony
Trybrace, who was riding at my side.
I thought the same thing. But we had not got very far before we heard a
cry in our rear.
Walgilka turned and then gave the signal for a halt. When we looked back
we perceived one of the natives pursuing us at a great rate, and, upon
coming up, we were informed that we were pursuing the wrong flock of
birds. Those which had been specially fatigued for our benefit were
feeding some miles further inland. So, with many a joke at our own
mistake, we left the pursuit of the fresh flock--and it would probably
have been a long stern-chase, if we had kept it up--and proceeded
eastward, over the pampas, to find the tired game.
We came upon them in about half an hour. And this time it was no
mistake. Although the birds ran very swiftly at first, several of them
limped painfully, and soon, one by one, they began to drop behind each
other. We could see them flap their little wings painfully, as they
panted on before our fresh and momentarily nearing steeds. At length,
one of the poor creatures stopped and laid down, at the same time
extending its head despairingly along the ground, and tacitly receiving
the deadly arrow of the nearest horseman.
We rapidly gained on the whole flock and were soon in the midst of them,
knocking them down in every direction. I got a shot at a very fine bird
and laid him low, while, almost simultaneously, Tony and the captain
each brought one down. Bluefish also did well, but little Dicky Drake,
as usual, made a laughing-stock of himself. His tender heart got the
better of his desire for carnage just as we got in the midst of the
flock, and he conceived the brilliant conception of taking one of the
birds alive.
Springing from his horse, he made at a very large ostrich with
outstretched arms, when he received a most unmerciful kick from the
powerful leg of the bird, which doubled him up and laid him sprawling.
Nevertheless, he was plucky and immediately got up to try it again. This
time, evading the legs of the bird, he made a spring and alighted upon
her back, when the bird, no doubt extremely terrified at this maneuver,
summoned up her remaining energies and started on a brisk run. Dicky
clung to her, probably as much frightened as she, and bellowing like a
good 'un amid the noisy laughter of all the huntsmen.
"Stick to her! Good-by, Dicky!" shouted old Bluefish.
But the bird ran only a few rods before she dropped and expired, and the
amateur hunter returned to his horse looking rather sheepish.
We killed about thirty birds altogether and took up our homeward way
with our horses heavily laden, after having enjoyed the novel sport
hugely.
We saw vast herds of guanacos, as well as a great many horses on our way
back, but we were in no condition to take up another chase, although the
opportunity was very tempting.
I here also had the opportunity of seeing, for the first time in my
life, that enormous bird, the Condor of the Andes. He had been feeding
upon some carrion a few rods in front of us, and, startled at our
approach, rose slowly up with a guttural cry and flew toward his
mountain home. I let off my gun at him at rather short range, I thought,
but without effect.
The reports of the size of this bird have been greatly exaggerated, but
I am sure this one was twice as large as the largest eagle I ever saw.
The condor flies higher than any other bird and is only found in the
Andes of South America--usually frequenting the most elevated and
inaccessible parts. Its strength is prodigious. Walgilka informed me
that it was not an unfrequent thing to see them seize upon and carry off
the guanaco; and this animal is of about equal weight I think with the
merino sheep.