EL CARMEN.
In 1780, long after the discovery of the New World, the Spaniards
founded in Patagonia a factory, situated on the left bank of the Rio
Negro, about seven leagues from its mouth, and called Nuestra Señora
del Carmen, and also Patagonia.
The Ulmen Negro, chief of the Puelches, encamped in the vicinity of
the Rio Negro, favourably greeted the Spaniards, and in consideration
of a distribution made to the Indians of a large quantity of clothing
and other useful articles, sold them the course of that river from its
mouth up to San Xavier. In addition to this, by the wish of the Ulmen,
the natives aided the Spaniards in building the citadel, which was to
serve them as a shelter, and thus assisted with their arms in producing
their own serfdom.
At the period of the foundation of El Carmen the post merely consisted
of a fort, built on the northern bank, at the summit of a scarped
cliff, which commands the river, the southern plains and the
surrounding country. It is of a square shape; it is built with strong
walls of dressed stone, and flanked by three bastions, two on the
river to the east and west, and the third on the plain. The interior
contains the chapel, the priest's house, and the powder magazine; on
the other side run spacious quarters for the commandant, treasurer,
officers, garrison, and a small hospital. All these buildings, only one
storey in height, are covered with tiles. The Government also possesses
outside vast granaries, a baking house, a mill, two blacksmiths' and
carpenters' shops, and two _estancias_, or farms, stocked with horses
and cattle.
At the present day, the fort is nearly in ruins; the walls, for want of
repairs, are everywhere decaying, but the dwelling houses are still in
good condition.
El Carmen is divided into three groups, two on the north, and one on
the south side of the river. Of the two former, one, the old Carmen, is
situated between the fort and the Rio Negro, on the slope of the cliff,
and consists of some forty houses of varying height and style, and
forming an irregular line which follows the course of the river. Around
them are scattered wretched huts, and this is the staple of the trade
with the Indians.
The other group on the same bank, called Población, is a few hundred
paces to the east of the fort, and is separated from it by shifting
sand dunes, which entirely stop the range of the guns. Población forms
a vast quadrilateral, round which are about one hundred houses, mostly
new, only one storey high, tile-covered, and serving as a residence
for farmers, agriculturists, and _pulqueros_, or dealers in spirits
and grocery. Between the two groups there are several houses scattered
along the river bank.
The village on the south bank, which is called Población del Sur, is
composed of twenty houses, standing in a line on a low soil, subject
to inundations. These houses, which are poorer than those of the north
side, serve as a shelter for gauchos and estancieros. A few pulqueros,
attracted by the vicinity of the Indians, have also opened their stores
there.
The general aspect is sad; only a few isolated trees grow on the river
bank, and the streets are full of a pulverized sand, which obeys the
direction of the wind. This description of a country hitherto perfectly
unknown, was indispensable for a due comprehension of the incidents
that are about to follow.
The day on which this story begins, at about two in the afternoon,
five or six gauchos, seated in a pulquero's shop, were holding a
sharp discussion while swallowing long draughts of _chicha_ from the
half-gourds which went the round. The scene is laid in Población del
Sur.
"Canario," said a tall, thin fellow, who had all the appearance of a
desperate ruffian, "are we not free men? If our governor, the Señor Don
Antonio Valverde, insists in plundering us in this way, Pincheira is
not so far off but that we may manage to come to an understanding with
him. Although an Indian chief now, he is of the white race, without any
mixture, and a caballero to the end of his fingers."
"Hold your tongue, Panchito," another said, "you would do better if
you swallowed your words with your chicha, instead of talking such
nonsense."
"I have a right to speak," said Panchito, who was moistening his throat
more than the rest.
"Don't you know that invisible eyes are prowling about us, and that
ears are open to pick up our words and profit by them?"
"Nonsense," said the first speaker, with a shrug of the shoulders, "you
are always frightened, Corrocho. I care as much for spies as I do for
an old bridle."
"Panchito!"
"What, am I not right? Why does Don Antonio wish us so much harm?"
"You are mistaken," a third gaucho interrupted with a laugh, "the
governor, on the contrary, desires your comfort, and the proof is that
he takes as much as he possibly can from you."
"That confounded Patito has the cleverness of the scamp he is,"
Panchito exclaimed, bursting into a noisy laugh. "Well, after us the
end of the world!"
"In the meanwhile let us drink," said Patito.
"Yes," Panchito replied, "let us drink and drown our cares. Besides,
have we not Don Torribio Carvajal to help us if necessary?"
"That's another name that ought to stick in your throat, especially
here," Corrocho exclaimed, striking the table angrily with his fist,
"can't you hold your tongue, accursed dog?"
Panchito frowned, and looked askant at his comrade.
"Are you trying to bully me? Canario, you are beginning to stir my
blood."
"Bully you? Why not, if you deserved it?" the other answered without
the slightest excitement. "Caray, for the last two hours you have been
drinking like a sponge; you are as full as a butt, and you chatter
like a foolish old woman. Hold your tongue, do you hear, or go to
sleep."
"¡Sangre de Cristo!" Panchito yelled, as he dug his knife vigorously
into the bar, "You will give me satisfaction."
"On my word, bloodletting will do you good, and my hand itches to give
you a navajada on your ugly chops."
"Ugly chops, did you say?"
And Panchito rushed upon Corrocho, who waited for him with a firm foot.
The other gauchos rushed between to prevent them striking.
"Peace, peace, caballeros, in Heaven's name or the fiend's," the
pulquero said, "no quarrelling in my house; if you wish to have it out,
the street is free."
"The pulquero is right," said Panchito; "come on, then, if you are a
man."
"Willingly."
The two gauchos, followed by their comrades, dashed out into the
street. As for the pulquero, standing in his doorway with his hands in
his pockets, he whistled a dance tune while awaiting the combat.
Panchito and Corrocho, who had already taken off their hats, and bowed
with affected politeness to each other, after rolling their poncho
round the left arm, in guise of a buckler, drew their long knives from
their polenas, and without exchanging a syllable, stood on guard with
remarkable coolness.
In this species of duel the honour consists in touching the adversary
in the face; a blow dealt below the waist passes for an act of
treachery unworthy a true caballero.
The two adversaries, solidly planted on their straddled legs, with
bodies bent, and head thrown back, looked at each other attentively
to divine movements, parry strokes, and scar each other. The other
gauchos, with husk cigarettes in their mouths, followed the duel with
unconcerned eye, and applauded the more skilful. The fight continued on
both sides with equal success for some minutes, when Panchito, whose
sight was doubtless obstructed by copious libations, parried a second
too late, and felt the point of Corrocho's knife cut the skin of his
face its whole length.
"Bravo, bravo!" all the gauchos exclaimed simultaneously, "Well hit."
The combatants fell back a step, bowed to the spectators, sheathed
their knives again, bowed to each other, with a species of courtesy,
and, after shaking hands, re-entered the pulquería arm in arm.
The gauchos form a species of men apart, whose manners are completely
unknown in Europe. Those of El Carmen, the great majority exiled for
crimes, have retained their sanguinary habits and their contempt of
life. Indefatigable gamblers, they have cards incessantly in their
hands; and gambling is a fertile source of quarrelling, in which the
knife plays the greatest part. Careless of the future and of present
suffering, hardened to physical pain, they disdain death as much as
life, and recoil before no danger. Well, these men, who frequently
abandon their families to go and live in greater liberty amid savage
hordes; who gladly and without emotion shed the blood of their fellow
men; who are implacable in their hatred; are yet capable of ardent
friendship, and extraordinary self-denial and devotion. Their character
offers a strange medley of good and evil, of unbridled vices and of
real qualities. They are, in turn, and simultaneously, quarrelsome,
indolent, drunken, cruel, proud, brave to rashness, and devoted to a
friend, or patron of their choice. From childhood blood flows beneath
their hands in the estancias at the period of _mantaza del ganado_
(cattle slaughtering), and they thus habituate themselves to the
colour of the human purple. Lastly, their jests are as coarse as their
manners; and the most delicate and frequent of them is to threaten with
a knife under the most frivolous pretexts.
While the gauchos, on returning to the pulquería after the quarrel,
were bedewing their reconciliation, and drowning in floods of chicha
the remembrance of this little incident, a man, wrapped in a large
cloak, and with his hat pulled over his eyes, entered the shop, without
saying a word, went up to the bar, took an apparently indifferent
glance around him, lit a cigarette at the brasero, and with a piastre
he held in his hand, hit the table three sharp blows.
At this unexpected sound, which resembled a signal, the gauchos, who
were talking eagerly together, were silent as if they had received an
electric shock. Panchito and Corrocho started, and tried to see through
the cloak that covered the stranger, while Patito turned his head away
slightly to conceal a crafty smile.
The stranger threw away his half-consumed cigarette, and went out of
the door as silently as he had entered it. A moment after, Panchito,
who was wiping his cheek, and Corrocho, both pretending to remember
some important business, quitted the pulquería. Patito glided along the
wall to the door, and followed close at their heels.
"Hum!" the pulquero growled, "there are three scamps, who seem to be
arranging some dog's trick, in which every man's head will not remain
on his shoulders. Well, it is their business after all."
The other gauchos, completely absorbed in their game of monte, and
bent over the cards, had not, so to speak, noticed the departure of
their comrades. The stranger, when at some distance from the pulquería,
turned round. The two gauchos were walking almost close behind him, and
carelessly talking, like two loungers who were taking a walk.
Where was Patito? He had disappeared.
After making an almost imperceptible sign to the two gauchos, the
stranger set out again, and followed a road which, by an insensible
curve, left the waterside and gradually entered the plain. This road,
after leaving Población, took a rather sharp turn, and suddenly
contracted into a path, which, like the rest, appeared to be lost in
the plain.
At the corner of the path a horseman, proceeding to the village, at
a smart trot, passed the three men; but neither the gauchos nor the
stranger, being, doubtless, busy with serious thought, remarked him. As
for the rider, he gave them a rapid and piercing glance, and checked
the pace of his horse, which stopped a few yards further on.
"Heaven pardon me!" he said to himself "'tis Don Torribio, or the
Fiend, in flesh and bone. What can he be doing there in the company of
those two bandits, who look to me exactly like imps of Satan? May I
lose my name of Blas Salazar, if I won't find out, and set myself at
their heels."
And he quickly dismounted. Señor Blas Salazar was a man of
five-and-thirty at the most, rather above the average height, and
somewhat corpulent; but, on the other hand, the squareness of his wide
shoulders and his sturdy limbs indicated his muscular strength. A small
gray eye, quick and sparkling with intelligence and boldness, lit up
his open and frank countenance. His dress, with the exception of being
a little more elegant, was that of the gauchos.
So soon as he dismounted he looked round, but there was no one to whom
he could give his horse to hold; for at Carmen, especially in the
Población del Sur, it is almost a miracle for two persons to meet. He
stamped his foot angrily, passed the bridle over his arm, led his horse
to the pulquería the gauchos had just left, and entrusted it to the
landlord.
This duty performed, for the best friend of an Hispano-American is his
horse, Blas retraced his footsteps with the most minute precautions,
like a man who wishes to surprise and himself remain unseen. The
gauchos were ahead of him, and disappeared behind a shifting sand
ridge, at the moment he turned the corner in the road. Still he soon
saw them again, climbing up a steep path, that led to a thick clump
of trees. A few trees had grown in these dry sands by accident, or a
caprice of Nature.
Sure now of finding them, Blas walked on more slowly, and in order to
remove any suspicion about his object, he lit a cigarette. The gauchos,
fortunately for him, did not look round once, but entered the wood
after the man whom Blas had recognized as Don Torribio Carvajal. When
Blas, in his turn, reached the skirt of the wood, instead of entering
the wood immediately, he took a slight bend to his right, and then
stooping down, began crawling on his hands and knees with the greatest
caution, in order not to arouse the attention of the gauchos by any
noise.
In a few minutes voices reached his ear. He then raised his head
softly, and saw the three men standing together and talking eagerly in
a clearing about ten paces from him. He rose, concealed himself behind
a maple tree and began listening.
Don Torribio had let his cloak fall, and with his shoulder leant
against a tree and with his legs crossed, he was listening with visible
impatience to what Panchito was saying at this moment. Don Torribio was
a man of eight-and-twenty, handsome, tall, and well-built, possessing
elegance and nobility in his every movement, and the haughty attitude
which is produced by a habit of commanding. Two large quick eyes lit
up the oval of his face; two eyes charged, apparently, with lightning,
and whose strange fascination it was almost impossible to endure.
His flexible nostrils seem to expand through quick passions; a cold
mockery was imbedded in the corners of his mouth, which was filled
with splendid teeth and surmounted by a black moustache. His forehead
was spacious, his skin bronzed by the heat of the sun, and his hair
long and silky. Still, in spite of all this prodigality of Nature,
his haughty and disdainful expression produced, in the end, a sort of
repulsion.
Don Torribio's hands were small and encased in splendid-fitting gloves,
and his high-ankled feet were covered by patent leather boots. As for
his dress, which was extremely costly, it was in appearance much like
that of the gauchos. His shirt collar was fastened with a diamond of
enormous value, and his fine-tissued poncho was worth more than five
hundred piastres.
Two years before this story, Don Torribio Carvajal arrived at Carmen
a stranger to everybody, and all asked themselves, where does he come
from? Whence does he get his princely fortune? Where are his estates?
Don Torribio had purchased an estancia in the colony, situated some two
or three leagues from Carmen, and under pretext of defending it against
the Indians, had fortified it, surrounded it with moats and palisades,
and mounted six guns. He had thus walled in his existence and routed
curiosity. Though the gates of his estancia were never opened to any
guest, he was welcomed by the first families at Carmen, whom he visited
assiduously, and then to the great surprise of all, he disappeared for
several months. The ladies had wasted their smiles and glances, the
men their adroit questions to make Don Torribio speak. Don Antonio
Valverde, to whom his post of being governor gave the right of being
curious, had not failed to feel some alarm about the handsome stranger,
but weary of losing his leisure in inquiries, he left the matter to
time, which sooner or later rends asunder the densest veils.
Such was the man who was listening to Panchito in the brake, and all
that was known about him.
"Enough!" he said passionately, interrupting the gaucho; "you are a
dog, and the son of a dog."
"Señor!" said Panchito, drawing himself up.
"I am inclined to crush you, like the wretch you are."
"Threats to me!" the gaucho shouted, pale with rage, and drawing his
knife.
Don Torribio clutched the fellow's wrist with his gloved hand, and
twisted it so rudely, that he let the weapon fall with a cry of pain.
"On your knees, and ask pardon," the gentleman said, as he twisted
Panchito to the ground.
"No; kill me sooner."
"Begone, villain; you are only a brute beast."
The gaucho rose tottering, his eyes were filled with blood, his lips
were livid, and his whole body trembled. He picked up his knife, and
approached Don Torribio, who waited for him with folded arms.
"Well, yes," he said; "I am a brute beast, but I love you, after all.
Forgive me or kill me, but do not send me away."
"Begone!"
"Is that your last word?"
"Yes."
"To the demon, then."
And the gaucho, with a movement rapid as thought, raised his knife to
stab himself.
"I forgive you," Don Torribio said, after checking Panchito's arm; "but
if you wish to serve me, be dumb as a corpse."
The gaucho fell at his feet, and covered his hand with kisses, like a
dog licking his master, who has chastised it. Corrocho had remained a
motionless observer of the scene.
"What power does this strange man possess to be thus beloved?" muttered
Blas Salazar, who was still concealed behind his tree.