PATAGONIA'S TRAMPS.
A number of surprises await the traveller who visits Patagonia, but
probably none is greater than the sight of the tramps sure to be found
at almost every port. There is nothing especially surprising in the
quality or grade of the tramps; they are the same uncleanly loafers that
offend the eye on the highways of the United States, but to find them on
the desert and tramping from place to place, that is remarkable.
For, consider what Patagonia between the Rio Negro and the Strait of
Magellan is as a place of human residence. The settlements are hundreds
of miles apart. One who rides from place to place cannot travel in a
straight line, but must go hither and yon to reach the springs of sweet
water, and even then, in many places, the known springs are from 100 to
130 miles apart. In very many parts of the desert, only the best horses
and men can stand the terrors of thirst and heat by day and of thirst
and cold by night.
Worse yet, it is for the most part a trackless desert. No wagons are
used, and the hoofs of the unshod horses that are occasionally taken
over the route do not leave a trail that any one can follow.
Nevertheless, in spite of all this--in spite even of the fierce storms
of sleet and hail--tramps are to be found at about every settlement, and
in some way they get on from place to place, seeing the country in true
tramp fashion, and living on the food and wearing the cast-off clothing
and drinking the liquor they beg from the more or less industrious
people found in the region. I say more or less industrious people
advisedly, for the reason that tramps are found not only among the
ranches of the energetic sheep farmers, but also in the wigwams of the
Indians.
I got my first view of a Patagonian tramp at the first Patagonian port I
entered--Madryn, on the shore of New Gulf. The Captain of the Port had a
United States wife, and, on learning my nationality, made me at home at
his house. While I was in the parlor talking to a number of people a man
came to the open door and knocked. The Captain's wife came to the
Captain and said:
"There is that vagabond again." Then she asked me if I had expected to
find tramps like the Yankee article in Patagonia. I followed the Captain
out in order to see the fellow, and found a man with unkempt red hair
under a badly worn soft hat, a face that was of a pinkish red color and
blotched with big freckles, a thin, sandy moustache, and thin, sandy
beard, a coat and trousers but no shirt or socks, and a pair of shoes
that were almost devoid of soles. In the presence of the official he was
meek and deprecatory. He wanted to make an explanation, but the official
would not listen. A naval sailor was called and ordered to put the tramp
into a lockup. Thereat the tramp brightened up greatly, and walked away
talking cheerfully in very bad Spanish to the sailor.
Then I learned something about the tramp. He had appeared at Madryn some
weeks before that, saying he had come from Buenos Ayres on a ship. He
was looking for work, too. Still no ship was then in from Buenos Ayres,
and when ranch work was offered to him he said that it was a kind of
work that he could not do. He loafed about Madryn, sleeping in the lee
of one house or another, and begging food first of the few families
there and then of the seamen who helped to keep up the dignity of the
Government establishments. When people began to treat him coolly he
wanted some one to take him to a little settlement sixteen miles away
along the shore of the gulf. No one would do it, so he started away
afoot. He had just returned from that settlement when I saw him.
"What will you do with him?" I asked.
"Give him some breakfast."
"And then?"
"He will have dinner. In the morning, after coffee, he must go."
There was but one route for him to travel--the little railroad that led
to the Welsh colony of Chubut. It was a route fifty-one miles long and
without water, but no one doubted that he would walk it without trouble.
I guess he didn't walk it, however. The one train of this road came to
town next day. I saw the tramp standing beside it while the crew were
busy with their work. There were in the train some open box cars, and
some that could be easily opened. While I was looking at the crew the
tramp disappeared and I saw no more of him, although I was in Madryn two
days longer. I think he beat his way to the colony in a freight car,
tramp fashion. The Welsh colony is sixty miles long and has some
thousands of inhabitants, all of whom were once poor, but have now at
least enough to eat and to wear. They remember when they were poor, and
they will give food and cast-off clothes even to this vagabond.
Still there was a mystery about the fellow. I wanted to learn how he got
to Madryn in the first place, but all that he would say was that he had
come in a ship, which was obviously untrue, unless he had come from some
small sailing vessel beating along the coast. But that seems an
impossible explanation of the matter, and the mystery remains.
When in the course of time I reached Rio Santa Cruz and went ashore I
found a drowsy-looking white man sitting on the beach talking to a
native Argentine of mixed blood. The white man, though somewhat sleepy,
was indignant, to judge by his expressions and accent. Seeing me he
stopped his flow of profanity for a moment, and then said:
"Beg pardon, s-s-stranger. Are you English?"
"No, I'm a Yankee," said I.
"Glad to--hic--hear it. That's whi'-whi' man's country. S-s-see tha'
ship?" (Pointing to a brigantine anchored in the stream.) "S-she's
English. S-so 'm I. T'--hic--t' 'ell with her. I'm one of her crew. Th'
Captain lef' me--hic--here becau' drunk. S-s-said this bes' place for
me; going t' leave me here."
"Oh, I guess not. He's got to carry you back to London, or wherever the
ship cleared from."
"Lonnon be damned. I'm from S-s-sandy Point. Wish t'--hic--'ell I was
there now. Tha' 's God's country, eh? 'F 'e don' take me 'board to-ni',
going walk S-s-sandy Point surer 'n fate."
Finding conversation with the sailor growing more difficult with each
sentence, I asked the Argentine man about him, and learned that he was
originally one of a crew of a ship wrecked on the coast of Tierra del
Fuego several years ago. The crew had in some way reached Punta Arenas,
or Sandy Point, as the English call it, in the Strait of Magellan, where
most of them had found life so pleasant that they could not tear
themselves away for any length of time. This man had been sailing in the
fleet of little traders that have Punta Arenas for headquarters, but had
signed articles on the brigantine, and was in duty bound to return in
her to England. She had come into the Rio Santa Cruz for a cargo of
wool, and was then well-nigh loaded. The men, of course, had been
obliged to come ashore for the wool with small boats, and as a result
this man had been able to get drunk. He had been worthless as a foremast
hand, and so the skipper had taken advantage of his drunkenness to get
rid of him.
"Well, will he walk to Punta Arenas?" said I.
"Y' are dam' ri' I will," interrupted the sailor.
"Who knows?" said the native, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Many of
them try it, as he will. Not many arrive there."
The last I saw of this fellow was on the evening of my last day in Santa
Cruz. He was curling down to sleep on the lee side of a bunch of bushes.
He was rather drunker than when I first saw him. He had been drunk every
day while I was in port, and this, too, though penniless.
Down at the Rio Gallegos I found two more English-speaking tramps. Both
claimed Punta Arenas as their home, and both spoke of it as the chief
centre of the world's delights. Both were miners, they said, and they
had come from the low-tide diggings a few leagues down the beach. Both
had been sailors at one time and shepherds at another, and both were
about as worthless as any vagabonds I ever saw. They were there during
all the time of my stay, and they took pains to speak to me at every
opportunity. They said each day they were going to start the next day
for the strait colony, but I guess they remained where they were until
the authorities forced them away.
That the tramps were numerous enough at Gallegos to be considered a
public nuisance was evident from the fact that copies of a tramp
ordinance were posted conspicuously in the bar-rooms. This provided that
all persons found within the town limits who were without occupation or
employment or means of support, and any one found begging should be
arrested by the police, and on conviction before the Justice set to work
"on any public improvements that the magistrate may direct for not more
than two months."
I called the attention of one of the tramps I met to this ordinance.
"I twigged it the first day," he said. "I haven't done much but lie
around and twig things since I came, but I've got an occupation. Yes,
sir, I'm a miner, and I'm here to buy horses for the outfit down the
beach. Just as soon as I can get a herd of $50 horses together at $20
each I shall cut this town dead."
Inquiry at the various ports showed that professional tramping in
Patagonia had developed from a variety of causes. In the north the
old-time professional loafers simply extended their journey from the
capital city to the Rio Negro. It seems that cattle and sheep breeding
have in some way a strong tendency to make men over-hospitable. On the
pampas of the Argentine, in the sheep stations of Australia, and among
the ranches of the American prairies the wayfarer is not only welcome,
but is made to feel that he is so. In the United States the abuse of
this hospitality has pretty well destroyed its old-time heartiness. The
Yankee ranchman now wants to know the character of his guests before
making them welcome. In the Argentine known loafers are invited in. Men
are found there who own horses and ride about from ranch to ranch, never
doing a stroke of work from one year to another, and yet are made
welcome at a single ranch table for weeks and months at a stretch. I
have never heard of such a custom elsewhere, except in Australia. These
pampa vagabonds have extended their routes to the Rio Negro ranches
since the destruction of the Indians made it possible to settle the Rio
Negro valley.
Next came the tramp element to the Welsh colony at Chubut. These
Welshmen were supported absolutely for six years, and in part for ten or
more by the Government. As a rule, the Welsh were of too sturdy a make
to be injured by the charity, but some were overcome by it. They learned
the desert routes from the Indians. They even strolled away with
wandering bands of Tehuelches and became desert nomads.
Then, when the Welsh had prospered and were able to employ laborers on
their farms, there were disagreements between masters and men, which
ended in the men going away, anywhere to get clear of the hated
employer.
When I was at Gallegos I fell in with William Clark, formerly of Salem,
Mass., of whom mention has been made, who owned a fine ranch up the
river. Clark had only two days before left his ranch to come to town,
and the first thing he told me was that he had been entertaining a
citizen of the United States who had come along on afoot without a cent
of money and scant clothing. The man had been employed on a ranch by one
whom Clark knew to be a hard master, and had left because of
ill-treatment, going away without taking his own clothes. Clark was
indignant at the treatment the Yankee had received, and not only fitted
him out comfortably, but gave him a good lift on his way towards the
more settled region to the south. Very likely this Yankee wayfarer was a
reputable man, but Clark admitted that vagabonds were becoming
numerous--men who told stories of ill-treatment at some ranch afar off
to gain the sympathy of the impulsive ranchman to whom he was talking.
In connection with the tramp of Patagonia must be mentioned the white
men, who for more than fifty years have made their homes among the
desert Indians for varying lengths of time. The Tehuelches learned a
long time ago that white men, and especially white sailors, were skilful
in a variety of arts useful to the Indians, and moreover that they
almost invariably carried knives and other useful or ornamental things
in their pockets. Whenever a ship came to anchor in the Strait of
Magellan in former years the Indians came down to the beach to welcome
the crew ashore. First of all, there was the trading of furs and
feathers for rum, tobacco, and tools, and the last of all, was the
coaxing of some of the crew to desert the ship. The Indians were wily.
They told the sailorman that he was so skilful in his arts he should be
made a chief, and so become entitled to a fine wigwam, many horses, and
all the wives he wanted. Jack's bosom heaved with joy at the bare
thought of such luxuries, and when opportunity offered he gathered as
much plunder as possible from the vessel and fled to the Indians.
Then he found he had made the mistake of his life. He was not only
robbed of all his plunder, but in every case was stripped of all his
clothing except a shirt or a thin coat, a pair of trousers and possibly
a pair of shoes. In many cases the shoes were taken also, leaving the
poor devil to walk barefooted over the stony desert. Instead of becoming
a chief he was made a slave, who had to gather fuel and to do other work
beneath the dignity of the lordly Tehuelche. He had to walk when the
camp was moved, and, what was worse than all else--it simply broke
Jack's heart entirely--instead of having many pretty Indian girls for
wives, he became "the white fool," the butt of the entire band down to
the smallest youngster. Neither guile nor bravado nor real bravery ever
availed to make Jack a chief, though cases are known where a man of good
natural abilities did work out the condition of a slave to that of a
warrior. The lives these men led were of the greatest hardship on
account of the severity of the climate and their lack of clothing, so
that many died from exposure. Others were killed in quarrels, and the
happiest fate that could befall the runaway was to be carried back to
his Captain and delivered up for a ransom, that he might receive the
punishment he deserved when he stole from the ship and his comrades. The
Rev. Titus Coan, the Yankee missionary who went to Patagonia, but
concluded that the Arab-like life of the Tehuelches was unsuited to
Yankee missionary tastes, found runaway sailors among the Tehuelches.
That was in 1833. I did not see any of them when in Patagonia, but the
gauchos told about them, and I have no doubt they are to be found there
now.
It is common for people of New York who have accumulated enough money to
enable them to retire from business to speak of themselves as "living in
independent circumstances." They can live without work. These tramps are
also in independent circumstances. They can live without work. It was
written, that if a man will not work neither shall he eat. We now find
ourselves obliged to modify the old-time interpretation of this
scripture. I do not pretend to offer any suggestion in the matter of
relieving the toilers from the incubus of the loafers but those who are
engaged in solving the problem, ought to know and to consider the fact
that in desert Patagonia the number of tramps is greater in proportion
to the population than it is in the well-settled parts of the United
States.