THE Argentine Pampas extend from the thirty-fourth to the fortieth
degree of southern latitude. The word PAMPA, of Araucanian origin,
signifies _grass plain_, and justly applies to the whole region. The
mimosas growing on the western part, and the substantial herbage on the
eastern, give those plains a peculiar appearance. The soil is composed
of sand and red or yellow clay, and this is covered by a layer of
earth, in which the vegetation takes root. The geologist would find rich
treasures in the tertiary strata here, for it is full of antediluvian
remains--enormous bones, which the Indians attribute to some gigantic
race that lived in a past age.
The horses went on at a good pace through the thick PAJA-BRAVA, the
grass of the Pampas, _par excellence_, so high and thick that the
Indians find shelter in it from storms. At certain distances, but
increasingly seldom, there were wet, marshy spots, almost entirely
under water, where the willows grew, and a plant called the _Gygnerium
argenteum_. Here the horses drank their fill greedily, as if bent on
quenching their thirst for past, present and future. Thalcave went first
to beat the bushes and frighten away the cholinas, a most dangerous
species of viper, the bite of which kills an ox in less than an hour.
For two days they plodded steadily across this arid and deserted plain.
The dry heat became severe. There were not only no RIOS, but even the
ponds dug out by the Indians were dried up. As the drought seemed to
increase with every mile, Paganel asked Thalcave when he expected to
come to water.
“At Lake Salinas,” replied the Indian.
“And when shall we get there?”
“To-morrow evening.”
When the Argentines travel in the Pampas they generally dig wells, and
find water a few feet below the surface. But the travelers could not
fall back on this resource, not having the necessary implements. They
were therefore obliged to husband the small provision of water they had
still left, and deal it out in rations, so that if no one had enough to
satisfy his thirst no one felt it too painful.
They halted at evening after a course of thirty miles and eagerly looked
forward to a good night’s rest to compensate for the fatigue of day. But
their slumbers were invaded by a swarm of mosquitoes, which allowed them
no peace. Their presence indicated a change of wind which shifted to the
north. A south or southwest wind generally puts to flight these little
pests.
Even these petty ills of life could not ruffle the Major’s equanimity;
but Paganel, on the contrary, was perfectly exasperated by such trifling
annoyances. He abused the poor mosquitoes desperately, and deplored
the lack of some acid lotion which would have eased the pain of their
stings. The Major did his best to console him by reminding him of the
fact that they had only to do with one species of insect, among the
300,000 naturalists reckon. He would listen to nothing, and got up in a
very bad temper.
He was quite willing to start at daybreak, however, for they had to get
to Lake Salinas before sundown. The horses were tired out and dying for
water, and though their riders had stinted themselves for their sakes,
still their ration was very insufficient. The drought was constantly
increasing, and the heat none the less for the wind being north, this
wind being the simoom of the Pampas.
There was a brief interruption this day to the monotony of the journey.
Mulrady, who was in front of the others, rode hastily back to report
the approach of a troop of Indians. The news was received with very
different feelings by Glenarvan and Thalcave. The Scotchman was glad
of the chance of gleaning some information about his shipwrecked
countryman, while the Patagonian hardly cared to encounter the nomadic
Indians of the prairie, knowing their bandit propensities. He rather
sought to avoid them, and gave orders to his party to have their arms in
readiness for any trouble.
Presently the nomads came in sight, and the Patagonian was reassured at
finding they were only ten in number. They came within a hundred yards
of them, and stopped. This was near enough to observe them distinctly.
They were fine specimens of the native races, which had been almost
entirely swept away in 1833 by General Rosas, tall in stature, with
arched forehead and olive complexion. They were dressed in guanaco
skins, and carried lances twenty feet long, knives, slings, bolas,
and lassos, and, by their dexterity in the management of their horses,
showed themselves to be accomplished riders.
They appeared to have stopped for the purpose of holding a council with
each other, for they shouted and gesticulated at a great rate. Glenarvan
determined to go up to them; but he had no sooner moved forward than
the whole band wheeled round, and disappeared with incredible speed. It
would have been useless for the travelers to attempt to overtake them
with such wornout horses.
“The cowards!” exclaimed Paganel.
“They scampered off too quick for honest folks,” said McNabbs.
“Who are these Indians, Thalcave?” asked Paganel.
“Gauchos.”
“The Gauchos!” cried Paganel; and, turning to his companions, he added,
“we need not have been so much on our guard; there was nothing to fear.”
“How is that?” asked McNabbs.
“Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants.”
“You believe that, Paganel?”
“Certainly I do. They took us for robbers, and fled in terror.”
“I rather think they did not dare to attack us,” replied Glenarvan, much
vexed at not being able to enter into some sort of communication with
those Indians, whatever they were.
“That’s my opinion too,” said the Major, “for if I am not mistaken,
instead of being harmless, the Gauchos are formidable out-and-out
bandits.”
“The idea!” exclaimed Paganel.
And forthwith commenced a lively discussion of this ethnological
thesis--so lively that the Major became excited, and, quite contrary to
his usual suavity, said bluntly:
“I believe you are wrong, Paganel.”
“Wrong?” replied Paganel.
“Yes. Thalcave took them for robbers, and he knows what he is talking
about.”
“Well, Thalcave was mistaken this time,” retorted Paganel, somewhat
sharply. “The Gauchos are agriculturists and shepherds, and nothing
else, as I have stated in a pamphlet on the natives of the Pampas,
written by me, which has attracted some notice.”
[illustration omitted] [page intentionally blank]
“Well, well, you have committed an error, that’s all, Monsieur Paganel.”
“What, Monsieur McNabbs! you tell me I have committed an error?”
“An inadvertence, if you like, which you can put among the ERRATA in the
next edition.”
Paganel, highly incensed at his geographical knowledge being brought in
question, and even jested about, allowed his ill-humor to get the better
of him, and said:
“Know, sir, that my books have no need of such ERRATA.”
“Indeed! Well, on this occasion they have, at any rate,” retorted
McNabbs, quite as obstinate as his opponent.
“Sir, I think you are very annoying to-day.”
“And I think you are very crabbed.”
Glenarvan thought it was high time to interfere, for the discussion was
getting too hot, so he said:
“Come, now, there is no doubt one of you is very teasing and the other
is very crabbed, and I must say I am surprised at both of you.”
The Patagonian, without understanding the cause, could see that the two
friends were quarreling. He began to smile, and said quietly:
“It’s the north wind.”
“The north wind,” exclaimed Paganel; “what’s the north wind to do with
it?”
“Ah, it is just that,” said Glenarvan. “It’s the north wind that has
put you in a bad temper. I have heard that, in South America, the wind
greatly irritates the nervous system.”
“By St. Patrick, Edward you are right,” said the Major, laughing
heartily.
But Paganel, in a towering rage, would not give up the contest, and
turned upon Glenarvan, whose intervention in this jesting manner he
resented.
“And so, my Lord, my nervous system is irritated?” he said.
“Yes, Paganel, it is the north wind--a wind which causes many a crime in
the Pampas, as the TRAMONTANE does in the Campagna of Rome.”
“Crimes!” returned the geographer. “Do I look like a man that would
commit crimes?”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“Tell me at once that I want to assassinate you?”
“Well, I am really afraid,” replied Glenarvan, bursting into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which all others joined.
Paganel said no more, but went off in front alone, and came back in
a few minutes quite himself, as if he had completely forgotten his
grievance.
At eight o’clock in the evening, Thalcave, who was considerably in
advance of the rest, descried in the distance the much-desired lake, and
in less than a quarter of an hour they reached its banks; but a grievous
disappointment awaited them--the lake was dried up.