FARMING AND SPORT
Roman civilisation ended in those _latifundia_ which, amongst other
causes, are usually considered to have brought about the ruin of
Italy. The immense estates of the Argentine _Campo_ were not built
up, however, by the expropriation of small farmers, as was the case
in decadent Rome. They are simply the result of wholesale seizure of
land at the expense of the savages who were incapable of utilising
it. Without discussing the origin of all landed property, or to what
extent our legal principles and our practice agree, I simply note the
fact that the _conquistadores_ and their descendants set down as _res
nullius_ whatever it suited them to appropriate.
The principle once established (this is the commencement of every
civilisation), there remained only to fix the approximate extent
of land likely to satisfy the appetite of the European newcomer. Do
you remember a fine story, by Tolstoy, of a man who was given, by
I know not what tribe of the steppe, as much land as he could walk
round in a day? Once started, the sole idea of the poor wretch was
continually to enlarge the circumference. It was only at the price of
a tremendous effort that he completed the circle, falling dead at the
moment of accomplishing his journey. The first settlers, who followed
the Genoese, took probably less trouble, though their greed was as
great. But as the land depends for its value on labour, the result for
Tolstoy's hero and for the _conquistadores_ was not so very different.
Thus, when the first ploughshare turned the first sod, the estate,
whatever its proportions, had to bear some relation to human capacity.
The large domains of to-day--measuring from two to a hundred square
miles--have proceeded from still larger ones, and gradually, as the
much-needed labour comes forward to undertake the task, we shall see
the further cutting up of preposterous holdings.
This is inevitable in the near future, and this alone will render
possible scientific farming, which is highly necessary for the
development of agriculture. A farmer who knows nothing of manure of
any sort, who is making his first experiments in irrigation, and who
burns his flax straw for want of knowing how to utilise it, will, for
a long time to come, continue to swamp the markets of Europe with his
grain and his meat, but only on condition that he is satisfied with
small profits and gives quantity in place of quality. These are the
conditions of life on the _Campo_, such as I have tried to sketch them.
It remains for me to introduce the chief agent in this huge movement of
cattle-rearing and agriculture, who, in his own person and that of his
overseers, administers the Pampas; he is the owner of the _estancia_,
the _estanciero_.
The word _estancia_--since it represents something non-existent
with us--is not easy to translate. Let us put it down as the most
sumptuous form of primitive ownership. I might call it the seat
of an agricultural feudalism if the peon were a man to accept
serfdom--something resembling a democratic principality, if the two
words can be coupled together.
When we meet him on the boulevard, the _estanciero_, who talks of his
immeasurable estate and his innumerable herds, seems to us a fabulous
creature. It is quite another matter to see him on horseback amidst his
peons in the Pampas, which, in default of the customary features of
private property, appears in its nakedness to be nobody's land--that is
to say, everybody's land.
The contrast between the _estanciero's_ personal refinement and the
English comfort of his family abode, and the primitive rusticity of
the surrounding country, suggests the inconsistencies of barbarism
undergoing the civilising process.
As I have already observed, the results obtained are due to a
progression of efforts in which the chief, even if assisted by an
overseer, necessarily plays a large part. For although it is easy
to dazzle the European with fantastic figures, without sacrificing
the truth, it is wise to remember that success is not automatic, and
that from the elements alone (to say nothing of locusts) serious
difficulties are to be expected. M. Basset, whose competence is beyond
question, told me that, having lost money in conducting experiments on
a large estate, he decided to sell the place. In the meantime land had
gone up in value, and he was able to recover himself on the sale of the
unworked plots. "I should have made a lot of money," he concluded, "if
I had not farmed any of my land." This shows that in the Argentine,
as elsewhere, there are risks to be run. The _estanciero_ takes these
risks, but if he were content to wait on chance to enhance the value of
his land, he would not contribute as largely as he does to the wealth
of the Rue de la Paix.
We are always being told that the word dearest to Creole indolence is
_mañana_ ("to-morrow"), but the exigencies of economic success tend
to modify customs. The Argentino, like the Yankee, is more and more
inclined to do over-night the work that might be put off to the morrow.
At all events, absenteeism is unknown on the _estancia_, for this
would spell ruin at short notice. It is true the _estanciero_ has the
reputation of mortgaging freely his estates, and, when a good harvest
makes it possible, of hastening to purchase more land so as to increase
his output. What can I say, unless that every economic error must be
paid for sooner or later, and that in spite of whatever may remain of
"Creole indolence," all are forced in the end to seek their profits in
an improvement of the system of cultivation?
_Grand seigneur_ I called him--a _grand seigneur_ on colonial soil,
where his dwelling is a rustic palace that is something between a
farmhouse and a mansion. Simple in structure, wood being the principal
element, it is built on the ground-floor, colonial fashion. The
comforts of English life are reflected in the large rooms, and both
furniture and the domestic arrangements are admirable. Large and rich
pieces of furniture belong to the days when difficulties of travelling
made a provision of the sort indispensable. Large bookcases, filled
with heavy volumes, denote a time before the coming of the railway to
scatter on the winds leaves from the Tree of Knowledge. Here is every
inducement for reflection--paintings, or, rather, pictures; massive
plate, goldsmiths' work won as prizes in cattle shows, whose medals
fill large frames, to say nothing of photographs of prize beasts. And,
better than all the rest, was the hospitality of other times. Now that
every one travels without ceasing, the ancient hospitality has lost
its savour. There still linger vestiges of it in those countries where
civilisation is not advanced enough to protect the traveller from
unpleasant contingencies. Let me hasten to add that amongst these one
need not count the risk of starvation in an _estancia_. No doubt the
abundance of cattle counts for something. In any case, the _estanciero_
is admirable in this respect. I wish I could give unstinted praise to
the _upchero_, the _asado_, of which I have already spoken. But I shall
not be able to do that until the Argentino has got out of the habit of
handing the meat to the cook while it is still warm, for this requires
a power of mastication which European debility denies to our jaws.
All kitchen-gardens are alike, and you cannot expect to find the
pleasure-gardens of an _estancia_ laid out by a Lenôtre. Even if that
miracle had been worked, what good would it be when the locusts had
passed over it? In one _estancia_, near Buenos Ayres, considered the
handsomest in the Argentine, which the kindness of its owner throws
open to any foreign visitor, I beheld a park of a thousand hectares,
where, amid the groves of tall trees, animals wander, giving the
illusion of wildness. The grey ostriches that are there imagine,
perhaps, that they are free. We admire some handsome bulls which are
stalled here. The eucalyptus, planted sometimes singly and sometimes in
broad avenues, towered above us at a height no other tree could rival.
In this favoured spot the rich vegetation has nothing to fear from the
locusts. Every species grows freely, as it will. For this reason, the
overseer, anxious we should miss none of the rare species on which he
prides himself, led us, with an air of mystery, to the edge of a low
hill, where, with an authoritative gesture, he stopped us before an
ordinary-looking tree, destitute of leaves, which had to me a familiar
air.
"Yes, it is an oak you are looking at. An old European oak in the
Argentine. What say you to that?"
I admit with prejudice that it is an oak, though at the same time
confessing that I have seen others more favourable. And at the risk of
being misunderstood, I acknowledge that it is not European flora that
most interests me in the Argentine Republic.
The special feature of this fine park is the quarter reserved for the
bulls. The specimens I saw, which were led past us, are magnificent
beasts, bearing witness to methodical and prolonged selection. The
best English breeds are gloriously represented, not only in the beasts
imported from Europe, but also in Argentine-bred animals, which would
do honour to any country.
The management and staff of the stables are entirely English. Stallions
of world-wide fame are paraded by English stud-grooms that we may
admire beauty of line united to beauty of action.
Now we were to see the trainers at work, not upon "wild" horses,
since they belong to bygone days, but simply upon young animals that
have not yet been ridden. As a matter of fact, the problem here is
exactly the same as with us, but I venture to think that our system
is vastly superior. The colts are collected in an enclosure called
the corral. Pray do not conjure up a picture of Mazeppa's steed, with
fiery eye and bristling mane, as depicted in the favourite chromo.
There is nothing here but ardour of youth and grace of movement. The
object is to accustom the horse to man and his needs. This our Norman
boys quickly achieve by a mixture of skill and kindness which does
not preclude firmness of hand. The system of the Argentine peon is
very different. First he catches the neck of the animal in a noose and
leads him out of the enclosure to a piece of rough ground. There, with
a few movements of the lasso, the limbs are so tied that the simplest
movement must make the unfortunate victim lose his balance and bring
him heavily to earth at the risk of breaking his bones. The creature is
terrified, naturally. Meantime, five or six men run in upon him--each
an expert in his own way; and when he is so bound he can no longer
move, the bit is adjusted and a sheepskin saddle adroitly buckled. All
that now remains is to set the animal on his feet so that the horseman
may mount. The rope is then relaxed as swiftly as it was tightened,
and the colt, on his four feet, firmly held by the head, his eyes
blindfolded, might perhaps get over his fright if his two forefeet
were not still tied together by a last knot to prevent him running
away. The peon gives the signal, and as the last loop is removed he
leaps into the saddle and urges his mount straight ahead with the air
of riding a savage brute and with a lavish use of his riding crop. Two
horsemen, called "sponsors," accompany him, rending the air with their
cries and beating the creature with pitiless crops. By the time he has
travelled two hundred yards in this way the horse is mad with terror,
and asks nothing better than to be allowed to stop. Perhaps there are
exceptions; I did not happen to see them. On the other hand, I did
see poor beasts that offered not the slightest resistance, and whose
angelic gentleness should have disarmed the executioner. It appears
that when this performance has been gone through five or six times the
colt surrenders unconditionally. In the days when horses were wild upon
the prairies these practices might have had some excuse. Nowadays we
have different ideas.
All these branches of work require, as may be supposed, a fairly
complete set of buildings. Consequently, around the farmer's house
there are outbuildings of every style of architecture which make the
_estancia_ a sort of small village, whence radiates the work undertaken
on the Pampas. Thus ordered and thus spent, life in the fields is a
"solitude" broken every moment by great herds and _gauchos_ ever on the
march. It has nothing to daunt even a man who is anxious not to lose
touch with his fellow-creatures in these days of extreme civilisation.
Therefore it is not surprising that a stay of some months at the
_estancia_ forms an agreeable part of the programme which the daily
life of the Argentine landholder forces on all his family. The railway
is never far off, since it brings colonists and is responsible for
the whole agricultural movement. Railway construction proceeds at the
normal rate of about five hundred kilometres per annum. The provinces
of Buenos Ayres, of Cordoba, of Santa Fé, which alone furnish eighty
per cent. of the agricultural exports, are naturally the most favoured;
and also, naturally, it is on the Pampas, the immense reservoir of
fertilising energy, that is concentrated the maximum of labour for the
extension of the means of communication that are so swiftly and richly
remunerative.
Thus it is not too difficult to move about in the _Campo_. Moreover,
the motor-car--running now on a road, now on the great green
carpet where movable gates provide a passage through the wire
fencing--facilitates a pleasant interchange of neighbourly relations.
I have said that absenteeism is unknown in the _estancia_. Often the
head of the family, when kept for some reason in the city, confides the
management of the estate to one of his sons, who in this way turns to
magnificent account the grand energy of youth and manhood in intensely
interesting work. What more natural than for the family to gather in
the fine summer months beneath the shade of the farms, amid its herds
so full of life, to enjoy the beauty of the harvest ripened with the
warm kisses of the sun? The rides are unending beneath the pure sky of
the long mornings, in the strengthening breeze which sets the blood
coursing through the pulses with renewed force. In Brazil I heard
people pity the Argentinos because they lacked the resource of the
mountains in the great heat of summer. The Andes are, indeed, too far
distant even with the railway that now crosses them. (The Transandine
line is now working between the Argentine and Chile--forty hours' run
from Buenos Ayres to Valparaiso or Santiago.) But the costly pleasures
of a sojourn at Mar del Plata are quickly exhausted. The _estancia_
offers a beautiful retreat of active and fruitful peace. There are
visits to the farmers who, little by little, are coming to reside on
the domain of the _estancia_ (purchasing the ground originally taken
on lease, and grouping themselves in such-wise that villages are
in process of formation), or the continual inspection of the herds
(_rodeo_).
Another occupation is watching over the harvest which spreads across
the Pampas. There are daily pretexts for trips that combine pleasure
with usefulness. The tall ricks grow in numbers, the grain falls to
the snorting measure of smoking engines, the lean native cattle of the
Pampas yield their place to monstrous Durhams, to Herefords, with their
handsome white heads, to Percherons, to Boulonnais, to Lincoln sheep,
with their heavy fleeces. It is by no means certain that the amusements
of Trouville or Vichy are superior to those of the _estancia_. We may
be allowed to think that the "gentleman-farmer" has chosen the better
part.
I have said nothing of game-shooting. We must admit that in this
respect the resources of the Pampas are greater than those of France.
Hares and partridges are on the programme, as they are with us. M.
Py told me he had tried to acclimatise the quail--in vain. Some
thousands of birds were let loose in a selected part of the Pampas and
disappeared for good. The history of the hare is very different. About
fifty years ago some Germans liberated a few couples at various points
of the Pampas, and the same animal which at home produces only one or
two young each year began to swarm like the rabbit. Several families
every year--and what families! The result, disastrous for farming, is
that from eighty to a hundred hares may be reckoned to every hectare,
and you cannot walk on the Pampas without perceiving a pair of long
ears that spring up out of the grass every moment. The flesh has a
poor reputation, perhaps for the reason that here they neglect that
elementary operation which follows immediately on the death of the
animal in our country. The partridge, smaller than ours, is a solitary
creature. Its flesh is white and rather insipid. The martinette
(_tinamou_), a sort of intermediary between the partridge and the
pheasant, is the best of the Pampas game. One may hunt it without
turning to right or to left--certain always of not returning with empty
hands. The favourite amusement is the _rabat_, or the "rope," and
shooting from the motor-car.
For the _rabat_ horsemen are needed. A dozen or two of peons ride off
at a gallop in no matter what direction, since the game is everywhere,
to meet at a point out of sight and return at the top of their speed
to the sportsmen. Then, long before you hear their shouts or see their
outlines on the horizon, there suddenly appears along the uncertain
line at which earth and sky meet a swarm of creatures which rush and
cross each other in every direction. Whether the mass is near or far
off it is impossible to say, since there are no objects to measure by.
If far, all these black spots on the luminous background may be horns.
To our inexperienced eye they give the illusion of a herd of oxen. Then
suddenly the truth becomes manifest. You have before you some hundreds
of hares, which will quickly be within gunshot. But the animal is sharp
to discern the danger, and, in less time than it takes to write it,
the troop that was heading in a mass straight for the line of fire
melts away until only the foolish ones at the back are left to continue
their course with the acquired momentum. In this way the carnage, which
promised to be terrible, resolves itself into ten or twelve more or
less lucky shots apiece. This is inevitable, since the wire fence which
effectually stops horses and cattle is powerless against running game.
The day when the destruction of the hare is decided upon, which is
certainly desirable, it will only be necessary to fence in three sides
of an enclosure and drive the game towards the opening. In the present
state of affairs the mere sight of three or four hundred hares running
straight towards the guns, even though they make a right-about turn
just in time, is an entertainment much appreciated by Europeans.
Shooting _à la corde_ has a different aspect. The mounted peons form up
to make a line of beaters a hundred yards apart. But, unlike our own
_battues_, the beater precedes the shooter, instead of walking towards
him. The reason is that every peon is attached to his comrade to right
and to left by a rope of twisted wires, which sweeps the ground and
puts up every living creature to the guns, which follow behind at the
pace of a horse's walk. The hare does not wait till the rope reaches
him. Often he gets away out of reach. But there is such an abundance of
game that none misses the animal that may escape. The important point
is for the peons to keep well in line, else huntsmen and horsemen are
likely to get a charge of lead. At the Eldorado, M. Villanueva's place,
this happened twice or three times in the same day. The partridge
(always flying singly) and the martinette are never weary of marking
time. They run before one without haste, and apparently determined not
to fly away.
It occasionally happens that a sportsman tires of his game and wants
to end it. Several times I left the line of guns and ran upon the
enemy, which, without any excitement, still kept its distance and never
gave its pursuer the satisfaction of seeing it even hasten its step.
You look around for a stone, a bit of wood, or a lump of earth, which
should have the effect of driving off the creature. On the Pampas is
neither pebble, nor stick, nor clod of earth. You have no resource but
to swear and make violent gestures that have no effect at all. The
martinette, too, has a way of glancing sideways at you which expresses
a profound contempt for the entire human race. All generous minds are
sensitive to rudeness and feel a just vexation when thus treated. The
rapid chase is the more painful that you have very soon before you
several martinettes and as many partridges which fly backwards and
forwards, leaving you in doubt at which to point your weapon, while,
at the same time, you know that in leaving the line of fire you expose
yourself to all the guns which may be tempted, by fur or feather, to
aim in your direction. There is only one way out of this critical
situation that I know of. It is to fling your cap at the running bird.
He will fly off then and keep his distance.
The victory would be yours afterwards were it not that the chase under
a sun that would seem hot even in summer has left you out of breath.
To take aim while struggling for breath is to risk missing the bird.
Happily, both partridge and martinette have a straight, low, and
heavy flight, which permits you to return to the _estancia_ without
dishonour. Such are the peripatetics of this amusing form of sport,
in which, all along the line, firing is incessant. The steady walk
of the guns is only checked by the rope getting caught occasionally
on some tuft of grass, or by an encounter, not at all rare, with the
carcass of horse or ox in process of decomposition. Having left on
his own initiative, he at least escapes from man's ferocity. You pass
without even having to hold your nose, so thoroughly does the strong,
purifying air of the Pampas carry away in its boundless currents every
germ that cannot be returned to the soil to perform the eternal labour
of fertilisation. On all sides the last vestiges of clean and fretted
bones tell us how lives now ended are taking on new forms of life, and
in the gentle murmur of the grass that bends to the breeze the huge
white skeletons that brave the blue of heaven have all the eloquence of
philosophy in their tale of the supreme defeat of living matter beneath
the irresistible triumph of fatality.
With no other break in the horizon but the distant _ombu_, a group of
_paraisos_, a ranch, or travelling herd, the murderous band pursues its
way. The walking is good, and the motor-car, which follows slowly in
the rear, is at hand to pick up the weary sportsman. But before that
point is reached one is tempted to cast off, little by little, articles
of clothing which rapidly become a burden under the sun's rays. A shirt
and trousers are already much. Even so, a rest becomes necessary, and
those who have any acquaintance with M. Villanueva will guess that
there was present a cart laden with refreshments. Halts like these, in
the precious shade of the car, are not without charm, if you have taken
the wise precaution to put on something warm. When the incidents of the
day have been thoroughly discussed the chase is resumed, but if you are
really done up do not imagine your fun is over. The auto will take
your place in the line of march behind the rope of peons, and, apart
from the game of running after martinettes, nothing is changed. The
endless prairie is so truly a billiard-table of turf that not a jolt
need be felt, and, after a few attempts, one gets the knack of firing
from the car with a good average of successful shots. The hare suffers
most; martinette and partridge get off more easily. It must be admitted
that the experienced chauffeur is a powerful auxiliary. In any case, if
you are shooting the less brilliant, the pleasure of sport in repose,
varied by all sorts of unforeseen circumstances, more than compensates
for the misses and lends a flavour to the sport that is lacking in
European shooting parties.
Better still--the day is slowly dying: soon the party will break up,
but the shooting will go on all the same. The silent peons come up to
say good-night. Dumbly, with courteous gestures, final greetings are
exchanged, and then the order is given to set the helm for Eldorado.
But there is still light enough to see by. So here we are zigzagging
across the Pampas in complicated turns and twists, as one spot
or another appears more favourable for game. And the slaughter is
terrific, for hares abound. Martinette and partridge, with their dark
plumage, have nothing to fear from us now. In the faint light of the
setting sun the hare makes still an admirable target, and plover and
falcon offer supplementary diversions. The gay little owl alone finds
grace with the guns. And when the "dark light" of the poet left us no
resource but to shoot at each other, pity or perhaps fear of the last
agony sufficed to make us hold our hand. The gentle horned beasts moved
out of our way, fixing on us their stupidly soft eyes, and leaving us
wholly remorseless, while in the freshening breeze and empty blackness
of sky and land we burst in upon the lights of hospitable Eldorado.
This simple tale of a day's sport in the Pampas has no other merit
than that of being strictly accurate. The Argentinos might very well
content themselves with the pleasures they have ready to their hand
at all seasons of the year, for in these regions, half-way between
barbarism and civilisation, the gamekeeper is unknown. But man can
never be content with what is offered to him. Therefore the wealthy
_estanciero_ takes infinite trouble to get thousands of pheasants
sent out to him from our coverts, so that he may breed them in his
preserves. In districts that are not menaced by the locusts the birds
will be let loose shortly in the woods, and the Argentine will then
pride herself on shooting such as that of Saint-Germain. It is because
of this approaching change that I have set down these impressions of a
day's sport in conditions which will soon belong to a vanished age.