Book: Argentina From A British Point Of View

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Leaving Reconquista on the north we crossed, over an old railway
embankment, a large stretch of low country, through which a small stream
glided with winding course, and jogging along league after league we
gradually got into more interesting country: little clumps of trees with
very thick undergrowth, clinging creepers, bright-coloured flowers, and
gorgeously plumaged birds.

All along the sides of the roads were little farms, apparently
uncultivated, except for small patches of wonderfully grown maize and
browning linseed. Practically all these farms are owned by Swiss and
German peasants, each one with his small herd of cows and working
bullocks.

We changed our ponies every three or four leagues, always going at the
same jog-trot, stopping occasionally at a wayside inn to wet our parched
throats with fresh well water (with a drop of cana in it to kill the
microbes), and smoking hard all the time to keep off the swarms of
mosquitoes.

After travelling ten leagues or so we began to leave these habitations
behind us, and got into wilder country with no fences, only long
stretches of undulating land, dotted with patches of splendid-looking
trees and enticing shade.

The road occasionally crossed small streams, which gradually became more
tropical looking, until we came to quite a large river, two or three
hundred metres wide, looking beautifully peaceful and oily. Standing
above on the bank, in the shade of some magnificent quebracho trees, we
looked down upon this lazy stretch of perfect scenery, when suddenly
there was a slight disturbance in the water and a small black dot
appeared on the top of the water. The capataz at once pulled out his
revolver, all of us doing likewise, only to have to put them back again,
as the dot had disappeared as quickly as it came. This was the first
sign of wild animal life we saw, the "jacare" or alligator. In the more
civilised parts of the Chaco, these animals, as well as the carpincho or
water-hog, are getting quite rare, and having been so much shot at and
worried they need the most careful stalking.

As we got further away, we came upon many more of these streams, all
looking much the same; some had bridges over them made of quebracho
logs, laid endways on and covered with earth, very dangerous to cross
after wet weather or floods, especially at night, as they are generally
full of holes where the earth has fallen in.

At 10 a.m. each day we unsaddled for lunch, which was generally composed
of "charque" or salted beef, biscuits, and coffee. The first night we
slept at the last habitation which we saw, a small wayside inn. Arriving
there late in the evening, we had the greatest difficulty in obtaining
entrance on account of the chorus of barking, snapping dogs, and on
account of the innkeeper's fear of drunken gauchos.

Another early start on the second day saw us well on our journey by
siesta time, which we spent on the edge of a very fine forest. The
afternoon was very hot, and we did not start off again until 4 o'clock.
During the evening we swam across a small river which we found
overflowing its banks on account of the local rains, and, as darkness
fell, we found it almost impossible to see our way on account of the
fireflies, which made such a glare in front of us that the slight track
which we had been following was almost invisible. It was a very dark
night, and once or twice we felt rain. We had to go very slowly, so that
we should not miss the track. Thus we trotted on in Indian file, each of
us now leading spare horses, in silence, except when one of us asked how
many leagues it was to the estancia, only to jog on again for what
seemed two or three hours, until almost midnight. With a cheerful yell
we suddenly came on a barbed wire fence, and after hunting about for a
time, a wire gate.

Immediately tongues seemed to be mechanically loosened and the
conversation flowed freely, discussing the ride, horses, coming
stiffness, and all the things that one has to talk about after two and
a-half days in the saddle. On reaching the estancia about 2 a.m., none
of us needed much bed, and throwing our things down on the grass
outside, we soon were dreaming of alligators, broken bridges, swimming
rivers, etc.

About 10 o'clock the next morning I awoke to find myself on a most neat
little estancia high up on a hill, overlooking, across a slight valley,
magnificent forests where one could see the glint of running water.

The house was brick floored and had four very nice rooms, which had been
colour-washed by my friends with excellent success. The ceilings at once
attracted attention, being of a deep-coloured black wood, well oiled and
seasoned. "Timbo" it is called, and is the best carving and furniture
wood in the country.

Out in the garden were oranges, lemons, citrons, pomegranates, limes,
and all kinds of luxurious fruits and vegetables. In a small fenced
paddock at the end of the garden, were sweet potatoes, pea-nuts, cotton,
tobacco, and some magnificent maize.

The men's huts were made of mud over a cane network, and the roofs were
made of split palm trees, hollowed out and made in the form of a large
~~~~~~~ the palms being placed concavely and convexly alternately,
making fine drainage for the heavy rains. The whole place was surrounded
by a ring of fine chaco paraiso trees and "ombu." The horse corrals were
all _palo a pique_, that is, made of solid posts, stuck in close
together side by side, and about two metres high, with no wire.

The camp was more or less on the real banks of the Parana, sloping away
to the river four leagues away, and forming one of the most fertile
spots in the Republic. This low-lying land is the finest and cheapest
grazing in the north, but it is unreliable because it is quite inundated
in time of floods, when the cattle have to be withdrawn to higher camp.

During various excursions on the following days we saw tracks of
"tigers" (leopard) and "lions" (puma); the kill of the latter, a small
gazelle buck, "guasuncho," we found neatly covered up with grass and
leaves, and easily distinguishable from the tiger's kill, which is
always left uncovered. A very fine tiger's skin was brought in one
night, measuring 1.84 metres from the tip of the nose to the root of the
tail, and 1.56 metres across. The man had suddenly come across it while
on foot in the monte, and after wounding it with his Winchester had run
it down with his dogs and killed it.

One evening we caught sight of a tapi (tapir) coming down to drink, but
were unable to shoot on account of the bad light. Each day we saw many
wild pigs ("chancho moro") and various kinds of wild cats, including the
splendid "gato once" or ounce cat, whose skin is one of the finest, and
only to be compared with the "lobo" or golden otter, which has a most
magnificent fluffy pelt with a golden tint on the tips. The latter is
unfortunately getting very rare now.

The great wolf or "aguaras" is still common, and is a very stately
beast, as he slopes along with his hind-quarters well under him, with
pricked ears and shaggy black mane.

The forests here are mostly in long strips and clumps, with excellent
pasture land between them; and they contain, among other commoner chaco
trees, lance wood, four crowns, and tala. Amongst the strange trees
there is one enormous broad-leafed tree called "guapoij," which has long
creeping roots, which cling on to neighbouring trees and gradually pull
them down and absorb all their goodness, killing them, and in some
marvellous way apparently eating them up. One finds occasionally one of
these trees embracing another bigger than itself, and gradually rooting
it out of the ground.

On all low ground one generally finds "Zeibos"--a tree with very soft
wood and very pretty branches of scarlet flowers.

The wild apricot or "ijguajay" grows everywhere, and looks a very
tempting fruit, fatal, however, to most Europeans, as it is a very
powerful purge. The Indian children eat the fruit with joy, and it
apparently has no bad effect on them.

The forests are full of all kinds of animals, and, in addition to those
already mentioned, there are red deer, black and brown monkeys, and
bear, and the ring-tailed coons, which latter make noises like the
grunting of pigs.

Of ground game there are foxes, tattoo or mulita, armadillo, and
ostriches.

Amongst the birds the most common are various kinds of hawks, including
some very much like the great bustard, English brown buzzard, and osprey
falcon, and two or three kinds of parrots and cockatoos, the green
parrots being the curse to agriculturists, eating all the maize, as the
locusts do in the South.

There are many different kinds of "carpinteros" or woodpeckers, most of
them having most wonderful plumage of brown, green, scarlet, blue, and
yellow.

A strange bird which is not often seen is the "tucan," a small black
bird, with a beak almost as big as his body, and of a splendid orange
colour with a scarlet tip; he is a top-heavy looking little chap when
seen seated on an orange tree, his favourite haunt.

Amongst table birds there are grey pheasants, martinetta, and
partridges. Of wild fowl, there are enormous varieties, including the
"pato real" or great tree duck, whistling mallard, various kinds of teal
and shovellers, widgeon, muscony and hooded duck, black-headed geese,
grey geese, and swans. Amongst water-birds are the black, grey, and
white "garza" or heron. The latter are especially valuable on account of
the splendid feathers on the back of their necks. Of the smaller birds
there is the gallinetta, a kind of landrail, the curse of hunters
shooting wild duck, their wretched screech warning every bird in the
district. The beautifully coloured and almost transparently winged
golden moorhen covers every stretch of water inland, and the "chaja" or
wild turkey, one of the most useless birds in the Chaco, and quite
uneatable, sends forth his dismal cry "chaja."

The kingfishers are, perhaps, the most noticeable of all the river
birds, and are of all sizes, from the small European variety to one
almost ten times their size. Gorgeously plumaged, they skim, like
flashes of light, over the water, which is full of all kinds of fish
including "Dorado," a splendid fighting fish, excellent eating, which
can be caught with rod or fly, and goes up to 10 kilos in weight;
"Suravi," a great mud fish, which is seen sometimes basking out of
water, weighing up to 50 kilos, with enormous head, and good eating;
"Savala," the mud-eating cruiser, which one sees nearly always with its
tail out of water, and which makes excellent revolver shooting;
"Palmieta," the curse of the Chaco streams and rivers, making bathing
unadvisable on account of its hostile assaults on the extremities of all
foreign bodies; and the "rallo," or sun fish, a large flat fish with a
long tail.

Thus was spent a week of happy days of excursions and explorations,
where sometimes we had to walk through great distances of undergrowth
and the everywhere-abundant prickly cactus, cutting our way with large
cavalry swords, always with our eyes skinned to catch sight of some
strange bird, beast, or flower. Sometimes we waded for miles through
swamps, which, in some places, abound with enormous water snakes up to 6
metres long.

We put up all kinds of water-fowl, as we struggled on, splashing
through rivers, clambering up and skeltering down slippery banks,
reaching home tired and weary every night to recount all the day's
doings, sitting out in the patio in the cool evening, eaten up by
mosquitoes.

So ended my holiday, with hurried packing, much toast-drinking, and a
final little farewell dance to the accompaniment of guitar, gramophone,
mouth-organ, and accordion. The journey south was of no great interest,
half on horseback, half in "galera," or public mail coach, with, as
fellow passengers, a German traveller, a cure (most jovial of beings,
who had brought enough food with him to feed a whole regiment), a head
of police and his men, and two coach boys.

The coach, with five young horses tied in abreast, went bumping and
jolting along hour after hour, until we came to a big river,
unfortunately in flood. The horses were unhitched, tied together and
swum across; a boat coming from some unseen corner, took passengers and
luggage across, leaving the coach itself alone, with a long wire tied to
the end of the pole. The horses were fastened to the end of this wire on
the other side of the river, and then, with a whoop and a cheer, the
coach tumbled head-over-heels into the raging flood, twisting and
turning in all ways, first one side up and then the other, until at last
it reached the near bank. And so we travelled on, back to civilisation;
a tiring journey in dust and heat by rail, bringing us home to the same
old flat, treeless, priceless plains of the Central Argentine, to dream
for many days of birds, fishes, animals, flowers, trees, good friends,
and the fine natives of the Northern Chaco.




WORK IN THE WOODS.




WORK IN THE WOODS.


The worker in the forests is of necessity an early riser, the nature of
his task requiring that he should be up betimes. His preparations for
breakfast are simple, and he is ready to start out after half an hour
spent in imbibing a few mates full of yerba infusion. The cartmen tie in
their bullocks, kept overnight in a corral, and drive off to bring in
wood prepared by the axemen, the bullock-herd takes his charges to
pasture and the men's employer mounts his horse to visit the camp of his
axemen, or goes to the store to fetch meat and provisions. The axemen
generally live in tents or temporary shelters, convenient to their work,
and some distance from the contractor's rancho. They have to work hard,
stripped to the waist in summer; they fell the trees, and either square
the logs for baulks and sleepers, or cut the bark and outside layer of
white wood off to make logs for export, working by moonlight when the
heat of the day is excessive. Their food consists of biscuits, called
Galleta, dried to the consistency of flint; these they soften in soup
made from fresh meat or dried "Charki." To this soup is added rice,
maize, or "Fido's," which is coarse macaroni.

The favourite roast, called the "Asado," is made from ribs of beef
impaled on a stick and placed near the fire till sufficiently cooked.
This delicacy, usually as hard as nails, is enjoyed by the men, who cut
off portions, which they hold in their teeth, while, with a jack-knife,
mouthfuls are sawn off close to the nose, at the risk of shortening that
organ. Water is drunk, or coffee sweetened liberally with moist sugar.
This coffee is made in the country, chiefly from beans or maize, with a
large percentage of chicory to give it body.

It is picturesque to see a long string of carts enter a deposit to the
sound of pistol cracks from long whips, and to watch the cartmen unload
the heavy logs.

A cartman will load his cart with logs of a ton and upwards, each with
the aid of his team of bullocks, placing the chains so that the animals,
at the desired moment, by advancing a short distance, roll the log from
the ground on to the cart. In the case of very heavy logs the cart is
placed upside down on the log, which is then bound to it, and the
bullocks pull the whole thing over. The distances which have to be
covered by these carts are considerable, fifteen miles in the day is not
unusual, changing bullocks once en route, but a great deal depends on
the roads being dry, as in wet weather the wheels sink up to the hubs in
the mud and the roads are soon dotted here and there with loads
abandoned till better conditions enable them to be reloaded and
delivered at a depository.

These cartmen are hardy fellows and work wet to the skin, covered with
mud up to their knees, or, again, hidden in the dust from the roads,
which envelopes the moving carts in a choking cloud.

It is little to be wondered at if the axemen and cartmen, when pay day
arrives, go in for a spree, which for them usually takes the form of
gambling, enlivened by dancing and drinking till daylight.

The result of sojourning in the woods does not, as might be expected,
have the effect of making these men unsociable, and they embrace every
opportunity of attending a race meeting or dance. When the men are
excited by drink quarrels are frequent, and the police search them for
arms before admitting them to a Re-union.

Arms are carried ostensibly as a precaution against meeting with
Indians and bad characters in the lonely recesses of the forest, and the
men like to carry a knife and a good revolver, or, better still, a
Winchester, to enable them to get a shot at any wild animal they may
come across, the skins of these being much prized. They take a pleasure
in presenting a visitor with a puma skin or other trophy of the chase.

Among these people one looks for, and finds, the primitive idea of
hospitality, an unaffected welcome and willingness to give of the best
they have. Here are men independent by virtue of their labour, which
gives them sufficient for their daily wants. They have no thought for
the morrow or what will be their lot when too feeble to work.

The axemen, who are natives of Italy and Austria, are very good workmen,
but compare unfavourably with natives of the country, being extremely
dirty in their persons, to such a degree that it is a disagreeable
experience to have to interview them in an office, whereas the Argentine
native puts on his best apparel when he goes to an estancia.

The forest workers are nomads, and, as the woods get cut out, move on to
fresh camping grounds, leaving the woods to revert to their former
solitude, a haunt for the wild animals, who creep back once silence has
returned.




CACHAPES, AND OTHER THINGS.




CACHAPES, AND OTHER THINGS.


To a man coming from the Southern Camps to the forest belt of Santa Fe,
the cachape must appeal as something peculiar to the district, and most
essentially local. He has had a surfeit of carts with two wheels, each
12 feet high, and dragged by anything from sixteen to twenty-eight
horses; Russian carts, like Thames punts on four wheels, no longer amuse
him, while American spring carts are much too European to warrant
unslinging the Kodak. But the cachape--here is something not to be
lightly passed over. Lying idle it may not strike him at first sight as
a cart, but rather as a remnant of some revolution, when, tired of
waging light operatic war, the army disbanded, leaving their
gun-carriages to serve more peaceful purposes.

Two pairs of short, squat, enormously powerful wheels; between, and
joining them, a roughly hewn pole and various chains in an apparently
hopeless tangle. Yet see them in work--every niche doing its work, every
chain taking ten per cent, more strain than it was ever intended to
take, creaking, groaning, crashing into holes, crawling laboriously over
snaps and trunks to fall again with its load of four tons with a
jerking, swaying, and straining as though struggling to free itself from
its load, and you recognise the _raison d'etre_ of the queer little
cart.

The capache is not without its humorous moments. Supposing the cartmen
find a log too heavy to load in the ordinary way; they do not return and
inform the boss that the log must be hoisted by mechanical means or
propose high-priced cranes. Seeing that obviously they can't put the log
on the cart, they accept the alternative and put the cart on the log,
chain it on securely, then haul everything right side up again with the
bullocks and proceed to the unloading station. Once there, it might be
supposed that they would tumble the cart over again, but here the
intelligent foreigner is misled. The correct proceeding now is for the
cartmen to lie on their backs and push with their feet, after the manner
of the gentlemen in music halls, who, reclining on sawed-off sofas,
twiddle gold-spangled spheres with their toes; only our cartmen lie in
water and mud and the gold-spangled sphere is changed for a three-ton
log. The force the men can exert in this position is little short of
marvellous. Out one crawls, reviews the situation, then back again
under, a creak, a combined push, and over the wheels comes the log,
throwing up the mud and water for 50 feet around. Then back they go
again for another load six miles through the forest. Wet through, their
clothes hanging in ribbons from shoulders and belt, one day's mud caking
on another's, and with a long sword stuck through their belt in front,
they present a figure comical enough were it not that one knew the other
side of the picture.

Reeking with inherited consumption, they live the one life which is
certain to kill them before they are forty. Wet through and chilled,
they are called upon again and again to suddenly exert enormous
strength, since no man can desert his cart. He must "get there." He must
get out of his trouble. He eats largely when and how he can, and when he
has saved any money the merry "Taba" bone charms it from him in a way
too universal perhaps to call for any remark. Sometimes he finishes his
carting days through too decided opinions as to the other man's
integrity in playing "Taba"; sometimes on his canvas bed in a hut of mud
and branches, his browny yellow face and sunken eyes asking no pity,
betraying no emotion; in either case he is rarely over thirty-five and
often leaves a wife and children.

I say "wife and children," since it sounds the usual thing; but, as a
matter of strict fact, the ceremony of getting married is deprecated
among them, as it signifies "Putting on side," and is only resorted to
when they are in a village and there is a chance that the presents that
are given will more than compensate the tremendous expense they have to
go to. Speaking to a gentleman of this kidney, I was informed that when
the cross-eyed blacksmith Strike got married, it cost him three dollars
and a-half (say 5s.) in fire crackers alone, and my informant went on to
say that the only case he knew of where marriage had been really
successful was that of the fair-haired carpenter, who was married and
asked all the bosses on the place, who each gave something, with which
he was able to buy a sewing machine for the eldest girl, then aged six.

But, mark you, lest you should judge them lightly, remember that their
unwritten pact is just as binding to them as our formal marriage tie is
to us, and that in their way they are probably better husbands and
fathers than your Balham clerk. In their young days they may chop and
change, which changes are generally marked by little iron crosses in the
woods, but, once they have settled down, desertion is far rarer than in
civilised countries. I have seen a native workman with his shoulder
blade in his arm-pit, his face cut to ribbons, and with pieces of
casting sticking to his back through the carrying away of a crane, cavil
against the idea of being taken into the township where the doctor was,
lest his old woman, unused to a town life, should find the surroundings
uncongenial. This in a broken, muttered whisper, twelve hours after the
accident had happened, during which time every new arrival had been
called upon to witness the peculiar nature of his injuries.

Much has been said about the terrible wickedness of the lower-class
native, his gambling, his immorality, his almost fanatical desire to
murder everyone he sees; and for complete and detailed lists of crimes
and monstrosities appeal to any newcomer, who will be delighted to hold
forth on the subject; but when one has lived with them and worked with
them under varying conditions, and has suffered in some degree what they
suffer, one hesitates to condemn them offhand.

Blackguards they are--but manly, humorous blackguards. Immoral, one must
confess them to be, according to our lights, but even in England "Custom
from time immemorial" is held as law.

The vast majority will steal raw hide gear as a cat steals fish, but
will not touch your money, much as in a community of young men property
is common to all with the same exception. They will lie if scared, or
rather will substitute for the truth something they think you would like
to hear, and they will do as little work as you will let them.

But, have a bad case of sickness in the house and ask a man to go out at
midnight with the carriage to get the doctor, or to go on horseback on
his own horse twenty miles for medicine, and he goes as quietly and
pleasantly as though he were going about the most commonplace work. He
expects no tip, no extra wage, nor is he lauded as a hero. He may have
come down, horse and all, in the dark, but is happy if he has not
smashed the bottle of medicine, and he resumes his work on return, just
as if he hadn't been up all night riding at a hard canter over broken
ground full of holes and snags.

No, he is by no means an ideal worker, neither is he half so bad as he's
painted, and I'd rather meet him in the next world than lots of men who
boss him in this.




MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.

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