The Pampas and Andes: A Thousand Miles' Walk Across South America

by Nathaniel H. Bishop

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Undoubtedly the miserable food upon which the poor people subsisted helped in encouraging the growth of this excrescence.

CHAPTER XIV.
A WINTER IN SAN JUAN.

As soon as I arrived at San Juan, I made inquiries for parties who were about crossing the mountains; but owing to a most severe snow storm that set in, the clouds of which were plainly visible from the town, I was forced to the disagreeable necessity of remaining until the snows melted. The people told me that the winter had proved to be the most severe of any season within the last thirty years. They said that after ten dry or mild winters there always succeeded a similar number of wet or severe seasons, and that the present was the first of the hard series. The apparently settled weather that greeted me was but the precursor of most severe storms in the mountains. They said I could not cross; to attempt it would be madness.

While the time hung heavily on my hands, I heard much about a strange person, yclept Don Guillermo Buenaparte, a North American by birth, and a second father to the poorer classes of his immediate vicinity. So many were the charitable deeds of this man, and so frequent were the eulogies pronounced upon his character by the natives, that I felt a desire to visit him in his own castle, which he had constructed of mud and sticks, some eight or nine miles distant, in a small villa called Causete.

Before I could find an opportunity of going, I was favored with a call from the gentleman himself, who rode into the patio of my dwelling one evening, mounted upon a powerful white horse, and covered with a long poncho, which, with a broad sombrero, gave him a truly patriarchal appearance.

Don Guillermo, having heard of my arrival in San Juan, had come to invite me to his estate in Causete, where he carried on a little flour mill, and followed a number of other occupations. A day was appointed for the visit, and when it came around I set out with a peon for a guide for the villa. We soon, on leaving the town, came upon a plain which gave support to a few stunted trees, peculiar to the travesia. With the soil was mingled the peculiar saline mineral described in a former chapter, which, with the dryness of the atmosphere (for it seldom rains in this part of the republic), made our journey a disagreeable one.

In crossing this tract the reflections of the sun’s rays upon the white surface affected my sight, and obliged me to follow the practice of my guide, and, like him, cover the face with a large cotton handkerchief, à la gaucho. The first human habitation that I saw was a rancho built of cornstalks; and here reposed a peon with his wife, children, and dogs, while a huge buck goat, with a formidable pair of horns, stood at the entrance as if to receive us.

I soon came to a place where a liberty pole was standing; and knowing that such a thing could not be the work of the natives, I concluded that I must be near the residence of my new acquaintance. I was not mistaken, for he soon appeared over a little rising ground. After greeting me cordially, he led me across the canal, that furnished his mill with water, to his house, where he introduced me to his wife and four children, the youngest of whom could not yet lisp its father’s name.

I remained through the day with them, and when night came on, so interesting had been Don Guillermo’s recital of nine years’ residence in the Argentine Republic, that I was easily prevailed upon to remain until morning. The next day came and passed, but still I was an inmate of my countryman’s house, and finally was persuaded to promise that I would not leave it until the snows began to melt upon the Cordilleras, when I must hasten to Chili, and from its principal port, Valparaiso, sail for home.

I accepted the offer of Don Guillermo’s hospitality only upon the condition that I should be of service to him by taking charge of his mill; for the natives were so dishonest that he dared not employ one in any office of trust, and I felt that it would be but a pleasure for me to aid him. I was accordingly installed, after fifteen minutes’ teaching, as molinero, or chief miller.

I felt proud of my office, though it was but a humble one. My mind was fully occupied, and I became contented. When opportunities offered, I took an old condemned English musket, which I charged with powder and a few pebbles, and made explorations in the surrounding country for the purpose of making collections in its fauna. I often captured many a rare specimen, and laid the foundation of an ornithological collection; but although I had no difficulty in getting specimens and preparing them,—for taxidermy was familiar to me,—I found one great obstacle to their preservation that I could not surmount. As my readers doubtless know, arsenic is very essential for preserving the skins of birds and mammals, and I found I could do but little without it. So one day I mounted my horse,—a present from Don Guillermo,—and galloped into town in quest of the mineral; but not one of the druggists would sell me an ounce of poison; it was a crime to vend the article. I applied to the physicians, but to no avail. I next tried some of the officers of the government, but failed again. I even offered three dollars for one pound. The doctors and officers exclaimed, “What does the boy want? He’s mad! Where did he come from?” &c.

Despondingly I returned to the mill, and my fine collection, intended for a scientific society at home, was destroyed in a short time by a minute species of red ants, which ate the skins almost entirely.

A pair of burrowing owls, a dove, a stilt, and a few eggs were all that I succeeded in bringing home with me.

At the mill the season proved to be a busy one. Merchants from other provinces visited San Juan, and after disposing of their goods, generally invested their returns in wheat, which was sent to the mill to be ground. There were no water privileges in the interior, and the merchants and farmers of Cordova and San Luis frequently sent wheat three or four hundred miles by troops of mules. My office, therefore, proved an advantageous one, as I was enabled to have direct intercourse with people from several of the northern and eastern provinces. Among the numbers that I became acquainted with were the old-fashioned Riojano, who came from his distant home to the north of the desert, clothed in a heavy frasada, manufactured from wool of his own shearing by the industry of his wife or daughter. Sometimes the Indian-looking Santiaguenian, or Catamarean, and the crafty yet polite Cordovese, traded at the mill; and many were the little gifts that the most respectable portion of my customers brought me from their estates far back in the irrigated travesia, or along the bases of the Andes. The press of business demanded that the mill should be run night and day. This compelled the poorer classes that came from a distance to sleep in the mill. And at night, when all was quiet, save the restless hum of the revolving stone, it was a curious sight to peep in at the door, and behold the ground covered with sleeping forms of men, women, and children of many types and complexions—here the offspring of the negro and Indian; there the child of a Spanish father and Indian mother. It was a study worthy the attention of a profound ethnologist to separate and classify the various crosses and mixtures of the different races of the genus homo that came to the mill of Don Guillermo Buenaparte.

Leaving the dusty atmosphere of the mill, I frequently wandered out into the night air to gaze upon nature by moonlight. The canal that watered the district of Causete branched off in a different direction from the main acquia, and could be traced, as it wound along the travesia, by the willows and clumps of reeds that grew upon its banks. The Andes towered above the plains a few miles to the west, while on the east the solid range of the mountains of Cordova, stretching far to the north, gave an additional grandeur to the scene. The nights were bland and lovely, excepting when the wind called the zonda (a sort of sirocco) came from the Andes, when the natives suffered from its parching heat, and those affected with diseases of the heart trembled in expectation of sudden death.

While I strolled along the banks of the canal the mill hummed on as usual, for Don Guillermo had constructed an ingenious method of alarm, by means of which the absent or sleepy miller was warned of the state of affairs within the building.

Such was the delight that I took in these rambles upon the travesia, that duty was in one or two instances neglected, and I found, on returning to the mill, that some villanous male or degraded female was stealing the “millings” from the miller’s box, or purloining flour from the hide sack of some countryman who was fast in the embrace of the drowsy god. Once or twice, on such occasions, I became so vexed as to attempt clearing the room of the thievish fellows; but to accomplish this required a stronger arm than mine, and one attempt almost resulted in a general mélée; but as the female customers always took sides with the gringo, I came off in good condition, and attained my object: thus the good name of the mill was not forfeited.

The gauchos love to gamble, and while waiting for the mill to do its work, they generally spent the time in playing their favorite games, always staking small sums of money upon the chances in order to make the time pass more profitably. But whatever might have been the rules of the other mills, Don Guillermo soon put a stop to what he called a degenerating practice, and by various small skirmishes with the gaucho peons, he fully demonstrated that his was a North American institution, and that, therefore, gambling could not be permitted upon his premises. The peons remonstrated, but the don was firm. They threatened to ruin his business by patronizing the other mills in preference to his own; but as their masters respected the policy of my friend, they were restrained from carrying out their designs. Thus law and order were firmly established, and North American principles were triumphant. It requires no small degree of firmness and knowledge of human nature to carry on the flour and grain business in the Argentine Republic.

Peace and quiet did not last long before a second innovation was attempted, although upon a new plan. A band of thieves and loafers erected a hut of cornstalks and briers upon the opposite side of the canal, in the district of Anjuaco, and the place was once more disturbed by midnight revels, and by frequent raids upon the grounds of neighboring farmers. Sheep, calves, and, even horses, disappeared in a mysterious manner. At length Don Guillermo became exasperated, and watching an opportunity when the rascals were absent, he attacked the shanty, levelled it to the ground, and, collecting the ruins into one pile, set fire to it, and burned it to ashes.

The party returned, and, on seeing the condition of their house, would, in their rage, have demolished the buildings of the don, had not fear prevented them; for they well knew that the law-and-order man possessed fire-arms, dogs, and a stout heart.

During my stay at the mill I occasionally visited the town of San Juan, and passed a few hours with some acquaintances. I found, to my surprise, among the wealthier citizens, a class of society, which, for dignity of deportment, strictness in etiquette, and generous hospitality, would favorably compare with any class that I have met in the United States or in Europe. The young men were intelligent and full of generous ardor, and the maidens—how shall I describe them? Since returning to North America, my friends have sometimes asked if they resembled our Indian women!

“Most certainly not,” I have almost indignantly answered. The higher classes of San Juan boast of a pure descent from the old Spaniards or Portuguese. The fine, clear atmosphere of the Andes provinces has affected favorably the complexion, and most of these people have a skin as light as that of the inhabitants of the southern states of the Union.

Many of the females, particularly the younger ones, have complexions that, in clearness and beauty, would rival the blondes of the north. In addition to personal beauty, the ladies of San Juan can boast of varied attractions. The guitar is used with a grace and skill that give evidence of careful study and long practice. Many play upon the piano, using instruments that have been carted a thousand miles over the pampas, from the port of Buenos Ayres.

All can embroider with skill and elegance. Poetry appears to be assiduously cultivated among them, and many specimens of true inspiration came to my notice that would be considered worthy of the name of Tennyson or Longfellow.

Altogether I know of no situation more pleasant, or containing more elements of interest and romance, than San Juan. It combines every description of scenery, from the arid plain of the travesia to the sublime alpine ranges; and it has a climate, during many months of the year, of surpassing loveliness.

The San Juaninos are a most hospitable people; and when the remembrance of their unaffected and genial kindness comes to my mind, I feel the keenest regret that we are so widely separated.

The town is said to contain about nine thousand inhabitants; but I think the estimate high, although many persons have given a larger population. It certainly, in numbers, falls below Mendoza. The town is laid out in the same manner as was Mendoza, and is watered by the canals that run from the River San Juan, a stream rising in the Cordillera.

No goitre exists in this vicinity. I saw only one case of it during my stay, and the subject had lived many years in Mendoza.

About the town are large pastures of clover, which serve to fatten the numerous herds of cattle that pass through the town on the way to Copiapo or Coquimbo, in Chili. Soap, raisins, and cattle are among the exports to the latter named state. Flour is forwarded to the pampa towns, and to the villages on the travesia. Wine is made in large quantities, but does not now pay a sufficient profit if sent to any considerable distance, although it was exported largely in by-gone years. All the fruits that grow in Mendoza thrive better in this province. The oranges of Mendoza seemed to possess an acrid taste, but I did not detect this in any of the fruits of San Juan. The vineyards surpass anything that I have ever seen,—not in the culture of the grape, as but little is done to the vines, but in the quality of the fruit. I distinguished eleven kinds of grapes in the quintas around San Juan.

The iron plough and other improved implements of agriculture were unknown, and when I described to the quinteros the facility with which the celebrated Prouty and Mears centre draught plough is handled, they fairly overwhelmed me with questions, which had, at least, the merit of artlessness.

There is at San Juan a Board of Water Commissioners, who have charge of the irrigating department. These officials are seven in number. They have labored hard to extend the main canals beyond the villas of Causete and Anjaco, even to the very base of the Pié de palo, or wooden foot—a sierra some fourteen miles east of San Juan. By these means the sterile saline travesia is gradually becoming clothed with verdure, and spreading pastures of clover, surrounded by poplars and willows, cover spots that three years since were occupied only by scattered thorn-bushes.

As I have already mentioned, the situation of miller, that I filled, was the means of giving me many opportunities for meeting and studying different phases of character.

One of my customers, whom I have set down in my journal as Don José, the penitent, was indeed a study. He was a large-limbed, long-winded, courageous old fellow, of the pure Spanish stock, and descended from the original conquerors of the Argentine Republic. I had frequently heard his name mentioned by the gauchos, one or two of whom delighted in telling of his prowess during the last revolution. The town of San Juan had been taken by an armed band while the illustrious Benavides was outside the place, and Don José, who was then an arriero, or muleteer, felt it his duty to rescue it from what he considered the wrong political party. The cuartel had been taken, and no soldiers could be enlisted for the purpose; but Don José’s energy did not fail. He scoured the country about San Juan, and collected twenty-five gauchos, who followed him to the town. The precipitate entry made by the gallant little party struck fear and consternation into the revolutionists, and Don José was hailed as deliverer for many weeks.

The rich people, who had never before noticed him, now touched their sombreros, and honored him with their praise and approbation. But, as Don José said, this did not give him money, and he therefore was no better in station than before the revolution. He was still a peon. After the excitement had died away, and rich dons no longer doffed their hats as he passed, he sat soberly down and meditated upon how he could raise money enough to rent him a farm, for he well knew that his industry would soon make him independent, provided he could hire a spot of land fit for cultivation. Nobody would loan him a peso.

Our hero, nevertheless, did not despond. He sought relief in religion, but in a different manner from that which is usually practised. The don knew that several of the churches of the town had large endowments. People dying, and wishing to enter a better world, there to enjoy a life of bliss, had left sums of money to the church, surely not to be applied to charitable purposes, for the priests generally require nine dollars for saying mass over the body of the poorest child of the church. The priests will sometimes lend these moneys upon good security, and to pious people, at the low rate of five per cent.; and we may well call this a low rate, when, in business transactions, the people of the interior towns rarely charge less than eighteen per cent.

The don, knowing that he had not attended mass regularly, did not feel satisfied that his application for money to the priests would meet with success, and he therefore commenced a plan that, if carried out, would insure him all the money that his wants required. He resolved to become a penitent. He looked back over his past life with sorrow. “I have sinned—have sinned more than all others,” he said to the other penitents. “I am resolved to change my mode of life, and now I will live for some good purpose.”

Each day his phiz lengthened. “How solemn he looks!” said the friends of his family; “poor Don José!” He lost flesh rapidly, and the brave deliverer of the town became feeble as a woman. He attended church regularly, was always at the masses, and never absent from the confessional. He was, in short, a model church member. The priests were his friends,—not the jolly, fat, laughing padres, but the frizzle-headed, stern old fellows, that rarely smiled, and then only at the follies of the world. Don José fasted a great deal, and then, after advising with his confessor, determined to scourge himself, and to pass three days in solitary confinement. He bade adieu to his friends, and locked himself into a little domicile that belonged to the church. Here, in communion with himself, he passed three long days and nights without food. With a short piece of raw hide he chastised his body,—vicariously, probably, after the example of his illustrious Manchegan countryman,—and spots of blood (from the arteries of an ox) were observed upon the floor and walls of the chamber when good Father R. entered, and who declared that his son had done his duty nobly.

Don José had accomplished his object. He could be trusted by the clergy now, and it was with pleasure that the treasurer-padre gave the sum required by our hero. With the borrowed money he rented a farm, and I can so far attest to the success of his operations, that as I passed his residence I often filled my saddlebag with the fruits of his penitence, which I took to the mill to make happy the little cherubs of Don Guillermo.

CHAPTER XV.
A WINTER IN SAN JUAN—CONTINUED.

With the approach of spring, the desert around the mill became a constant source of study to me. The lagoon near the house was filled with seven or eight species of ducks and teals, and occasionally a pair of white swans might be seen upon the water, where they frequently staid for several days in succession. The ducks remained throughout the whole year; and before I left Causete, the China or half-breed girls were frequently seen swimming into the lagoon, where they captured great numbers of the young fowl.

The green-winged teal, pin-tailed duck, and other species of the northern continent, were far from uncommon.

One day, while standing in the doorway of the mill, attempting to get a glimpse of a dim line of the point of the Pié de palo, where I had been told that a beautiful region, called the “Fertile Valley,” lay embosomed in trees, my attention was attracted to a dark spot in the sierra, which seemed to be a hole in the rock. On the following day, at sunset, I again distinguished the same dark spot: each day it grew larger; and one morning an old miner came into the mill, and informed me that a company of Chilenos were opening a vein; the situation of the sierra, the peculiarities of the rock, &c., led him to doubt of the practicability of the undertaking. How the party succeeded in their search for gold I have not yet learned; but the antecedents of the mountain are bad, for when the sierra was discovered by the early adventurers, in expectation of finding gold, they named it Pié de Oro, or “Foot of Gold,” and afterwards, when they had been disappointed in searching for the ore, they dropped the first name, and called it that by which it is known at the present day—Pié de Palo, or “Wooden Foot.”

The llama and other animals are found in the sierra of this section, which are also known—for what reason I never could learn—as the mountains of Cordova. I had not time to visit the range when in Causete, though I much desired to do so, as the old guides and miners told many strange stories regarding it.

One evening, as I was in the mill at work, a servant came from the house, saying that Don Guillermo wished to see me, and give me an introduction to a guest who had just arrived. I repaired to the house, where I made the acquaintance of the celebrated gaucho, Diablo McGill. As he has quite a local notoriety, I will speak of him more fully here than I otherwise would.

McGill was celebrated above most gauchos for his skill in using the lasso, knife, and boliadores, and in the management of wild colts. He was the handsomest herdsman that I ever saw, and was so polite and easy in his intercourse with strangers that I at first doubted if he was really the wild gaucho of whom I had heard so much. McGill was the owner of a troop of mules, he left his native province to follow the wandering life of a pampa merchant, because he despised his own countrymen, and declared that they were all peons (laborers), and not gauchos; for the province in which he was born, being situated upon the desert, at the base of the Andes, contained very few cattle-farms, and consequently the inhabitants were mostly traders, laborers, and “loafers.”

He visited the province annually, and while in his native town invariably played some mad prank to astonish the natives, and keep his reputation as a diablo.

On feast days he dressed himself in the full habiliments of a herdsman, a showy chiropá, finely-wrought drawers, heavy silver spurs, &c. His horse was selected with care from his corral, and bedecked with silver ornaments from the head to the tail, and a costly recado, or country saddle, placed upon its back. Thus equipped, he would sally forth to visit the various pulperias, or drinking-shops, where the gauchos crowded to listen to his songs, and tales of mighty deeds transacted while accompanying his troop of mules across the lonely pampas.

All the señoritas felt happy when McGill asked them to accompany him through la samba cueca, el gato, or la mariquita, as the three principal dances are styled, and she who could keep the wild gaucho by her side for one half hour felt more gratified than if she had made a dozen ordinary conquests. But the wild gaucho could not love a fair señorita, though she might be the belle of the province. Horses, wild colts, wild bulls, and wild gauchos were his chosen companions, and the fair sex tried, but in vain, to find some uncovered spot upon which to make an impression: he was impenetrable to the shafts of Cupid.

The story is told that, during one of his last visits Don Antonio Moreno, who had always envied the success of McGill, challenged him to prove his skill in the use of the lasso. McGill accepted the challenge, and entered, lasso in hand, the corral of the jealous Don Antonio.

“I will do more than you challenge me to attempt,” said our hero, coolly. “Here are five hundred mules in this circular yard, and as you drive around the circle they run eight or ten abreast. Now, I will stand in the middle, and as they pass around me you are to call out which mule you wish lassoed, and upon what leg or part of the body the animal is to be noosed. This you must do when the particular beast is in front of me, so that I can throw the lasso when she is behind me. As fast as one is caught, you are to remove her from the corral. Thus will I catch each of the five hundred mules, without missing a single throw, and catch them while they pass BEHIND MY BACK. Will that satisfy you, Don Antonio Moreno?”

The other party looked incredulous. Don Antonio was himself a first-rate gaucho and rastreador; he had seen good lassoing, but this offer seemed preposterous.

“Go on, McGill,” he said, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “When you have caught five hundred mules behind your back, I will pay you well for your trouble.”

The gaucho took his place in the centre of the yard, and, as the mules were driven around the circle, threw his lasso with unerring skill; first one, then another, then a third, rolled over upon the ground, always falling upon the head in a particular manner.

Don Antonio suspected the gaucho, and perceiving his object in throwing the mules upon their heads, protested against it.

“You will break the necks of half of them!” he exclaimed to the gaucho, who at the same moment, with a dexterous jerk on the lasso, sent another mule, stunned, upon the ground.

“Stop!” he shouted. “McGill, what mean you by throwing the mules in that manner?”

“What do I mean?” replied the herdsman, as another mule shared the same fate of the last one. “What do I mean? Why, man, I mean to break the necks of all your mules, that I may give you a certain proof that I can throw the lasso equal to, and better than, any San Juanino.”

“Enough! enough!” replied the excited don. “You have proved it; there is no necessity of further effort. Besides, these mules are to be driven across the Cordillera into Chili, and if you break their necks it’s money out of my pocket. Had we not better enter the house? I believe Doña Trinidad is ready to serve maté.”

When McGill rode forth upon a feast day as Gaucho Porteño, or Buenos Ayrean herdsman, the peons of San Juan gazed with astonishment upon his rich trappings. I have the list of articles that he and his animal wore. Upon his favorite black horse were first placed three bageras, or skins, to preserve the animal’s back from the chafing of saddle-gear. Upon these were laid a heavy, fine-wrought jergon, or blanket, to absorb the perspiration; over these were laid, first, a corona de vaca, or cow’s hide covering, to give firmness to the saddle; secondly, a corona of fine leather, to hide the rougher pieces beneath.

The latter article, which was richly embossed, was very ornamental, and drew from the gauchos many admiring remarks. Upon this platform, or foundation the recardo was placed, and kept firmly in position by a wide cincha, or girth, cut from softened, untanned hide. A pellon, or sheepskin, was laid upon the saddle, and kept in its place by a smaller girth. The pellon was then covered with a small piece of embroidered cloth, worked by the hands of some fair damsel. The lasso lay upon the animal’s croup, behind the rider, and was attached to an iron ring in the broad cincha. A pair of alforjas, or saddle-bags, were thrown across the peak of the saddle, and around the animal’s neck hung a leather rope, the fiador, used to tie him when feeding, though the lasso is generally employed for that purpose.

Upon the peak of the saddle were swung the chifles, two cows’ horns, in which was carried wine or water,—fluids absolutely indispensable upon the travesia of San Luis.

From beneath the left side of the coronas, close by the peak of the saddle, peeped the three balls, the well-known boliadores (called in most works of travel bolas), with which the gaucho secures game while upon the road.

Hanging from the fiador was a pair of manes, or shackles, for the horse’s fore feet, which serve the same purpose as a pair of handcuffs. If the rider wishes to leave his horse in the street, where many travellers are passing, he places the manes upon the animal’s fore legs, and it is only with great difficulty that the beast can slowly move about. Lastly, the bridle, a magnificent article, formed of leather, and thickly studded with silver plates, and the horse was equipped. McGill was dressed in the gala costume of a Buenos Ayrean gaucho, with drawers of the finest needlework, and the chiropá, that covered his loins, of costly silk. From this description the reader can gain some idea of a fast man among the gauchos, for such was the guest of Don Guillermo.

In this connection I may devote a few lines to a character well known throughout the Provinces of La Plata—the rastreador, or trailer.

While the mill was in operation one afternoon, I had occasion to leave the building, in order to let on more water from the acquia. While attending to the flood-gate, I saw an old man slowly approaching the mill, with his eyes bent upon the ground. He frequently stopped to inspect the soil; then, continuing his course, he passed the mill, and crossed the rude bridge that spanned the canal. Continuing along the travesia in the district of Anjuco, he was soon lost among the thorn trees and thickets of mata-gusano. I thought no more of the old man, supposing that he had probably lost some article, and was searching for it. An hour later he returned to the mill, and said a few words to Don Guillermo and several gauchos, who were waiting for their respective turns at the hopper. In an instant the loom was vacated; the party dispersed along the road, and as they occasionally came together near the mill, I could see the old man giving some advice, upon which the gauchos again dispersed. The party returned about eight o’clock, and from the peons I learned that the old man was a trailer. He had been walking along the road, and had noticed a footprint that struck him as “deceitful.” He said that a man had passed the mill about three o’clock, and that the man was a robber. “For he was dressed,” said the trailer, “in woman’s clothes. There are places along his trail that prove he held the dress up with his hands; in others it trailed along the ground. He wore a woman’s shoe, which did not fit him; his foot was broad, the shoe long and narrow. He walked in some places, and ran through the thickets. No man dresses in woman’s garb without some bad intent.”

“He is somewhere among the ranches of Anjuco.”

Wonderful to state, news came from town the next day that several men had dressed themselves in female attire, and in that disguise had visited the stores in the Calle Ancho, or Broadway, where they had purloined many articles, which the rogues had hidden beneath their dresses. It was the trail of one of these dresses that the old rastreador had struck.

The patriot Sarmiento, a San Juanino by birth, says of the characteristics of these men, the trailers,—

“Once, as I was crossing a path that led into the Buenos Ayres road, the muleteer that conducted me cast his eyes upon the ground, as was his custom, and said a very good black mule passed here yesterday; she had an easy gait, and was saddled; she belongs to the troop of Don ——. This man was coming from the sierra of San Luis; the troop was returning from Buenos Ayres.

“A year had passed since he had seen the black mule, the track of which was confused with those of a whole troop, in a path not more than two feet wide. But this keenness of perception, so apparently incredible, is a faculty common to every gaucho; this man was a mere muleteer, and not a professional trailer.”

He also describes another trailer in La Vida de Juan, Facundo Quiroga, as follows:—

“I knew a trailer by the name of Calibar, who had practised his profession in one province during forty successive years. He is now nearly eighty years old, and though bowed with age, still retains a venerable and dignified appearance.

“When they speak to him of his fabulous reputation, he answers, ‘I am now useless; these are my children.’ It is said of him that during a trip that he made to Buenos Ayres a saddle was stolen from his house.

“His wife covered the robber’s track with a wooden bowl. Two months later Calibar returned home, and saw the almost obliterated footprint, that to other eyes was imperceptible, and nothing more was said of the occurrence. A year and a half afterwards Calibar was walking along a street in the suburbs of the town, with his head inclined towards the ground. He entered a house, and found a saddle, blackened, and almost worthless from use; he had found the trail of the robber after a lapse of two years.

“During the year 1830 a criminal had escaped from jail, and Calibar was charged to find him. The unhappy man, knowing that he would be tracked, had taken all the precautions which the fear of the scaffold could invent.

“Useless precautions! Perhaps they only served to insnare him, for Calibar felt that his reputation might be compromised, and self-pride caused him to acquit himself well.

“The runaway took every advantage of the unevenness of the ground so as to baffle his pursuer; but his efforts only proved the marvellous sight of the rastreador.

“He walked the whole length of streets on tiptoe, then climbed low walls, crossed a pasture, and returned in his own track.

“Calibar followed without losing the trail. If he momentarily missed it, it was soon recovered. At last he arrived at a canal of water in the suburbs, where the fugitive had followed the current, to foil the trailer. But in vain! Calibar followed along the shore without any uneasiness, and at last stopped to examine some grass, with the words, ‘At this place he came out; there is no track, but these drops of water in the pasture indicate it.’

“The fugitive had entered a vineyard. Calibar surveyed with his eye the walls that surrounded it, and said, ‘He is within.’ The party of soldiers that attended him sought in the vineyard without success. At length they became tired of hunting, and returned to report the uselessness of their search. ‘He has not come out,’ was the brief answer which the trailer gave, without moving himself, or proceeding to a new examination. He had not come out, indeed; another search discovered him, and on the following day he was executed.”

CHAPTER XVI.
VIENTE DE ZONDA.

In a preceding chapter I made reference to the viente de zonda, or zonda wind; and as the history of it is imperfectly known in the northern continent, I will here speak of it to some extent.

The viente de zonda may be called a local wind, as it blows only in the vicinity of the province of San Juan, the town where the following observations were made.

San Juan, the capital of the province, lies at the eastern base of the Andes, three or four leagues distant from the outer sierra, south latitude 31° 4′ (Molina), longitude 68° 57′ west (Arrowsmith). Behind the first range in a valley are four or five farms, which constitute the hamlet of Zonda, from which the wind is named. It blows at all seasons, though during July and August (midwinter) it is most frequent. This wind is hot and parching to the skin, and brings with it clouds of dust and fine sand.

All persons leave their work, and seek refuge in their houses, while frequently the huts of the gauchos are blown down by the force of the wind. Most persons are troubled with severe headaches. Those who have been suffering from diseases of the heart find their complaints greatly aggravated, and frequently there are cases of sudden death. Three or four years since, five persons fell dead during the zondas in the month of August. The wind lasts sometimes two or three hours; at other times, forty-eight hours, though this long duration is rare. While the zondas is at its height, a few puffs of cold air from the south announce a change, and immediately the weather-cock veers from east and west to north and south, and a cold wind, equally as strong as the hot zonda, then prevails from the south. All nature is refreshed by the change, and men resume their abandoned labors.

In searching through the works of the very few authors who have visited the interior of the Argentine states (all but one or two of whom were Europeans), I find that only one mentions the existence of this phenomenon; and he did not, probably, visit the town where my observations were made, which locality is considered by the natives as the northern limit of the zondas.

John Miers, the author of an interesting work on the Provinces of La Plata and Chili, remained a short time in Mendoza. He states that this southern locality is annoyed by winds that blow during the summer months from the valley of Zonda, and notes the fact that two dark clouds came from the north-west, and hovered over the town during the greater part of the night, and in the morning everything that had been exposed to the air was covered with fine sand, which was of a light gray color, and slightly magnetic. It was Miers’s opinion that “a souffrière, or active volcano,” existed to the northward of San Juan, from which the hurricanes and showers of sand originated. Had Mr. Miers visited San Juan, his view of the position of the volcano would, undoubtedly, have been changed; for though the zondas reach Mendoza to the south, the direction of the wind when it strikes that place differs from the line it follows when it rushes with violence upon the northern town. At San Juan it comes due west from the Andes. Hence the starting-point of the zonda cannot be to the north of the town, as Miers conjectured. According to the account of the natives, the zonda of San Juan does not cover a broader space than ten or fifteen miles after it leaves the sierra of Zonda.

Taking this into consideration, in connection with Miers’s statement that the Mendoza zonda comes from the north-west, differing, as it will be seen, four points from the northern town, we may infer that the Mendoza and San Juan zondas do not blow at the same time. If this is true, it is an interesting fact, showing that this peculiar wind does not always follow the same track.

Miers further states that these are summer winds in Mendoza. From personal observation, and by reliable accounts of educated San Juaninos, I found that they were more particularly the winter winds; at least they are more frequent during that season. Invalids suffering from pneumonical diseases and complaints affecting the heart and liver, anticipate the month of August (midwinter) with consternation, and their anxiety is not quieted until they have passed through the dreaded ordeal.

While passing the winter in San Juan, I noted the courses of upwards of twenty zondas. Some were of short duration; others lasted eighteen or twenty hours.

During the latter part of August, as I was standing upon the saline desert, a few miles east of San Juan, my attention was attracted by a cloud of dust that appeared to roll through the air as it approached me. I started for a shelter, and had hardly reached it when the zonda swept past, filling the air with fine yellow sand. The temperature of the previously sultry atmosphere suddenly rose many degrees, and the occupants of the neighboring huts were affected with severe headaches. I noted, with a compass, the course of the wind, which was west. All night and through the following day and night, the wind continued blowing with undiminished force. Each hour the vane beside the hut was consulted, and the same course as at first was always observed. A few hours before the wind ceased the sand showers were exhausted. The greatest heat was during the first few hours; and this is always the case if the zonda commences during the day. After continuing for thirty-six hours the change came. It was instantaneous. The hot wind seemed cut off at right angles by a cold wind from the south. The change could not have occupied more than forty seconds. The south wind lasted twenty hours, and was as violent as the hot zonda. In speaking of the Mendoza zondas, Miers does not mention the succession of the south wind. It is easy to comprehend that, after so large an area has become filled with heated air, the effect will be felt in the cooler regions of the south, and a strong current from that direction will rush in to restore the atmospheric equilibrium. Hence the cause of the south wind succeeding the zonda.

Miers believed that the origin of the zondas was volcanic, and a corroboration of his views is found in the work of Sir Woodbine Parish, in which he states that the volcano Penguenes, which is situated about one hundred miles south-west from Mendoza, and reaches an altitude of nearly fifteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, emits clouds of ashes and pumice-dust. This dust is carried by the winds as far as Mendoza, but these clouds do not strike the town with the force of the San Juan zonda. The pumice-dust is borne along by variable winds. From this fact we may infer that the fine sand of the zondas comes from a similar source. The most important question is, Where originates the hot and parching wind that always accompanies, and is peculiar to, the zondas? The old guides, who are familiar with the valleys of the Andes, informed me that these winds blow from off the main snow-clad ridge of that great chain of mountains, and expressed their surprise at the fact “that from a cold region comes a burning wind.”

Strong and steady winds generally follow a direct line. This fact is characteristic of the zondas. If Miers’s conjecture be true regarding the origin of these winds, the position of the volcano, or souffrière, might be found by observing the following suggestion, bearing in mind that the Mendoza wind comes from the north-west, and the San Juan zonda from the west. That point where two lines—one running west from the northern town, the other north-west from the southern town—will intersect, is the starting-point of the sand clouds, if not of the accompanying hot wind.

Looking upon the map of South America, we find in the Cordillera of the Andes, between the latitudes of San Juan and Mendoza, four peaks marked as doubtful volcanoes: Limari, directly west of San Juan; Chuapu, thirty miles farther south; and near the half-way point of the two towns, Ligua. To the north of west of Mendoza stands prominent the lofty Aconcagua, that has been estimated by two English captains to have an elevation of twenty-three thousand nine hundred feet. The point of intersection of the west and north-west zonda lines is in the vicinity of Limari and Chuapu, and, if not either of these, the zonda volcano is a near neighbor to them.

CHAPTER XVII.
ADVENTURES OF DON GUILLERMO BUENAPARTE.

During the months that I remained with Don Guillermo, I studied well the character of mine host; and so generous were his sentiments, and kind his heart, that each day my attachment for him increased. His life had been a curious one; and as we sat by the table, one morning, imbibing a maté, I urged him to give me some account of his peregrinations since leaving his native land. Grasping my hand, with tears visible in his eyes, he said, “My friend, if you will promise to search out my relatives, when you return to North America, and give them my history, I will willingly answer your request.” A brasero of coals having been placed beneath the table, around which the members of the household were seated, Don Guillermo commenced his recital.

“At eighteen years of age, certain family troubles occurred, and being a proud-spirited youth, I changed my quiet life on shore for an adventurous one upon the ocean. From my own village I proceeded to the great metropolis, New York, and was directed, after some inquiry, to a shipping office, the proprietor of which informed me that he was procuring a large crew for a vessel, owned, and then lying, at New Bedford. The first question asked by this gentleman was, ‘Have you been round the Horn?’ As this was to be my first trip upon salt water, I informed him to that effect. ‘Well,’ continued he, ‘that’s bad enough. Now, you see, I have already shipped all the green hands that are wanted, and the old man sent word down from Bedford forbidding me to take any others than such as have made one or two voyages. But don’t get discouraged at trifles; we will settle that matter: follow me.’

“In the centre of the room was a post or pillar, upon which was a cow’s horn; and round this he walked twice, I following close upon his heels. ‘Now,’ said the shipping master, ‘if any man, sailor or monkey, says that you haven’t been round the Horn, just give him the lie. You can sign these articles, and go up to Bedford to-morrow morning, with a dozen likely young men, who are going to sea for their health, and they will enjoy themselves, I don’t doubt, as there are several gentlemen’s sons among the crew.’ I was amused at this comical way of weathering the Horn, and asked him if it would not be advisable to inform our captain of the quick passage I had made; but the old fellow silenced me by stating that he had shipped hundreds of sailors (?) in the same way, and they had all given satisfaction.

“I left New Bedford, a few days later, in the Golconda, and, after a good run round the Horn, we touched at several places on the coast of Chili, at one of which I left the vessel, and secretly joined a pearl and whale ship that was bound to the Galápagos Islands, with the intention of procuring supplies of wood and tortoises, the latter being a good remedy for scurvy. The first land made after leaving the coast of Chili was the rock of Dunda, which rises some hundreds of feet above the level of the sea. Here the boats were lowered to catch a species of fish that weighed about six pounds, and found in large schools close in to the rock. With pieces of pork and white rags greased, we caught in a few hours several barrels full, which were taken on board the ship and salted down. While fishing, the mate caught on his hook a large serpent, eight or nine feet in length, covered with scales, and nearly as large as a man’s leg. It came into the boat with severe struggles, during which it knocked the mate senseless, and two Dutchmen, from fright, jumped into the sea. This rock is supposed to have once belonged to the Galápagos, being in the same range, and, with a fair wind, is but a few hours’ sail from the principal members of that group.

“The ship, which had been lying off and on, was now put before the wind, and we steered for an uninhabited island of the Galápagos, called Terrapin Island, and, when near it, a party of picked men were lowered in the boats, with orders to collect all the wood and tortoise that could be procured. The three boats’ crews, upon landing, found the island to be composed of pumice-stone, probably thrown from a volcano in its centre. Next the beach was a narrow strip of land, covered with a light growth of wood, which did not extend forty rods inland; and though immediate search was made for water, not a drop could be found. One of the crew asserted that inland grew a stunted prickly pear, and dwarf camphor tree. We were full of fun, and each boasted that he know where to hunt for the largest tortoise; and a party of four, including myself set out together, each promising to return with a gigantic one. As we journeyed inland, the surface of the island became more irregular, and was filled with deep cracks or chasms, the bottoms of which, in many instances, could not be discerned. These fissures descended far below the level of the sea; and, hoping to discover fresh water, we descended into several, but they were all dry and warm as ovens. The rocks around us were porous, and therefore must have absorbed the water that fell when it rained, which, in these parts of the world, is a rare occurrence. Among the rocks abounded a sort of lizards, with long tails, called iguanas.

“After wandering several miles and not meeting with tortoises, a portion of the party concluded to ‘’bout ship’ and return, when a dispute arose regarding the true direction to the bay where the ship lay, and we parted, I following the course that appeared to be the true one, while my three companions set out upon an entirely different one. I continued on until the shades of evening enveloped the island, and made the volcano look like a grim giant. Here I should have rested until morning, as much suffering would have been prevented; but, feeling confident that my course was right, I travelled on in the dark, and, as I afterwards learned, passed the bay without being aware of its proximity. At last, exhausted with walking, I lay down to sleep upon the pumice-stone; but the heat was so great, that I was obliged to turn from side to side with the torture it inflicted; for the sun’s heat had been absorbed during the day by these rocks, and it was now given off with an intensity that was truly astonishing. I lighted my pipe and tried to forget my troubles; but, almost dying with thirst, and scorched with the slow fire beneath me, the night wore heavily away. When morning came, I examined my stock of matches, and found that three remained, besides a little tobacco, and, carefully putting these in a safe pocket, I directed my steps to the tall mountain, which appeared to be but a few miles distant. By so doing, chance might favor me, as the men had said, the previous day, that the prickly pear grew in the interior; but my great object was to find water.

“When the sun had reached the meridian, a pair of new double-soled shoes, which I had on, were worn or burned through; I had found no water, and the mountain appeared farther off than it did when I saw it the previous morning.

“Thanks to a good Providence, this misery was soon to be ended, at least for a time; for while journeying along late in the afternoon, with feet bleeding at every step, I espied a little green hill that peeped above the rocks, and with renewed energy I pushed forward, and sank fainting at its base.

“I soon recovered from the exhaustion caused by my sufferings, and as darkness came on, sleep overpowered and wrapped me in its embrace. It was after midnight (so I judged by the height of the Southern Cross) when I woke with a curious feeling caused by suffocation. Recalling my scattered senses, I beheld a huge pair of jaws and two horrid eyes close to my face, while a clawed foot rested upon each shoulder. I trembled in every limb, but did not lose my self-possession; and now I laugh to think that the cause of my trepidation was nothing more than a harmless iguana—a large species of lizard. A single movement of my body caused him to slide from his place and drag his ugly form away; but he did not choose to end his antics here; several hours he continued the annoyance, and determined to make the best of his affectionate ways. I threw a piece of pumice-stone at him, and Mr. Iguana lay senseless among the rocks. Cutting the reptile’s throat and catching the blood in the heel of my dilapidated shoe, I drank it as if it had been a beverage of cool milk. With refreshed vigor I ascended the hill. It was covered with grass, and little trees resembling the American beech grew upon it. Flocks of birds were flying about, and their songs revived my spirits.

“Commencing a search for water, I discovered a deep fissure, at the bottom of which some shining substance attracted my attention, and feeling certain that it was water, I descended into the chasm. Again was I doomed to disappointment. A soft, damp mud covered the bottom, in which hundreds of tiny tracks told me that birds had visited the spot, and that the water which had fallen from the clouds had been drank or absorbed by the soil. Had I been a student of natural history, an hour could have been whiled away in the study of ornithichnites; but, dropping all thoughts of science, I made balls of the mud and sucked the moisture they contained, then climbed into the open air. The birds were exceedingly tame, and suffered me to approach and knock them down with a stick. In this I beheld the beneficence of Providence, for here was food for many days. After killing several, I attempted to light a fire with the three matches before mentioned. All three failed. I ate two birds in a raw state, and went in search of an iguana to procure more blood to quench my thirst. The sides of the hill were perforated with the burrows of this animal, into which it crept, leaving the tail outside. I caught hold of one lusty fellow’s appendage, but was too weak to pull him out; he beat me from side to side, and I sat down upon a rock in despair.

“The next day, when about to leave the hill, a singular fact attracted my attention. The birds left in flocks, and winging their way towards the big mountain, returned in twenty or thirty minutes.

“Following them for some time with my eyes, I concluded that it was for water that they left the green hill; and carefully marking their flight, I followed them; but, weak and exhausted, after travelling nearly a mile across ridges that became more and more difficult to surmount, it seemed advisable to return. An attempt to capture a young iguana was successful, and this quenched my thirst, while a few birds’ legs kept starvation at a distance. Another night’s rest revived my courage, and I determined, come what might, to make one more effort to reach the sea-coast. Another day’s travel being over, I slept upon the pumice-stone a few miles from the hill. One more day of suffering, and when Night spread her mantle over the island, I knew too well that mental derangement was coming; but still one idea had possession of my mind—Onward, onward!

“I crossed a little ridge, and saw something white at its base; for the moon had risen, and shed its light over the burning island of pumice-stone. I lowered myself into a chasm, and examined it. My brain became settled and attention fixed; and with horror I laid my hand upon the skeleton of a man lying upon his face, with a large tortoise bound to his back by a piece of ratlin. Poor fellow! he had, undoubtedly, while making his way to his ship, missed his footing, and fallen in such a way that he was wedged in and kept down by the great weight upon his back: perhaps the fall itself killed him.” “But,” said I, “why did not his captain send men to search for him?” “By asking such a question, my friend,” begun Don Guillermo, “you show your ignorance of the character of a captain of a whaler. Do you think, if the captain wished to make sail, he would wait even one day to seek for one of his crew? If you wish to satisfy yourself on this point, try a voyage in a New Bedford whaleship, and you will soon be assured that my opinion is true.”

Don Guillermo continued his narrative.

“This affecting sight filled my mind with thoughts both joyful and dismal—joyful, because I knew that the coast was at hand, for the experience of the few days past had taught me that the tortoise does not wander far inland—dismal, because it might be premonitive of my own fate. With a giddy head I continued on my way. Of the events which occurred from that time I have but a dim recollection. I faintly remember wandering on for many hours, and sleeping upon the heated rocks—the light of day coming again, when my journey was continued; the sound of rushing waters—and then my vision became clearer. I remember the white sandy beach that seemed covered with eggs, and the ringing noise in my ears—the screaming of the sea-birds. All this passed through my brain with the rapidity of lightning; then, rushing frantically to the sea, I swallowed greedily large draughts of water. The cove was filled with other swimmers, that gnashed and gritted their teeth, as if mocking my suffering. They were, in reality, seals; but, almost a maniac, I jumped about among them (so others afterwards informed me), cutting all kinds of pranks; at which the whole school retreated with fear. All then became a blank to me.

“I was next aroused by the voices of people engaged in conversation, together with the strong smell of liquors, and, opening my eyes, I found myself in a comfortable berth in the cabin of a vessel, which, by a perceptible motion, I knew to be under way. ‘He has come to,’ said a rough voice; ‘there’s nothing like an internal as well as external application of brandy.’ Two or three persons came to the berth, and questioned me regarding my ‘island excursion.’ Their various applications had restored my system to a comparative degree of vigor; and, assisted by the second officer, I went on deck to behold the shores of Terrapin Island sinking below the horizon.

“The name of this vessel was Henry Astor; she was a Nantucket whaler, and her captain, my deliverer from a melancholy fate, was Pinkham. I would give his name in full, every letter of it, had not nearly sixteen years of wandering obliterated it from my memory.

“A few days’ sail brought us to the Marquesas Islands, and by that time the sea air and good living had perfectly restored me to health, and I was eager for new adventures. Our captain proposed remaining here a few days, in order to procure fresh provisions, and trade was commenced with the natives by bartering hoop-iron, knives, beads, &c., in exchange for pigs, yams, cocoanuts, and other fruits. A small, uninhabited island near by was resorted to by the islanders for fishing, and our captain sent our boats to secure a supply for the men. We met a party of natives with canoes on one side of the island, and we became very friendly in our intercourse with them.

“The boat returned to the ship without me, but conveyed a message to the effect that I should not return. The reason for so doing was satisfactory to the sailors. Our second officer was a Portuguese, and a vile fellow. He so exasperated his watch while on the passage from Terrapin Island, that they were now ripe for mutiny; and having no interest in their affairs, I did not wish to be one of their number longer. The Henry Astor would not return to North America for two or three years, and homeward-bound vessels (whalers) sometimes touched at the Marquesas. Thus, if I remained with the natives, there was a chance of my being taken off by a better-omened ship than the one I had just left. The next day a pearler hove in sight, and ran close in to land. I raised a signal, and was soon taken on board. The vessel steered for Hiva-oa,[4] sometimes called Dominica, and commenced business in good earnest. The natives were employed to dive for us in four or five fathoms of water. In this they were very expert, and some of them could remain four minutes under water. They swam off to our boats every morning, and worked all day, receiving in payment for their labor pieces of red flannel and bright-colored calico.

“Strict orders were repeated to us every morning regarding our duties for the day. We were forbidden to go within a certain distance of the shore, as the natives were very treacherous, having captured and eaten an English boat’s crew a short time before (1840 or ’41). Three days passed very pleasantly, when, upon the fourth, word was given to be diligent, as the vessel would sail for the coast of Japan with the first fair wind. ‘What!’ exclaimed one of the boat’s crew to which I belonged, ‘are we to leave without setting foot on Hiva-oa? Shiver my timbers if I don’t go ashore to-morrow night, after work is done! and the old man may send the whole ship’s company after me, if he likes.’ To this expression the other two agreed, and, not wishing to be behind my comrades, I consented also; and before retiring to sleep we had made arrangements for a visit to the dreaded cannibal islands.

“The next morning the boats’ crews commenced work as usual, and at four bells in the afternoon returned to the ship. This was the time agreed upon for carrying out our design. The natives, who were with us during the day, had swam ashore, and disappeared among the cocoa-nut groves, and the only living objects in sight were a party of women, and two or three old men, the former engaged in various diversions, and the latter sitting like statues near them. It was the custom of these females to collect in groups near the sea-shore during the day, and watch their husbands and lovers, who were hard at work diving for the pearl-oyster; and taking advantage of this circumstance, we came prepared for the party. Upon landing, we distributed from our well-filled pockets various little presents, and were at once treated with the greatest kindness. The looking-glass that we brought filled them with astonishment, and Cram, a young Pennsylvanian, was endeavoring to teach them the philosophy of it by all sorts of gestures, when a low murmur caused us to look seaward; and lo! a long line of men, the fathers, brothers, and lovers of the female party, were advancing towards us, and as we hastily rose to depart, they pointed towards the interior, and made signs for us to go inland.

“Too late we perceived our boyish error; the boat had been secured, and there was no chance for retreat, and sullenly we marched on in advance of the islanders. All the way Cram grumbled at the fate that might be ours. He blessed his top-lights, then cursed them, the women, who followed, laughing all the while at his curious physiognomy. As we drew near the end of a beautiful valley, in which the natives dwelt, Cram felt quite at home, and remarked that it was not ‘much of any consequence where a person lived. These fellows,’ said he, ‘have plenty to eat, and don’t have to turn to every morning while in port, or every watch when at sea. If the king here will give me his daughter, I will settle down on a farm after swallowing my sheet anchor;’ and putting a quid of tobacco in his mouth, he squirted the juice right and left among the crowd, who became wild with mirth.

“Thanks to our previous kind treatment to the islanders, upon arriving at their village they gave us to understand that we should receive no harm. We did not go through any trial, or appear before any council; but by gestures they made known to us that each of our number could choose a place of residence from among the two or three hundred habitations in the valley. I fancied that of an old man, who must have been, in his younger days, a great warrior, as his body was covered with scars, and one longitudinal one, that, commencing upon his forehead, and ending with the chin, excited my amazement, for the skull had evidently been split by some weapon, from the effects of which he sometimes labored under temporary insanity. At Cram’s suggestion, we christened him ‘Old Split Head.’ The three other sailors were quartered in habitations near my own, and for a few days we lived contentedly enough, every wish being anticipated and satisfied by these kind people.

“One morning, about a week after our capture, while talking together, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by the booming of cannon, and we arose to go down to the beach, but were prevented by our captors. Report after report followed, and echoed among the hills that divided the island into separate parts. I was convinced by these sounds that our ship had got under way, and was exercising her two or three rusty guns for our benefit. But what seemed stranger than all was, that these reports came from the opposite side of the island, and from an entirely different direction from her former anchorage. Cram laughed at my opinions, and harangued the other two after this fashion: ‘He says that it’s our craft that’s making all that noise. I’ll sell myself for a sea-cook if it isn’t one of those parlez-vous French men-o’-war that’s come along, and heard that we are among this confounded set. Now, shipmates, what say you? Here we have been loafing about like a set of lobster marines, doing nothing, nor serving mankind, and it’s a certain fact that we have got to be laid up here until we get away. Now, I, for one, am heartily tired of this wasting of energies; and as for living here listening to these cocoa-nut eaters, who expect to tattoo us into Davy Jones’s locker, I won’t; so come along. We can make a straight course across those big hills yonder, and then hurrah for Johnny Crapo’s boats. If you will all start, I’ll agree to steer my trick to-night, if it is aboard a French man-o’-war. The two sailors were overpowered by Cram’s eloquence, and swore roundly that they would follow him, if he set out instantly.

“Now, all the while the natives had been watching us, and when the orator, during his speech, pointed to the hills, they at once comprehended their prisoners’ intentions, and, coming forward, an old man, better dressed than the others, gave us to understand, through signs, that upon the other side of the mountain dwelt other savages, who were their enemies. Nothing daunted, Cram and his associates set out for the mountain, followed by a party of islanders, who continued expostulating with them until they reached its base.

“The old man, whom I now took to be the chief, in an authoritative manner, despatched a second party but Cram and the other two showed fight, and, rolling down large stones upon the chiefs men, prevented them from advancing. As the three reckless fellows neared the summit of the mountain, they were watched with intense interest by the people below. A few minutes more, and they had disappeared on the other side, where they met the savages of whom they had been warned, who drove them back, fighting with great fury. The men in our village ran for their arms, and a loud shout resounded throughout the valley. Twice I started to join in the affray; but those near me prevented my departure. The fight lasted about fifteen minutes, and was ended by the death of the white men, my companions. The captors retired to their own territory, while I wept for the first time since leaving my native land. I was but just nineteen years of age, and was, perhaps, a prisoner for life, destined to live apart from my countrymen. I had been nurtured in refinement, and trained under the holy influence of a mother’s prayers; and now a most miserable life was before me, indolence and barbarity.

“The fate of my friends was a cruel one. The natives around the base of the mountain saw them fight bravely until overpowered by superior numbers, when one by one the three sailors were felled to the earth. Cram was seen struggling with an islander until another native, with his spear, broke the poor fellow’s jaw, and he was obliged to surrender.

“About noon the next day came a deputation from the people of the territory behind the mountains to make peace with our ‘Tehoke’ (principal chief), which caused a great palaver among our natives. To appease our chief, a gift was presented him by the committee. It was rolled up in cocoa-nut leaves, the first layer of which was green, as if just gathered from the trees. While they slowly unrolled the present, the natives clustered around it, and as wrapper after wrapper fell to the ground, a sight was disclosed that caused me to shudder. It was a fitting present from cannibals, the leg of poor Cram, browned from the effects of fire. I identified the limb by means of a tattooed ring upon the calf, that still retained the original color. But this gift, instead of soothing the ire of the haughty ‘Tehoke,’ produced an entirely different effect; for he called a council, and, after a palaver, the cannibal committee were dismissed, and war formally declared. The islanders were wild with excitement, and I was made to sing, in the midst of the rabble, a grand hoolo-hoolo, and to dance, which I did to the music of a drum, made by stretching human skin across the ends of a short, hollow log.

“At dawn on the following day, an army of nearly three hundred men ascended the mountain, and disappeared over the summit.

“The day of battle was one of nature’s loveliest. The rays of the sun, with trembling light, pierced the dense foliage of the groves around the absent warriors’ homes, and sparkled upon the cool streams of water meandering along the valley, and falling in little cascades among the rocks. It would seem a time and place for quiet thoughts and pious meditation. But my mind was not in a fit state to appreciate the beauty that reposed around me. I wandered through the valley, thinking of my curious situation, of the strange beings who were my companions, and my isolation from civilization. I thought of the happy American home that I had left, and my memory went back to a beautiful Sabbath morning (the day prior to my departure from home), when, taking the hand of my sister, I led her to a little wood behind the house, and there she sang to me a song, the words of which have since rung in my ears, through all my wanderings, over sea and land, and have kept me from the errors that have caused the downfall of thousands.

“Perched upon the top of a coca-nut tree, Old Split Head kept on the lookout for news. Beyond him another dark head peeped above the foliage, and still nearer the mountain another and another native could be seen. This was a telegraphic line of communication.

“Soon after the natives had disappeared over the mountain, the reports of a few muskets, obtained from the English boat’s crew that was captured some months before, together with distant shouts, told me that the game was up. After this, a long silence caused me to doubt as to who were the victors, for I believed that if our party were successful, they would return quickly with what booty could be obtained.

“About four o’clock in the afternoon, a courier appeared on the brow of the mountain, and a telegraphic message came quickly to Old Split Head, who was beside me at the door. Now, as my guardian attempted to communicate the intelligence to me, he became so excited that he could do nothing more than jump high in the air, roll over and over upon the ground and shake his long spear at a tree. He then caught me by the arm, and led me to the beach, where the army arrived, an hour after, in six large war-canoes, each holding about fifty rowers. These canoes, together with three men, and many pigs and weapons, had been captured during the engagement. The three captive warriors lay bound in the bottom of the boat, and were unable to move hand or foot.

“Now commenced a great hoolo-hoolo, during which I was embraced by the Tehoke in presence of the multitude. The three prisoners were removed to a little square formed by a wall of stones, and left under a guard for the night, and I was informed that upon the next day I should receive a high taboo. This is a mark of distinction and privilege, differing according to the grade or class of the taboo—some causing the person tabooed to stand above those who have a low mark upon them. This favor is only given to men; the women do not receive it, and are, therefore, in one sense, slaves to their husbands. The next morning the Tehoke performed the process of tabooing, by passing over my head a piece of tappa (native cloth), and pronouncing several words not comprehended by me. After this the Tehoke presented me with two wives, one of whom was his own daughter, and Split Head, with two ingenious fellows, built in the course of the day a new habitation, in which I was to dwell.

“Now came the hour in which the prisoners taken during the battle were to meet their doom. They were seized by a party of natives, and each one placed erect, with his back against a cocoa-nut tree. Around the neck of the victim, and trunk of the tree, was wound a short piece of native rope, and a stick being placed in the bight, it was turned around several times, until the tongue protruded from the mouth, and the prisoner was dead. Deep holes were dug and lined with stones, upon which a large fire was kindled, and allowed to continue burning until the stones were very hot. The ashes and sticks were raked out, and the bodies of the prisoners, which had been previously wrapped in many layers of cocoa-nut leaves, were laid in the cavities, and hot stones placed upon them. There was no chance of straying from the spot, as I sat close by the Tehoke; but I sickened and my head grew dizzy at the horrid sight. The horrors of a cannibal feast I will not describe. Suffice it to say that the natives became in my eyes as wild animals devouring prey.

“I now led a more agreeable life than I had formerly enjoyed, that is to say, if enjoyment consists in having a mind free from care or trouble. Before the taboo had been placed upon me, there were times when some of the natives attempted great freedom with my person, and were a source of trouble to me. Now I lived as the chief’s son-in-law, and as a person of distinction, as I possessed a high taboo. I was ingenious, and by repairing the old flint-lock muskets of the chief, took a new stand as a man of superior endowment. As month after month passed away, I became more accustomed to my situation, and felt, at times, almost contented with my lot. I began to acquire the language, and took part in the councils of the chiefs, where my word was valued. During all this time I passed but one ordeal, that of tattooing. I was taken by force from my dwelling, and, being laid upon my back, underwent an operation, the effects of which I shall carry with me to the grave.”

So saying, Don Guillermo divested himself of his shirt, and there were visible upon his breast two curious specimens of Marquesian tattooing. “This figure, on my left side,” said he, “is intended to represent the moon, while the one on the right is the sun.” Upon his thighs and arms were other figures equally curious as those upon his breast. He then continued: “Once I was dragged out to be ornamented upon the face; but I struggled and begged so hard to escape from the hands of the artists, that Old Split Head, whose influence was considerable, interceded with the islanders, and I was permitted to go free. Having acquired the dialect, the natives placed more confidence in me than they had previously done, and I walked along the sea-coast two or three times a week with the hope of seeing a vessel. Once or twice I descried ships in the distance, but was doomed again and again to disappointment, as they did not approach the island; and for eleven long, weary months, did I remain a prisoner among the cannibals of Hiva-oa.

“In conversing with the islanders, they had often spoken of a foreigner, who, by some accident, had been a resident among them. They called him Oorie, and though I questioned them regarding his escape, they would not give me any clew by means of which I could ascertain the method he used to obtain his freedom. I afterwards comforted myself by believing that as one person had been taken off the island, another might meet with the same good fortune; and from the time I received the above information, my eyes were always gazing over the surface of the ocean for a glimpse of a distant sail.

“As the eleventh month of my life among the cannibals drew to its close, a whaler from North America dropped anchor in the little bay, and almost in the same spot where, nearly a year before, I had gazed with admiration upon the tropical scenery of my new island home, the prison-ground that debarred me from civilization. The rare event of a ship visiting Hiva-oa threw its inhabitants into a state of great excitement, some of whom were for having me closely guarded, while others, too much occupied in getting ready their fruits for a market, only laughed and shouted to increase the confusion that everywhere prevailed. During the hubbub and clamor of voices, I conversed with some of the females, whose ideas of a ship and the uses to which one is applied, were of the most primitive kind. ‘Where does the great monster live, and from what country does it travel?’ they asked, gazing at the same time eagerly into my face, as if expecting to receive an incorrect reply. ‘It comes from my own country, which is a long way off’, I answered. To this one young girl gravely responded, ‘Then your home is in the clouds, for this thing (the ship) rains down; we have seen the same before two or three times.’

“The men swam off to the vessel, and, while absent, I endeavored to persuade some of the chiefs to allow me to go upon the same errand the next day; but in this I was unsuccessful. They sternly objected to my appeals, and, urged to desperation, I projected an escape, but was twice foiled in the attempt.

“The second night after the whaler arrived, I left the hut before the islanders arose from their slumbers, and, though my movements had been watched, I reached a branch of the valley stream, and, wading along its course up to my chin in water, soon entered the sea, and boldly struck out for the vessel that lay at her anchorage.

“The man who had the anchor watch saw the gleam of light in my wake, caused by the displacement of the water, for the moon was high in the heavens, and the smallest object could be easily distinguished. Thinking I was a savage on a predatory excursion, he called the mate, who in turn aroused the captain. A rope was thrown to me, and half an hour after leaving my hut of canes and cocoa-nut boughs, I was surrounded by a half-naked group of down-east greenhorns, who kindly presented me with a suit of clothes, in place of my island one of tappa.

“The next morning, the master of the whaler, Captain Brown, thinking that my escape might exasperate the natives, mast-headed the topsail yards, and heaved short our cable, to be in readiness to leave in the afternoon, at the moment the heavens gave indications of a breeze. While these preparations were under way, Old Split Head came down the beach, and loudly shouted my name. To prove his affection for me, I did not answer his call; whereupon he danced about for some time, clutching his hair, and then rolling upon the sand, appearing to be in hysterics.

“Towards three o’clock came the wished-for breeze, and with it the order to ‘fill away the topsails.’ Springing to the sheets, a party of us hauled them home, while others heaved up the anchor, and as we slowly stretched away from Hiva-oa, I breathed a prayer of thanks for my safe deliverance. The long line of natives upon the beach, at sight of our departure, could restrain themselves no longer, for above forty threw themselves into the sea, and followed after us like a school of porpoises. I threw out a rope for Old Split Head, and the rapidity with which he ascended the ship’s side drew many remarks of admiration from the sailors, who declared that ‘no salt could have done it better.’ The instant he touched the deck he embraced me, and, refusing to be comforted, pointed over the ship’s side at one of my wives, who was treading water, and softly uttered her name many times—‘Cuahoo! Cuahoo!’ Captain Brown gave the old fellow several pieces of red flannel, and a few pounds of tobacco, and, rolling the latter in the cloth, he lashed the bundle to his head, and with a long, tearful embrace, we parted.

“This was the last time I saw Old Split Head, who was the truest and best friend I ever had; and many times since we parted, when amid trials and sufferings, my thoughts have turned to our little hut beneath the cocoa-nut grove, where so many hours had been passed in his company, savage though he was; and I have regretted leaving that romantic island. Then reason and the voice of duty have said, ‘You were born among civilized people, and it is your duty to act manfully against vicissitudes; but to live a life of ease and pleasure, surrounded by things that injure rather than strengthen the noble faculties of the soul, is sinful, and is not in accordance with the principles of truth and of the Bible.’

“From Hiva-oa a breeze wafted us into Talcahuano, the port of Concepcion, Chili, where I remained for some months, working at different trades, in nearly all of which I was able to compete with the native workmen. I could relate to you many interesting stories of the Araucanian Indians, who occupy the south of Chili, and often come to Concepcion to barter their ponchos, mantas, &c., for English articles; but having occupied much of your time, I shall draw my narrative to a close as soon as possible.

“While residing in Chili, I made the acquaintance of two young men, who, having visited Juan Fernandez, spoke encouragingly of the chances that existed for making money upon that island. And they proposed that we should purchase a boat and repair to the island, where thousands of goats run wild, and there pass a few months in securing the skins of these animals, after which we were to sail to Masafuero, an adjacent island, where there were a large number of seals.

“I had earned by this time a sufficient sum of money to accept of their offer, and they being supplied with like amounts, we purchased a large whale boat, a stock of provisions, and three dogs, besides guns, ammunition, and all the accessories necessary to insure success to our enterprise. We bargained with the captain of a vessel that was about leaving Talcahuano for a sperm whale cruise, to leave us to ourselves when the ship hove in sight of Juan Fernandez, near which his course lay. One thing more was yet to be done; we had no person to do the drudgery of preparing and cooking our food. Our choice, therefore, fell upon a stout negro, called Pedro, who was fluent in the use of the English and Spanish languages, and for a low sum we secured his services.

“The ship put to sea with a gentle breeze one fine morning, and early on the fourth day the rough peaks of the island were seen above the horizon.

“Preparations commenced immediately for disembarkation. Our little craft was launched, the masts stepped, her cargo carefully adjusted, and quickly tumbling in our dogs and Pedro, we bade adieu to the whaler.

“Though the breeze blew fresh at the time we left the ship, and our party spread every stitch of canvas, it was not until night set in that our boat grounded amid the surf upon the white sandy beach of the romantic Robinson Crusoe island, and we all crawled on shore drenched with spray to the skin.

“A few days after, a hut was completed, and our party commenced business in good earnest; and while the three whites were occupied in capturing the goats, the black, Pedro, officiated as cook and housekeeper in our little dwelling. Among the cliffs the goats scampered about singly and in little parties. It was our object to concentrate all stragglers, and driving them into some little nook or valley, from which there was no escape, we shot them down, or, when practicable, captured them with the lasso. In collecting the stray goats into parties, we were greatly assisted by our dogs, which had been trained for the purpose.

“When the animals abounded in places where the valleys were large and did not afford opportunities for capturing them, we built stone enclosures, and in them intrapped large numbers. To capture and skin thirty goats was considered no more than a good day’s labor for each man. Thus our pile of skins towered higher each day, and promised us a little fortune when we should dispose of them on the continent.

“While enjoying this success, a distant sail was distinguished one afternoon by Pedro, who ran out of his domicile to inform us of the welcome fact. The following day our hut was honored by the presence of one of South America’s best and greatest children, the patriotic and learned Don Domingo F. Sarmiento, who, having been sent abroad, by the government of Chili, to visit different portions of the world, to gain information of superior customs, with the intention of introducing such as were practicable to that republic on his return, had first called at this island, which belongs to that government.

“Though sent upon such a commission, Sarmiento was not a Chileno by birth, but had resided in Chili some years, having been exiled from his native country, the Argentine Republic, by the tyrannical Rosas, who was ever uneasy when a philanthropist or scholar was within the land over which he stretched his arm of iron and bathed his hands in the blood of her people. It is unnecessary for me to give you an account of the stay of this great man upon the island; suffice it to say, we became very intimate, he sleeping nine successive nights upon my bed of goat-skins; and when I visited him in Chili, after his return from Europe and North America, he presented me with a copy of his travels, ‘Viages de Sarmiento,’ in which you will find the particulars of the visit. Before General Rosas was driven out of office and country, Sarmiento himself had crossed the Cordillera and Pampas, and was fighting against the army of the tyrant; and while on a visit to him, he said, handing me a trusty sword, ‘Don Guillermo, your ingenuity is remarkable. I have not been able to clean this instrument. Will you oblige me by removing from it all traces of rust?’ He then reached his hand above an escritorio, and as he held out another weapon, a smile playing upon his noble features, he said, ‘My friend, this sword you need not clean; I shall keep it as a memorial; for upon its surface are blood-stains from the heart of a tyrant, who would have been like Rosas, had not I, while in the engagement, sought him out and thrust my trusty steel through his heart. Now I can go back to the Argentine Republic and to freedom, for the tyrant and his Masorca[5] have been driven from their stronghold, and their dread influence is at an end.’

“After remaining some few months on Juan Fernandez and the neighboring Masafuero, a whaler arrived and took off our company with their property. Before the ship left the island, according to a promise I had made to Sarmiento, I cut his name deep in a ledge of rock, where it can be seen at the present day.

“Welcome was the first sight of the main land after months spent upon a small island. When we reached Valparaiso, to our dismay the price of goat-skins and furs had fallen, and in place of receiving the expected several thousand dollars in return for my goods, I quietly pocketed six hundred dollars, and swallowed my disappointment. The goat-skins brought one real (12¹⁄₂ cents), and in some cases two reals each, while the seals commanded from three to six reals.

“Not caring to follow a roving life any longer, I proceeded to the capital of Chili, the beautiful Santiago, and for a time found entertainment in pursuing various trades. About this time I made the acquaintance of a young artist from North America. Troubles had driven him, like myself, from a good home, and, being often together, our attachment became such that it was spoken of by every one. One evening, as we walked arm in arm along the Tauamar, and near Fort Santa Lucia, he pointed in the direction of a nunnery, and said, ‘Within those walls is a young lady that I would have married long ago, but her parents, despising one they were pleased to call a gringo, placed her in that building, fearing that she might elope with her lover to some other part of the country. Once or twice I have received letters from her, and, like myself, she does not care to live longer, and unless we can be united soon, nothing but the death of the suicide is left to me.’ I was greatly affected at this disclosure, which only served to bind our friendship still stronger. I was not the only friend from whom the young artist could draw sympathy. A daring North American, armed with a Colt’s revolver and a fine key-hole saw, repaired one dark night to the nunnery, scaled its walls, and tearing off the tiles, cut a hole through the porous wood-roof, and took from the praying-room the young betrothed, who had made a vow to her conjuror to resort to that place each night to pray until her prayers were answered, but in a very different manner than the priest would have wished, had he known the blessing asked for.

“The next day the lovers were united, and bade me farewell forever. Before the vigilantes were summoned to retake the couple or arrest the perpetrator of the deed, against whom injured Catholicism raised a loud cry, the bride and bridegroom, mounted on fleet horses, were on their way to Bolivia, where they are now probably residing.

“It was proved that, at the time of the rescue, our countryman, the artist, was in some other place; and being his friend, and known to be ingenious, I was pointed out as the culprit. People became excited, and while the vigilantes were about, a trusty friend brought me two horses, and volunteering to become my travelling companion, we set out for the Argentine Republic, that lay on the eastern side of the Andes. The Uspallata and Portillo passes were watched, and nothing remained but to follow down the valley of Tupungato to the Planchon Pass. Without sustenance for our animals, and but a small supply of food, we commenced a journey that the old arrieros themselves would have turned back from. The lofty sides of the mountains hemmed us in, and we followed on, day after day, until our horses died, and we were on the point of starvation. At last we reached the Planchon, which is close upon Patagonia, and crossing this flat mountain, which is composed of light gravel, resembling snuff in color and fineness of grain, we came upon a little fort, from which a few soldiers ran on seeing us, shouting, ‘The Indians! the Indians!’ We left them after quieting their fears and receiving a little food.

“The next day two Indians approached, and uttered repeatedly the word ‘amite’ (friend). They kindly undertook to guide us to Mendoza, a town that lay one hundred and eighty leagues to the north. These two savages captured with their boliadores several ostriches and one or two guanacos, upon the flesh of which we feasted. When within two days of the town, our guides pointed out the true direction for us to follow, and, shaking hands with them, we parted.

“Upon arriving in Mendoza I found employment for a while, but, not liking the place, went north to San Juan, while my friend returned to Chili. And here I have lived for nine years, having been married for the last six or seven to the daughter of Don ——, an old soldier, who has fought in the battles of the revolutions which spring up every few years in this province.”

Alter returning to North America, I wrote many letters of inquiry for the benefit of Don Guillermo. Several of these letters were answered. Others, probably, never reached the destinations for which they were intended.

I found that a portion of my friend’s family were still living, and their heartfelt letters to me amply repaid the exertions I had made to discover their residences. The history of Don Guillermo has a touch of romance about it. One person wrote as follows: “F. D——g (the father of Don G.) was a younger son of the high chamberlain to the King of Saxony, and as his elder brother took the office and title of his father, he, F., took to the army, as is usual in that country, and, just before the close of our revolutionary war, came to New York as major of a regiment of Hessians. After peace was declared, he remained, and married a wealthy lady,” &c., &c.

Thus much regarding his parentage. The cause that drove him from the land that he even now adores, remains a secret with the few in whose breasts it will be sure of a safe keeping.

From another quarter I received the following lines, which were written by the cooper of the Henry Astor, who took charge of the ship on her homeward passage: “In looking over my journal of notes of that voyage, I have not mentioned the coming on board of the young man (Don Guillermo) at Galápagos Islands; but on the 7th of October, 1842, I have merely mentioned that we lost, by desertion, while at Dominica (one of the Marquesas Islands), a boy. The particulars of which I recorded in the ship’s log book.

“The particulars of his coming on board, or of his leaving, have passed from me, and I could wish that many other occurrences of that eventful voyage might. H. C.”

Letters from Nantucket inform me that the log-book of the Henry Astor was lost in the great fire of 1846. The captain’s private journal, brought home by Mr. C., the cooper of the ship, contains the information desired. “A Scotch boy, by the name of James Walker (assumed name), deserted the ship at the Isle of Dominica, one of the Marquesas, on the 8th day of October, 1842; and they had good reason to believe that he was enticed away from the ship.”

Not having seen the captain’s journal, I cannot learn anything relative to the men who accompanied Don Guillermo when he left the vessel. I have added these few facts, thinking that they might be interesting to the relatives of Don Guillermo, who are now able to carry on a correspondence with him.