CHAPTER XXVI
THE EXPLORATION OF THE SALADO VALLEY
When poor Charles Mansfield made his journey up to the unknown Chaco, he passed, on his way, a district equally unknown at that time: the valley of the Salado River, which remained unexplored till 1863, when Hutchinson, the African traveller, traced the river to its source. Thomas Hutchinson, F.R.S., had been appointed British Consul at Rosario in 1862, and, before leaving England, had been instructed by the Foreign Secretary (Earl Russell) to take the first opportunity of exploring the Salado and its basin, and to test the truth of the report that the Indian territory there abounded in wild cotton.
It was not till the following year that he could spare time for a task which might occupy an indefinite period; and then he ascended the Parana by steamer as far as Parana City, rode across to Santa Fé, which is on the Salado River, and there began to make inquiries. Generally, a man on such an errand finds plenty of people ready to pour cold water on his schemes and to draw his attention to innumerable obstacles; but this time the reverse was the case. Though he could find none of the inhabitants who had 329 ever been more than a few miles higher up than Santa Fé, when he returned to his hotel that evening, the landlord informed him that a gentleman who was now in the smoking-room had just arrived by private steamer from Buenos Ayres, and had been asking the same question as himself: did anyone know anything of the upper part of the Salado?
The stranger was one, Don Ruberta, a young Argentino engineer who had studied in London; he had been making a survey of the Colorado and Rio Negro, and aspired to do the same on the Salado. He proposed starting on the following morning, and at once begged the Consul to accept the hospitality of his little launch; and so it came about that outlying Guaranis, Quiteños, and Chiquitos were enabled to behold a steam vessel—and probably an Englishman—for the first time.
The crew, which consisted of a Portuguese engineer and three Zambos, were as ignorant of the neighbourhood as their employer; but the main charm in river exploration lies in the fact that, so long as rapids, or dilemma-like forks, or mud-banks do not intervene, you have but to follow your nose. On the first day they passed sundry Indians in canoes, but these evinced no excitement or curiosity. Don Ruberta had divided his coal into two parts, and meant, if necessary, to steam for as long as the first half held out. At night the vessel stopped from dark till dawn, to avoid mud-banks, and in order that the explorers might miss nothing that could be of importance. By the middle of the second day they came to a rancheria, or collection of Gaucho huts, standing about a mile back from the 330 left bank; and, as it looked as if some valuable information might be obtained here, the two men landed and strolled up the hill.
The place was a very large horse-farm, but the Gauchos could tell them little or nothing of what they wanted to know, for their trade was all with Santiago or Cordoba, and they never had occasion to use the river. But one of the employés, a Quiteño Indian who hailed from the Bolivian frontier, said modestly that he could tell the señors all they needed to know about the river.
“Then will you come with me as pilot for a few days?” asked Ruberta.
“I will come—that is, if you are well armed. For there are wild people higher up, who eat man’s flesh; they run from guns, but they do not fear arrows unless there are many bowmen. Then, too, there are the river Chiquitos, who may blow poisoned darts at us unless we keep them at a distance.”
No objection was raised by the Gauchos, to whom Hutchinson gave a small money present, and the Indian retired to “pack up.” The luggage with which he very shortly reappeared was doubtless cumbersome; but then it comprised all that he needed, whether for a journey to the United States, or for setting up housekeeping permanently. Over his shoulders were slung bow, quiver, blanket, lance, and copper pot; in one hand he carried a hatchet, a bundle of lassoes, and two bolas; in the other, some spare thongs, a well-seasoned paddle, a pair of stirrups, each as big and wellnigh as heavy as the skidpan of a waggon-wheel, the sharpened angles of which did 331 duty for spurs; while at his belt hung a knife and a deer-skin pouch, the latter containing flint and steel, palmetto-leaves, tobacco, and a little bag of dried maté. Happy Quiteño; he was ready for any emergency; whether fighting, boat-building, horse-catching, or beast-slaying! Of the launch he had not much opinion; if it did not sink with all that weight of machinery, it would catch fire at any moment; nothing would persuade him to sleep in the tiny forecastle with the Zambos, and he passed the night wrapped in his blanket on deck.
The rancheria, he said, was the last civilised spot they would pass, for Tucuman was many days’ journey away from the water; so was Salta; and, after that, the river became only a stream, running through the territory of the Aymaras. The cotton he knew nothing about, which, from Hutchinson’s point of view, was awkward, as it would mean many landings and perhaps many fruitless searches.
The next morning the Consul woke soon after dawn, to find the guide peering through the hatch of the little after-cabin where he and Ruberta slept.
“The man-eaters have come,” whispered the Quiteño; “they have been watching us all night, I suppose. If you bring your gun you can kill many of them.”
Hutchinson went on deck and looked towards the nearer bank, which was about eight yards away. Crouching behind the reeds were some fifty Indians. He called out to them in Spanish; they made no answer, but slunk backwards a few steps up the slope, so bringing themselves into full view. They were of 332 medium height, stark naked, with no ornaments whatever, and armed only with short spears. The explorer had seen Niger savages and Fuegians, but neither had the debased, abject look of these men.
“Speak to them in your tongue. Tell them we mean no harm,” he said.
The Quiteño obeyed, and it was plain that they at least partially understood him.
“The dogs!” he said scornfully. “They think our boat is alive. May I kill them, Señor?”
“Rubbish. Tell them I and my friend are coming on shore after breakfast.—Ah, Señor Don; here are the cannibals, you see.”
“What do they say?” asked Ruberta, laughing.
“The dogs!” reiterated the guide. “They say that my people kill and eat them;” and he would have unslung his bow, but that Hutchinson stayed him.
“Tell them we will do them no harm, and that we are only coming to look for flowers; but that if they attempt to injure us we shall kill them.” This menace was more to the Indian’s taste, and he delivered the latter part of it with unction.
“They say they are not afraid of you, gentlemen, because you have no bows. It is I whom they fear.”
The crew had now come on deck, and at their appearance, one by one from the bowels of the boat as it were, the savages retreated still farther. The Zambo cook, as usual, laid the explorers’ breakfast on deck.
“Let’s test them with a little Christian diet,” said Ruberta, flinging a bunch of bananas towards the 333 inquisitive crowd, who at once scrambled for it. Those who succeeded in getting one of the fruits ate it greedily, rind and all, which told a tale: there was no fruit about here, and the savages, not having energy or courage to travel, had never tasted such a delicacy. Hutchinson cut off a thick round of cold ham and threw it after the bananas. The man who captured it took a big bite, and while he coughed and spluttered at it, his neighbour snatched the remainder from him, and was soon coughing in like manner. They had never tasted salt.
“Try them with bread,” said Ruberta to the cook, who took a steaming cake from his frying-pan and threw it on the bank. But no one picked it up. Already the smoke from the engine-funnel had surprised if not terrified them.
“They think it is alive,” said the Quiteño, “because it steams. They are not men, Señors; they are monkeys; they do not understand half what I say to them, and I suggest that your excellencies should kill them all.”
Hutchinson had already taken it for granted that they did not understand all that was said, for accustomed to listening attentively to uncivilised speech, he had detected in theirs that continual repetition of certain sounds, which argues a scanty vocabulary. When breakfast was finished he filled his pipe, and Ruberta rolled up a cigarette; this brought the Indians a pace nearer again, and made them stand on tiptoe; but when one of the white men struck a match they sprang back again, and, at sight of the smoke issuing from the strangers’ lips, they set 334 up a chorus of little shrieks that suggested even more fear than surprise; and was repeated with double vigour when the Quiteño and the crew also “lit up.” That an Indian, of all people, had never seen smoking told a tale in itself.
“Now draw in, Pedro,” said Ruberta to his engineer, who backed his engine, making towards a natural landing-place which had been observed on the previous night. “Diego; tell them once more we will not hurt them.”
The Quiteño repeated the message, which seemed to be received with indifference; but, as he leapt ashore, every spear was poised, and levelled at him.
“Come back. Ask them what’s the matter,” said Hutchinson.
Diego jumped back to the deck.
“They are saying that I want to kill them with my spear and arrows.”
“Well, then, let them see you lay them down.”
“I cannot go without my arms, Señor.”
“Stupid fellow; borrow Señor Pedro’s revolver, but hide it in your pouch; if they see it, they’ll want it, because it shines.” Then the explorer, versed in the ways of such people, held up a string of bright beads. He might as well have held up a turnip, for all the excitement or cupidity it created; and some scarlet cloth met with no better reception.
“Shall I try them with these, Señor?” said the Zambo cook, coming aft with a small basket of yesterday’s fish which he had been keeping for bait.
That they understood; their eyes brightened a little—a very little; and, as the half-breed threw 335 each raw and anything but fresh fish to them, it was scrambled for and greedily devoured.
The Quiteño now jumped a second time; the Indians started distrustfully, but did not threaten him with their spears, and the two white men followed him, their hands prudently on their hidden revolvers. The savages chattered excitedly, but still made no offensive motion.
“Ask them about the cotton, Diego,” said the Argentino. “Tall yellow flowers, with purple spots, tell them.”
“Yellow? What? Flowers? We eat them,” was the lucid reply which Diego obtained.
The truth was, the poor wretches were so degraded and helpless, that apart from obeying such elementary instincts as eating and killing, they knew nothing, thought nothing, understood nothing. They ate anything that they could chew or swallow: flowers, roots, slugs, beetles, and such fish, birds, or reptiles as they had the wit to kill; perhaps they filled their stomachs with mud upon occasion, as many savages are said to do; perhaps they actually were cannibals, and, like some of the Fuegians, ate their dead relatives instead of burying them. Altogether it was a sad spectacle; sadder still if one reflects that they may possibly have had in their veins the blood of a once powerful people.
As the strangers advanced, the Indians drew off, walking backwards and at a similar pace to theirs. The bank gave on to a shrub-dotted plain, covered with flowers of all colours, and, in patches, with giant thistles. Snipe started up from the ground at 336 the sound of the voices; in the distance were a few ostriches and wild cattle; but as the only weapon which the natives seemed to possess was this kind of club with a fish-bone point bound to it with a strip of fish-skin, it is probable that neither birds nor beasts suffered much at their hands.
This visit was not thrown away, for Hutchinson soon found enough wild cotton to encourage the hope that there was more in the neighbourhood. Meanwhile, Ruberta asked how the savages caught their fish. It turned out that they had even forgotten how to make lines, let alone hooks; they had no boats, and were dependent on spearing such fish as came under the banks from time to time. Where the poor souls lived was a mystery; not a habitation of any sort was visible. Only once more did they show anger or animation. Diego was questioning them, when all of a sudden they stopped and extended their spears, as if to bar the intruders’ passage; and, for a moment, their wooden expression gave place to something like ferocity and rage.
“What have you been saying to them?” asked Hutchinson anxiously.
“I merely asked what they had done with their women and children.”
The question was indiscreet, as the explorer could have told him; but their mode of answering it was interesting, as showing that the poor fellows had some little sense of proprietorship, if not of the duty of protecting those who should be dependent on them. Most likely they had sent the women and children away, on finding that strangers were in the neighbourhood—a 337 sign of suspicion, if not of meditated war, common among all Indians from the Eskimos to the Fuegians.
“They needn’t think we’re likely to want to marry into their tribe,” said Ruberta. “I think we have seen about enough of them now. Let’s get rid of them.” He drew his revolver and fired into a flock of wild duck that were making for the water. A startled scream rose from all the Indians; they turned and fled for perhaps fifty yards; then stopped and looked back; but just then the three Zambos who were loitering on the bank began running towards their employer, thinking the report was a danger signal; and this completed the panic of the savages, who fled over the nearest hill and were seen no more.
The launch proceeded another two days’ journey up the river, and this brought the travellers in sight of the distant peaks of the Andes. It was a positive relief here to meet with Indians who could help themselves, after the animal-like beings seen lower down. They began to pass canoes, and sometimes neat and prosperous villages peopled by Christian Guaranis and Quiteños; and now, as Ruberta wanted to stop and make geological researches, Hutchinson decided to continue the journey by land, and, taking Diego with him, agreed to return to the launch in a few days’ time.
Diego enlivened the journey; he chatted, hunted, introduced his master to various wandering Indians, as well as surprised him by his dexterity in the use of the bolas. He had consented to leave his paddle, cooking-pot, and spear in the boat, but could not be 338 prevailed upon to part with his lassoes, bolas, and stirrups. Such Indians as he are almost lost without a horse, and he showed Hutchinson before long that he meant to have one. As though to keep his hand in, he practised from time to time on the ostriches with his bolas, bringing down the ungainly birds with perfect ease from a distance of sixty or seventy yards. The weapon used for such work as this was lighter than that described in the last chapter, and consisted of only two joined thongs, the balls being pebbles covered with leather.
At the next village Hutchinson found that an ox-waggon was about to start for the spot which he wished to reach, and, having little admiration for the domestic horses of the neighbourhood, and no ambition to ride one of the wild ones which Diego was so confident of catching, he resolved to travel in this manner. But Diego had a soul above such a conveyance, and, that very evening, while the oxen were being unyoked, he stole away towards a small group of horses that were browsing on the plain. It was becoming a question of “do or die” with him now, for every step was taking the travellers farther from the region where horses are to be seen in any numbers. The Consul had many times seen a lasso used from the saddle, but he could not understand how Master Diego proposed to catch a horse while he was on foot; and he watched him eagerly through his field-glass.
Crawling on his belly, the Quiteño patiently worked his way towards the nearest horse, and no sooner did the animal turn his back on him, than he sprang up, and the noose had secured him. So far, so good; but 339 did Diego expect the animal to follow him like a pup on the lead, or a donkey in the shafts? thought the Consul. The horse gave a wild spring, and, for a second, the Indian was almost dragged off his feet; then he began to “play” his capture.
Diego was a fine-looking man, over six feet high, and with limbs as hard as a stone, though they were so slender; and he had no hesitation in pitting his own strength against the horse’s. With infinite patience he stood, the centre of a circle, while the frightened creature ran off his first fit of energy, round and round his captor; then, having spied a clump of trees not far away, the Quiteño let himself be dragged towards these; and, before the horse had realised that he was running to his doom, the lasso had taken a turn round the nearest trunk and was soon hitched there immovable.
By morning the prisoner was in a humbler frame of mind, and, under pressure, submitted to be loose-hobbled; Diego vaulted on to his back without thought of saddle or bridle, and, holding his mane, buffeted him so mercilessly over the face and withers, that Hutchinson was tempted to serve him the same. Less than half an hour of this management made the animal sufficiently tractable to submit to being saddled; and, with the skid-pan stirrups, the rest was perfectly easy—and disgusting.