Her father asked me to procure him a grinding organ, as Casimiro had informed him that he had seen music made by turning a handle. I promised to get one if I could, and after a cordial farewell returned to our toldo, as we intended going away at daylight on the 17th.
Accordingly we prepared for a start; and a boy came over from the other toldos to join us. He was a Tehuelche, whose father had been killed on suspicion of witchcraft, and being a remote connexion of Casimiro’s, had claimed his protection, which of course was granted, and he (Casimiro) had agreed to take him with us, informing him that he was to act as my page, look after my horses, &c., and make himself generally useful. This was a very fine idea, but one glance at the face and figure of this illustrious youth was sufficient to show me that I should probably spend my time in looking after him, and a more mischievous imp I never saw. When told that he might catch one of my horses to travel on, he immediately fixed on the wrong one, a horse that I had myself barely mounted for perhaps six weeks, in order to get it into condition for the journey into Patagones.
This horse he caught, and came down to the toldos at full gallop over rocks, stones, and bushes, with a grin of delight on his face. After being warned in mild terms that he was not to ride that horse, which I took from him and turned loose, he proceeded to catch one of Casimiro’s, which he treated in the same manner, but at length got the right one, and then, without saying ‘With your leave, or by your leave,’ galloped off, yelling at the top of his voice, to follow the road which the Indians had taken the previous day.
We were about to start ourselves when, at the last moment, Quintuhual sent to say that he wished to have a council. So Casimiro and myself remained in the pouring rain squatting on the grass listening to a repetition of what we had heard the previous day.
When the council was concluded a sheep was brought up and killed. The poor beast was lashed to a post with its head looking to the sky, and the throat being cut, salt was forced into the wound, the lip of which was compressed secundum artem, in order to flavour the blood and lungs, &c., which formed the repast. All the girls then crowded round, each preferring a request to us to bring a little yerba, flour, sugar, &c., from the settlements, till, our horses being ready, mine having been additionally burdened with the dead mutton by way of provisions for the road, we extricated ourselves from the crowd, and amidst repeated injunctions, charges, and affectionate farewells, got away, and towards 4 P.M. started to overtake the now distant cavalcade.
CHAPTER VIII.
GEYLUM TO PATAGONES.
A Sick Camp.—Oerroè Volcanic Hill.—Crimè’s Deathbed.—Graviel’s Promotion.—The Burning Ground.—Hot Springs.—Fighting the Gualichu.—A Real Fight.—A Soda Lake.—Encampment at Telck.—The Doctor comes to Grief.—An Obliging Ostrich.—Appointed Chasqui.—Miseries of Pampa Life.—A Bad Time.—The Plains of Margensho.—Casimiro’s Distrust.—Doctor and Sick Child.—Duties of a Messenger.—Departure of the Chasquis.—Travelling Express.—The Paved Pampas.—An Ideal Bandit.—Letter from the Chupat Colony.—Trinita.—Teneforo’s Pampas.—Champayo’s Generosity.—A Morning Drink.—Departure from Trinita.—Valchita.—The Pig’s-Road.—Wild Horses.—The Travesia.—Limit of the Patagonian Fauna and Flora.—First View of the Rio Negro.—Sauce Blanco.—The Guardia.—San Xaviel.—Approach to Patagones.—Señor Murga.—Welsh Hospitality.—Among Friends at Last.
We were now fairly started on our journey eastward to the Rio Negro, on my part with contending feelings of regret at quitting my recently acquired and amiable relatives, and of joyful expectation of reaching Patagones and finding there that which travellers, amidst all the excitement of new countries and strange people, still so eagerly long for—news from home! We galloped forward casting longing looks behind at the forest-clad slopes and snowy peaks of the Cordillera, the never-to-be-forgotten beauty of which made the dismal prospect of the country before us still more dreary.
My friends had been unanimous in describing the district that intervened between Geylum and a place spoken of as Margensho, nine marches distant, as both difficult to travel, and affording scanty pasture for the horses and little game for the people. The rain which had been falling when we left, had turned to sleet driven by a strong westerly gale, and my load of mutton sadly interfered with the management of the sheltering mantle. Fortunately, as the direction of our route was easterly, we thus escaped having to face the storm, while the gale in our backs stimulated both horses and riders to their utmost speed.