On the southern shore a considerable tract of low land extends from the river, and is liable to be overflowed at high spring tides. This is devoted to the cultivation of wheat, ditches being cut to afford imperfect drainage; across these flats a causeway—the construction of which is chiefly due to the exertions of my friend the Welsh boatman Solomon—leads to the new town of El Merced, built on the higher ground, beyond the reach of floods. This, too, is laid out on the universal plan, and judging from the piles of brick and the numerous sites marked out for future houses, is rapidly growing in size and importance. The roads, however, were at the time of my visit as execrable as on the north side, and the outskirts were offensive with offal and rubbish, while the pantaño or mud-hole seemed to present an impassable barrier to friend or foe. The most noticeable buildings were—first, the new Church of Señora del Merced, in the Plaza, which, with its two towers, quite threw into the shade its elder rival del Carmen, on the northern side; and next the English Mission Station, a considerable building occupying two sides of a square, one wing containing the room used as a chapel, whilst the other constituted the residence and dispensary of the missionary, Rev. Dr. Humble. This gentleman, whose hospitality I frequently enjoyed, combined in his own person the functions of doctor and clergyman. As regards the mission, the converts did not appear to be numerous; indeed an Indian girl, who acted as servant and nurse, seemed to be the only specimen. The whole establishment was scrupulously neat and clean, and afforded an agreeable contrast to the surrounding buildings. In front a considerable tract of ground extended to the river bank, part of which constituted a pleasant garden, or quinta, the remainder being used for grazing the horses of the establishment, whilst a ditch cut at the lower end afforded a harbour for the medical missionary’s boat.
Dr. Humble formerly had a school for children, but it was given up, I believe, on account of the opposition raised by the Padre. The church was generally pretty full on Sundays, when the British flag is hoisted to denote the hour of prayer; and as half the service was conducted in Spanish, a good sprinkling of the native inhabitants was generally present—some perhaps with a view to obtain advice from the pastor in his medical capacity, in which his skill and kindness made him deservedly popular.
According to Sir Woodbine Parish, the population of Patagones in 1832 amounted to no more than 800: although no statistical means of accurate information were at my disposal, I should be inclined to estimate the present number of inhabitants at not less than 2,000, and they may exceed that number.
They are divided into four very distinctly-defined classes:—1st. The descendants of the original and early Spanish settlers; 2ndly. The more recent foreign immigrants; 3rdly. The negroes; and 4thly. The convicts sent hither from the Argentine Republic. The descendants of the original settlers, who for some unknown reason are styled by their townsmen ‘Malagatos,’ both in name and character manifest their unmixed descent from the sturdy Gallegos, or settlers from Galicia. Closely united by intermarriage, they form, as it were, one family, almost every member of which is either a Crespo or a Real. Although hitherto jealously exclusive as regards any admixture of their ‘sangre azul’ by alliance with the foreigners—except perhaps Englishmen—the men are remarkable for their hospitable kindness and courtesy, whilst the ladies would vie with those of any part of Old Spain or the Argentine provinces in grace of manners or beauty. One noticeable feature of their character was that both men and women manifested a far more punctilious respect for religion than I had ever observed in other Catholic countries. Every one made it a point of being present at mass whenever it was celebrated. I was among the guests when Don Benito Crespo was entertaining a party at dinner, given to celebrate his daughter’s birthday, which happened to fall during the period of the novena in honour of Santa Rosa, and when the bell sounded for vespers everybody rose from table and hurried off to the church.
The second part of the population—the foreigners—present a motley group of people of all nations, but the majority are Italians and Basque Spaniards. There are a few French, English, Welsh, Swiss, and Germans.
The negroes are the descendants of an importation of slaves, introduced when the slave trade was legal by the Governor, a Frenchman named Viba, Casimiro’s patron, who appears to have entertained an idea of employing them to cultivate the public lands. They all live together in one quarter of the town—excepting, of course, those who go out as servants—and keep up many old traditions and customs. They are called by the Gauchos ‘Blandequis,’ which may be a corruption of Mandingo, and are a fine hard-working race, whose industrious habits and general character differ widely from the debased type of the negroes in the Brazils. Their exact numbers I am ignorant of, but was informed that they were once very much more numerous, their rapid decrease being caused by their being drawn as soldiers, and the ravages of the universal scourge of small-pox.
Lastly comes the convict element. Carmen, at an early period of its history, was made a ‘presidio,’ or frontier penal settlement, in this respect resembling Punta Arenas; but the strict discipline of the Chilian colony is altogether wanting in Patagones. There is a constant importation to the latter place of deserters from the army, robbers, and felons of every description, sent down from Buenos Ayres. These men are, on their arrival, either enlisted as soldiers, or turned loose on society, and allowed to work where and how they please, or otherwise obtain a livelihood. They cannot, it is true, escape, as there is no chance of getting away by sea, and the almost certain danger of death or captivity amongst the Pampa Indians is a sufficient safeguard against their betaking themselves to the interior; but beyond this there is no restraint exercised. Horse-stealing is, in the event of any animal being left unwatched, a moral certainty, and robberies of all kinds are frequent and go almost unpunished; while murder, in the rare cases in which the criminals are detected, simply involves being sent back to Buenos Ayres for a trial, which results in a sentence of transportation back to the Rio Negro. One man named Ruiz was pointed out as having been four times backward and forward to and from Buenos Ayres for murders committed: this man openly boasted that whenever he wanted a trip he had to kill a man. Another man, who had robbed the Bishop of Buenos Ayres of a jewelled clock, by presentation of a forged order, filled the position of billiard marker at the hotel, and was looked on as rather a clever fellow. The Commandante’s orderly was also a man sent down for homicide. The state of society when these ruffians—every one of whom carries a knife, which is used on the slightest occasion—are allowed thus to remain loose may be better imagined than described.
My friend Don Pablo was attacked one evening close to his house, but fortunately escaped unhurt. Murder is of weekly occurrence, and it is necessary for everyone to carry some weapon of self-defence, while few people think of leaving the town without a revolver.
In the utter absence of legal protection, a project was mooted among some of the foreigners to establish a vigilance committee on the simple principle of mutual protection and agreement to avenge any injury to one of the society. As Sir Lucius consoled his friend by the remark that there is ‘snug lying in the abbey,’ the unprotected inhabitants of Patagones can pride themselves on their possessing an excellent new cemetery, situated to the north, about half a mile outside the town, which is surrounded by a brick wall, with iron gates, and kept in a neat and orderly condition. A little east of it, nearer the town, lies the old cemetery, the neglected state of which, when I visited it, offered a melancholy contrast: the mud wall was breached in many places; coffins appeared protruding from the sand, and in some cases were actually uncovered; skulls and bones lay exposed to view; and, as a climax, a cat jumped out of one coffin in which she had taken up her abode. I was extremely surprised at such want of respect being shown by the residents to the bones of their departed ancestors, and remarked on it to my companion, who shrugged his shoulders and muttered something which sounded like the inevitable ‘Mañana.’
The most interesting relics of the first founders of the colony are a number of caves, or dwellings, excavated in the sandstone cliff, four miles below the town; they contain three or four chambers, leading into each other, and from eight to ten feet square. In one I remarked a sort of trough, hollowed out in the sandstone, which more resembled a manger than anything else. Tradition narrates that these were used as dwellings by the first settlers, or perhaps as hiding-places for themselves, or for their cattle, in times of war with the Indians.