At home with the Patagonians

by George C. Musters

At the end of this debauch a bill was handed to him which, I should think, took the value of nearly half his rations. This sobered him, and he, taking my advice, left the hotel, and crossing the river proceeded to Sauce Blanco to look after his rations and Indians. On the whole, the Indians behaved very well whilst in the settlement. I saw, of course, some drunkenness, but not nearly so much as I had expected. One and all parted from me with most cordial farewells, and pressed me to return to the Pampa, as they call it, as soon as possible. Jackechan was one of the last to leave. He, as well as one or two of the others, had found an old acquaintance in Mr. Humphreys, formerly of the Chupat colony, but now settled in Patagones as carpenter. We all met in Mr. Humphreys’s house one Sunday after church, and had a long talk relative to this Chupat settlement, and to the answer received to my letter brought by Jackechan’s chasqui. The statement in it that the settlers had no stores of any sort, and that of the Indian messenger that they were almost destitute of clothing, have been fully corroborated by the despatches of Commander Dennistoun, H.M.S. Cracker, published whilst these pages were being written. Mr. Humphreys considered himself and the few companions who had accompanied him to the Rio Negro fortunate in having left when they did; and all agreed that the colonists would do better if transferred to the Rio Negro, where those who were skilled in trades would be able to live in comparative ease, and the mere labourers find plenty of work, and be able at any rate to maintain themselves. I cannot but record my astonishment that Mr. Lewis Jones—who, although I am not personally acquainted with him, must, from the report given me by the Indians, be a man of no ordinary understanding—should endeavour to maintain the colony in a place which had formerly been tried by others and abandoned as hopeless, the distance of the harbour—thirty miles off—alone being a certain obstacle to its prosperity.

The visionary scheme of a Welsh Utopia, in pursuit of which these unfortunate emigrants settled themselves, ought not to be encouraged, likely as it is to end in the starvation of the victims to it. Had it not been for the charity of the Argentine Government, this must have been their fate ere now. Jackechan described to me that he had seen the settlers ‘eating grass,’ and had taught some of them how to hunt and furnished them with bolas. The Blue Book just published confirms the truth of this statement, and perhaps renders it needless for me to go more into the subject; but I must add that, though at that time friendly and well-disposed, this chief considered the settlers as intruders on his territory, and avowed his intention of demanding payment at a future time—a refusal of rent being in such a case sure to be followed by a very summary process of cattle driving and eviction.

The Rio Negro, with all its drawbacks of Indians, locusts, floods, and droughts, is certainly infinitely superior to the Chupat. If the Welsh wish to live as a separate community, I am sure that Señor Aguirre will only be too happy to let them settle on his tract of land between the Upper and Second Guardia, where already some of their countrymen—Messrs. Williams and Owen—have taken land.

After the Indians had left, I gave myself over to the enjoyments of social life in Patagones, which did not prove sufficient to reconcile me to the delay consequent on the non-arrival of the steamer. My days were spent in walking about, playing billiards, and taking matè; and a visit in the evening to Don Domingo’s, where a party were in the habit of meeting to play ‘truco’ for sweetmeats. Sometimes we varied this by calling on some of the fair señoritas, or spending the evening at the house of Mr. Davis, the engineer of the Choelechel, in the company of his amiable señora. All the young ladies agreed that Patagones was very ‘triste,’ especially those who had been to Buenos Ayres, and had enjoyed the delights of the opera and bands of music in the Plaza.

On Sundays, after mass and service in the mission station, attended by all the English, a race would sometimes take place, or, in default, there would be sure to be a cock fight held on the south side; at either of which Commandante Murga invariably attended. There was also a fives court, where some Basques or natives were generally to be found playing. Once or twice I accompanied Dr. Humble—not, however, on Sunday—in a pull on the river. Every day we looked out anxiously for the steamer, which had been so long overdue as to make it appear probable that she had met with an accident. Tired of the delay, I had just negotiated my passage in a Dutch schooner laden with grain for Buenos Ayres, when one evening the steamer arrived, having been delayed in Bahia Blanca.

In the morning I was agreeably surprised by the size of the steamer, formerly the Montauk, of Boston, but rechristened the Patagones, and owned by Messrs. Aguirre and Murga. She was pretty well fitted up as regards accommodation, but all the decks, cabins, and every part of her presented a very dirty appearance.

After two days’ stay she hoisted the blue peter, and, having taken my passage, together with Messrs. Fraser and Kincaid, who were going to Buenos Ayres on business, and Mr. Gibb, who was on his return to Europe, repaired on board, where we found a considerable number of passengers assembled; the distinguished billiard-marker who had annexed the clock amongst the number. About 4 P.M. we weighed, and, bidding adieu to Patagones, started down the river with the ebb tide, intending to anchor for the night in the Boca and cross the long line of sandbank, which forms a dangerous bar, with the morning tide. We steamed along smoothly enough until just well within sight of the ships lying in the Boca, when a sudden concussion announced that she was ashore on a sandbank, where she stuck hard and fast. We thought little of the misadventure, expecting to be off at high tide, and some of us went on shore and pic-nicked on the flats bordering the river. We returned about ten, and about midnight I was woke up by hearing one of the funnel guys snap, and, going on deck, found that, though the bow of the ship was high out of the water, the stern was in deep water, and the ship severely straining amidships in consequence. A few minutes after the main steam pipe broke: the steam had, however, luckily been turned off, or the consequences would have been disastrous to those in the after part of the ship. The ladies were then landed, for fear of accidents, and the remainder of us held a consultation as to how we should get to Buenos Ayres, and ultimately went to sleep on it.

The following morning the Choelechel came down and succeeded in towing the vessel off, and the Dutch captain of the schooner came on board and agreed to take me and some others on to Buenos Ayres. We accordingly jumped into a boat, and proceeding down to the Boca, got on board the schooner, hoping to sail the next day; but were again doomed to be disappointed.

The captain went up to buy provisions, and did not return till late the following evening. Meantime the wind set in foul in the morning, and the line of roaring white breakers on the bar showed the impossibility of sailing; so we were compelled to wait, looking out on the dreary sand-dunes which narrowed the entrance to the river on either side.

Some of us went on shore to visit the pilot station, and had a talk with the pilot, a brave old German or Dutchman. This veteran and his men had successfully defended his station against a large force of Indians in the raid of Lenquetrou. The enemy desired to get possession of a howitzer which is kept in the station, and the Indians rushed actually up to the enclosure, while the men fired on them almost muzzle to their breasts, at last succeeding in beating them off with immense loss.