In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Our stay in Tucuman lasted but a few days. During this time our Quechua boy, who had been with us constantly since our first arrival in Cochabamba, spent most of his time at the zoological park. The lions, the tigers, even the camels did not interest him greatly; but the elephant! It was impossible that there could be any such animal. He spent hour after hour seated on the ground silently contemplating the great creature. I wondered what his people would say to him when he returned to them and attempted to describe what he had seen.

As our next efforts were to be directed toward a new province, it was again necessary to secure the very essential permits. This time there was no trouble. At Santiago del Estero, a backward city of small size and not particularly attractive appearance, we were required merely to be photographed and have our finger-prints taken, after which we received certificates stating that we had no police record in that state and were assumed to be respectable and trustworthy; the licenses to hunt were attached. We wasted no time in the city and took the first available train to Suncho Corral, about a five hours’ ride.

Suncho Corral is a collection of perhaps fifty adobe shacks, and its inhabitants seemed to be mostly Turks and Syrians. We paid our respects to the local jefe without delay and he secured for us permission to camp on the landholding of a friend of his; the place was about a mile distant. We pitched the tents in a delightful grove on the bank of the Rio Salido. All the country is covered with a dense growth of cacti, shrubbery, and tall, thorny trees; it was unlike any we had seen before. There were a few small areas cleared of the indigenous growth and planted in corn, which thrived; water was supplied by irrigation. However, the people, who lived in widely separated huts, seemed to subsist mainly on their flocks of sheep, goats, and the limited number of cattle. There were so many dogs in the neighborhood that they were a plague. Each night numbers prowled about camp, barking, fighting, and trying to tear open bags of provisions. We did not know how to get rid of them without killing them, and this we did not wish to do; but our boy found a way. One night we heard series after series of yelps followed by frantic rushes to distant parts. Next morning we discovered that Antonio had set a dozen large, powerful “rat-killers” around the tent, baited with tempting morsels of meat. When a dog attempted to take the food it received a terrific blow across the nose—hence the yelps. We of course stopped the practice, but the dogs did not return in sufficient numbers to be troublesome.

The water of the Rio Salido is brackish and unfit for drinking. There were few fish—catfish and a species of pacu. We had no time for angling, but occasionally saw a string caught by some villager.

About the first bird to attract our attention was a species of wood-hewer with a curved bill three or four inches long. They were always seen in pairs or small flocks, often in company with the very common woodpecker (Chrysoptilus). Occasionally there were half a dozen of the former and twenty or more of the latter in a single party, on the ground, feeding on insects and larvæ that lived in the litter of bark and leaves under the giant cactus plants. They formed a noisy group, especially if alarmed, when they took to the trees or cacti and kept up a continuous chirping. They tried to keep on the far side of the trunks and branches, but curiosity prompted them to peep around the edges frequently to see what was going on. The giant wood-hewer (Xiphocolaptes major), as large as a mourning-dove and with a long, powerful beak, was far less common. Another bird frequently found in company with any or all of the former was a species of brush-bird the size of a blue jay, but of a brown color; it built stick-nests three feet across that must have weighed up to fifty pounds. We also saw for the first time a bird whose habits reminded us greatly of the road-runner. It ran along the ground with crest erected and tail held high, and was so wary that one could not approach it within shooting distance. But the moment it reached a thicket and hopped up into the branches it lost practically all caution and we could get to within a few yards of it. Perhaps the bird’s chief enemies are terrestrial—hence its extremely suspicious nature while on the ground, and the apparent feeling of safety when in a bush or tree.

Next, we again headed for the Chaco, having as our goal a station called Avia Terai, about half-way to Resistencia on the Paraguay River. The train was packed with Italian home-seekers; they were a noisy, quarrelsome lot. Many of them were drunk or ill, and so many unsavory things were occurring constantly in the coaches (there were no compartment-cars), that we remained in the buffet-car. An aged bishop, accompanied by two priests, were fellow passengers. The prelate got off at each stop to bless the crowds that had collected to see him, and then as many as possible knelt to kiss his ring before the train pulled out. After the trio returned to their table, the two priests promptly fell asleep while their venerable superior read from a small prayer-book. I wondered why he tolerated such sleepy, uninteresting companions. At midnight we reached Añatuya and changed to another train. This place was one of wild confusion. There were mountains of luggage piled on the platform, and mobs of excited people rushing wildly about in vain attempts to locate their belongings. I was alarmed over the safety of our own possessions, so stationed the faithful Antonio near the door of the baggage-car with instructions to let me know when unloading began; we then secured peons to immediately carry the trunks and bags to our train, thus avoiding their being dumped on the huge piles, and perhaps lost.

In the early morning we reached Quimilí, at which place a siding branches off to Tintina; most of the immigrants went in this direction. The country was all flat and covered with grass. Later on clumps of forest appeared which grew larger and denser as we went farther east. There were numerous stops but no towns of any importance. At 2.30 P. M., the train halted at Avia Terai, and we were soon encamped in the rear of one of the two huts comprising that station.

About all we could see from our abode was an immense area covered with tall weeds, surrounded by dense forest. Sand-flies, called polvoriños, filled the air like flecks of dust so that we had to keep a smudge going most of the time. The people said there was a great deal of malaria in the neighborhood, and one look into their faces was ample to substantiate the statement. Usually it was very hot; it rained most of the time, but occasionally the nights were very cold—an altogether disagreeable combination of weather.

One of our trunks, containing all the instruments, had mysteriously disappeared from the baggage-car, so we had only a pocket-knife with which to work; but, by putting in longer hours we managed to keep up to our average daily number in preparing specimens. We gave the conductor of a passing train a tip of several pesos, and on his next run he brought us the missing trunk, saying that he had found it at a station a few miles below.

It was impossible to explore the country as thoroughly as we should have liked on account of the almost incessant rain. When the downpour did stop, which was at dusk, flocks of large, white-bellied night-hawks appeared and circled above the grass, catching insects. They were beautiful creatures, and always came back to the same restricted areas to feed on small black beetles that flew up in great numbers from the grass. As darkness settled over the Chaco the flocks suddenly dispersed and they disappeared singly in all directions. We found them spending the days in open places—out in the hot sun or rain. The railroad-track, or small plots where there was not even grass, were the favorite sleeping-sites chosen, and sometimes two or three were found together.