It may be remarked that the Patagonian women, although not so tall as their men, are in the usual proportion observable between the sexes. Many of them are more corpulent than the men; and if the latter be called giants, the former have every claim to the appellation of giantesses!
We have observed, elsewhere, the very remarkable difference between the two territories, lying respectively north and south of the Magellan Straits,—the Patagonian on the north, and the Fuegian on the south. No two lands could exhibit a greater contrast than these,—the former with its dry sterile treeless plains,—the latter almost entirely without plains; and, excepting a portion of its eastern end, without one level spot of an acre in breadth; but a grand chaos of humid forest-clad ravines and snow-covered mountains. Yet these two dissimilar regions are only separated by a narrow sea-channel,—deep, it is true; but so narrow, that a cannon-shot may be projected from one shore to the other. Not less dissimilar are the people who inhabit these opposite shores; and one might fancy a strange picture of contrast presented in the Straits of Magellan: on some projecting bluff on the northern shore, a stalwart Patagonian, eight feet in height, with his ample guanaco skin floating from his shoulders, and his long spear towering ten feet above his head;—on the southern promontory, the dwarfed and shrivelled figure of a Fuegian,—scarce five feet tall,—with tiny bow and arrows in hand, and shivering under his patch of greasy sealskin!—and yet so near each other, that the stentorian voice of the giant may thunder in the ears of the dwarf; while the henlike cackle of the latter may even reach those of his colossal vis-à-vis!
Notwithstanding this proximity, there is no converse between them; for, unlike as are their persons, they are not more dissimilar than their thoughts, habits, and actions. The one is an aquatic animal, the other essentially terrestrial; and, strange to say, in this peculiarity the weaker creature has the advantage: since the Fuegian can cross in his bark canoe to the territory of his gigantic neighbour, while the latter has no canoe nor water-craft of any kind, and therefore never thinks of extending his excursions to the “land of fire,” excepting at one very narrow place where he has effected a crossing. In many other respects, more particularly detailed elsewhere,—in their natural dispositions and modes of life, these two peoples are equally dissimilar; and although learned craniologists may prove from their skulls, that both belong to one division of the human family, this fact proves also that craniology, like anatomy, is but a blind guide in the illustration of scientific truth,—whether the subject be the skull of a man or an animal. Despite all the revelations of craniologic skill, an Indian of Patagonia bears about the same resemblance to an Indian of Tierra del Fuego, as may be found between a bull and a bluebottle!
Before proceeding to describe the modes of life practised by the Patagonian giants, a word or two about the country they inhabit.
It may be generally described as occupying the whole southern part of South America,—from the frontier of the Spanish settlements to the Straits of Magellan,—and bounded east and west by the two great oceans. Now, the most southern Spanish (Buenos-Ayrean) settlement is at the mouth of Rio Negro; therefore, the Rio Negro—which is the largest river south of the La Plata—may be taken as the northern boundary of Patagonia. Not that the weak, vitiated Spanish-American extends his sway from the Atlantic to the Andes: on the contrary, the Indian aborigines, under one name or another, are masters of the whole interior,—not only to the north of the Rio Negro, but to the very shores of the Caribbean Sea! Yes, the broad inland of South America, from Cape Horn to the sea of the Antilles, is now, as it always has been, the domain of the Red Indian; who, so far from having ever been reduced by conquest, has not only resisted the power of the Spanish sword, and the blandishments of the Spanish cross; but at this hour is encroaching, with constant and rapid strides, upon the blood-stained territory wrested from him by that Christian conquest!
And this is the man who is so rapidly to disappear from the face of the earth! If so, it is not the puny Spaniard who is destined to push him off. If he is to disappear, it will be at such a time, that no Spaniard will be living to witness his extermination.
Let us take Patagonia proper, then, as bordered upon the north by the Rio Negro, and extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific. In that case it is a country of eight hundred miles in length, with a breadth of at least two hundred,—a country larger than either France or Spain. Patagonia is usually described as a continuation of the great plains, known as the “Pampas,” which extend from the La Plata River to the eastern slope of the Andes. This idea is altogether erroneous. It is true that Patagonia is a country of plains,—excepting that portion of it occupied by the Andes, which is, of course, a mountain tract, much of it resembling Tierra del Fuego in character more than Patagonia. Indeed, Patagonia proper can hardly be regarded as including this mountain strip: since the Patagonian Indians only inhabit the plains properly so called. These plains differ essentially from those of the Pampas. The latter are based upon a calcareous formation: and produce a rank, rich herbage,—here of gigantic thistles and wild artichokes,—there of tall grasses; and, still nearer the mountains, they are thinly covered with copses of low trees. The plains of Patagonia on the other hand, are of tertiary formation, covered all over with a shingly pebble of porphyry and basalt, and almost destitute of vegetation. Here and there are some tufts of scanty grass with a few stunted bushes in the valleys of the streams, but nothing that can be called a tree. A surface drear and arid, in places mottled with “salinas” or salt lakes; with fresh water only found at long intervals, and, when found, of scanty supply. There are many hilly tracts, but nothing that can be called mountains,—excepting the snow-covered Cordilleras in the west. The Patagonian plain is not everywhere of equal elevation: it rises by steps, as you follow it westward, beginning from the sea-level of the Atlantic shore; until, having reached the piedmont of the Andes, you still find yourself on a plain, but one which is elevated three thousand feet above the point from which you started. At all elevations, however, it presents the same sterile aspect; and you perceive that Patagonia is a true desert,—as much so as Atacama, in Peru, the desert of the Colorado in the north, the “barren grounds” of Hudson’s Bay, the Sahara and Kalahari, Gobi, or the steppe of Kaurezm. To the South-African deserts it bears a more striking resemblance than to any of the others,—a resemblance heightened by the presence of that most remarkable of birds,—the ostrich. Two species stalk over the plains of Patagonia,—the struthio rhea and struthio Darwinii. The former extends northward over the Pampas, but not southward to the Straits of Magellan; the latter reaches the Straits, but is never seen upon the Pampas. The ranges of both meet and overlap near the middle of the Patagonian plain.
In addition to the ostrich, there are other large birds that frequent the steppes of Patagonia. The great condor here crosses the continent, and appears upon the Atlantic shores. He perches upon the cliffs of the sea,—as well as those that overhang the inland streams,—and builds his nest upon the bare rock. Two species of polyborus, or vulture-eagles,—the “carrancha” and “chiniango,”—fly side by side with the condor; and the black turkey-vultures are also denizens of this desert land. The red puma, too, has his home here; the fox of Azara; and several species of hawks and eagles.
With the exception of the first-mentioned—the ostrich—all these beasts and birds are predatory creatures; and require flesh for their subsistence. Where do they get it? Upon what do they all prey? Surely not upon the ostrich: since this bird is bigger than any of the birds of prey, and able to defend itself even against the great condor. There are only one or two other species of birds upon which the eagles might subsist,—a partridge and two kinds of plover; but the vultures could not get a living out of partridges and plovers. Small quadrupeds are alike scarce. There are only two or three species; and very small creatures they are,—one a sort of mole, “terutero,” and several kinds of mice. The latter are, indeed, numerous enough in some places,—swarming over the ground in tracts so sterile, that it is difficult to understand upon what they subsist. But vultures do not relish food, which they require to kill for themselves. They are too indolent for that; and wherever they are found, there must be some source of supply,—some large quadrupeds to provide them with their favourite food,—carrion. Otherwise, in this desert land, how should the ravenous puma maintain himself?—how the vultures and vulture-eagles? and, above all, upon what does the Patagonian himself subsist,—a man of such great bulk, as naturally to require more than the ordinary amount of food? The answer to all these questions, then, is, that a quadruped does exist in the deserts of Patagonia; which, if it furnish not all these creatures with their full diet supplies, does a large proportion of it. This quadruped is the guanaco.
Before proceeding to give an account of the guanaco, let us paint the portrait of the Patagonian himself.