Odd people

by Mayne Reid

Chapter Twelve.

The Pehuenches, or Pampas Indians.

The vast plain known as the “Pampas” is one of the largest tracts of level country upon the face of the earth. East and west it stretches from the mouth of the Rio de la Plata to the foothills of the Andes mountains. It is interrupted on the north by a series of mountains and hill country, that cross from the Andes to the Paraguay River, forming the Sierras of Mendoza, San Luis, and Cordova; while its southern boundary is not so definitely marked, though it may be regarded as ending at the Rio Negro, where it meets, coming up from the south, the desert plains of Patagonia.

Geologically, the Pampas (or plains, as the word signifies, in the language of the Peruvian Indians) is an alluvial formation,—the bed of an ancient sea,—upheaved by some unknown cause to its present elevation, which is not much above the ocean-level. It is not, therefore, a plateau or “tableland,” but a vast natural meadow. The soil is in general of a red colour, argillaceous in character, and at all points filled with marine shells and other testimonies that the sea once rolled over it. It is in the Pampas formation that many of the fossil monsters have been found,—the gigantic megatherium, the colossal mylodon, and the giant armadillo (glyptodon), with many other creatures, of such dimensions as to make it a subject of speculation how the earth could have produced food enough for their maintenance.

In giving to the Pampas the designation of a vast meadow, do not suffer yourself to be misled by this phrase,—which is here and elsewhere used in rather a loose and indefinite manner. Many large tracts in the Pampas country would correspond well enough to this definition,—both as regards their appearance and the character of the herbage which covers them; but there are other parts which bear not the slightest resemblance to a meadow. There are vast tracts thickly covered with tall thistles,—so tall as to reach to the head of a man mounted on horseback, and so thickly set, that neither man nor horse could enter them without a path being first cleared for them.

Other extensive tracts are grown over with tall grass so rank as to resemble reeds or rushes more than grass; and an equally extensive surface is timbered with small trees, standing thinly and without underwood, like the fruit-trees in an orchard. Again, there are wide morasses and extensive lakes, many of them brackish, and some as salt as the sea itself. In addition to these, there are “salinas,” or plains of salt,—the produce of salt lakes, whose waters have evaporated, leaving a stratum of pure salt often over a foot in thickness, and covering their beds to an extent of many square leagues. There are some parts, too, where the Pampas country assumes a sterile and stony character,—corresponding to that of the great desert of Patagonia. It is not correct therefore, to regard the Pampas as one unbroken tract of meadow. In one character alone is it uniform in being a country without mountains,—or any considerable elevations in the way of ridges or hills,—though a few scattered sierras are found both on its northern and southern edges.

The Thistle Pampas, as we take the liberty of naming them, constitute perhaps the most curious section of this great plain; and not the less so that the “weed” which covers them is supposed not to be an indigenous production, but to have been carried there by the early colonists. About this, however, there is a difference of opinion. No matter whence sprung, the thistles have flourished luxuriantly, and at this day constitute a marked feature in the scenery of the Pampas. Their position is upon the eastern edge of the great plain, contiguous to the banks of the La Plata; but from this river they extend backwards into the interior, at some points to the distance of nearly two hundred miles. Over this vast surface they grow so thickly that, as already mentioned, it is not possible for either man or horse to make way through them. They can only be traversed by devious paths—already formed by constant use, and leading through narrow lanes or glades, where, for some reason, the thistles do not choose to grow. Otherwise they cannot be entered even by cattle. These will not, unless compelled, attempt penetrating such an impervious thicket; and if a herd driven along the paths should chance to be “stampeded” by any object of terror, and driven to take to the thistles, scarce a head of the whole flock can ever afterwards be recovered. Even the instincts of the dumb animals do not enable them to find their way out again; and they usually perish, either from thirst, or by the claws of the fierce pumas and jaguars, which alone find themselves at home in the labyrinthine “cardonales.” The little viscacha contrives to make its burrow among them, and must find subsistence by feeding upon their leaves and seed, since there is no other herbage upon the ground,—the well-armed thistle usurping the soil, and hindering the growth of any other plants. It may be proper to remark, however, that there are two kinds of these plants, both of which cover large tracts of the plain. One is a true thistle, while the other is a weed of the artichoke family, called by the Spanish Americans “cardoon.” It is a species of Cardunculus. The two do not mingle their stalks, though both form thickets in a similar manner and often in the same tract of country. The cardoon is not so tall as the thistle; and, being without spines, its “beds” are more easily penetrated; though even among these, it would be easy enough to get entangled and lost.

It is proper to remark here, that these thistle-thickets do not shut up the country all the year round. Only for a season,—from the time they have grown up and “shoot,” till their tall ripened stalks wither and fall back to the earth, where they soon moulder into decay. The plains are then open and free to all creatures,—man among the rest,—and the Gaucho, with his herds of horses, horned cattle, and sheep, or the troops of roving Indians, spread over and take possession of them.

The young thistles now present the appearance of a vast field of turnips; and their leaves, still tender, are greedily devoured by both cattle and sheep. In this condition the Pampas thistles remain during their short winter; but as spring returns, they once more “bristle” up, till, growing taller and stouter, they present a chevaux-de-frise that at length expels all intruders from their domain.