On the western selvage of this thistle tract lies the grass-covered section of the Pampas. It is much more extensive than that of the “cardonales,”—having an average width of three hundred miles, and running longitudinally throughout the whole northern and southern extension of the Pampas. Its chief characteristic is a covering of coarse grass,—which at different seasons of the year is short or tall, green, brown, or yellowish, according to the different degrees of ripeness. When dry, it is sometimes fired,—either by design or accident,—as are also the withered stems of the thistles; and on these occasions a conflagration occurs, stupendous in its effects,—often extending over vast tracts, and reducing everything to black ashes. Nothing can be more melancholy to the eye than the aspect of a burnt pampa.
The grass section is succeeded by that of the “openings,” or scanty forests, already mentioned; but the trees in many places are more closely set; assuming the character of thickets, or “jungles.” These tracts end among the spurs of the Andes,—which, at some points, are thrown out into the plain, but generally rise up from it abruptly and by a well-defined border.
The marshes and bitter lakes above mentioned are the produce of numerous streams, which have their rise in the Great Cordillera of the Andes, and run eastward across the Pampas. A few of these, that trend in a southerly direction, reach the Atlantic by means of the two great outlets,—the “Colorado” and “Negro.” All the others—and “their name is legion”—empty their waters into the morasses and lakes, or sink into the soil of the plains, at a greater or less distance from the Cordillera, according to the body of water they may carry down. Evaporation keeps up the equilibrium.
Who are the dwellers upon the Pampas? To whom does this vast pasture-ground belong? Whose flocks and herds are they that browse upon it?
You will be told that the Pampas belong to the republic of Buenos Ayres, or rather to the “States of the Argentine Confederation,”—that they are inhabited by a class of citizens called “Gauchos,” who are of Spanish race, and whose sole occupation is that of herdsmen, breeders of cattle and horses,—men famed for their skill as horsemen, and for their dexterity in the use of the “lazo” and “bolas,”—two weapons borrowed from the aboriginal races.
All this is but partially true. The proprietorship of this great plain was never actually in the hands of the Buenos-Ayrean government, nor in those of their predecessors,—the Spaniards. Neither has ever owned it—either by conquest or otherwise:—no further than by an empty boast of ownership; for, from the day when they first set foot upon its borders to the present hour, neither has ever been able to cross it, or penetrate any great distance into it, without a grand army to back their progress. But their possession virtually ceased at the termination of each melancholy excursion; and the land relapsed to its original owners. With the exception of some scanty strips along its borders, and some wider ranges, thinly occupied by the half-nomade Gauchos, the Pampas are in reality an Indian territory, as they have always been; and the claim of the white man is no more than nominal,—a mere title upon the map. It is not the only vast expanse of Spanish American soil that never was Spanish.
The true owners of the Pampas, then, are the red aborigines,—the Pampas Indians; and to give some account of these is now our purpose.
Forming so large an extent, it is not likely it should all belong to one united tribe,—that would at once elevate them into the character of a nation. But they are not united. On the contrary, they form several distinct associations, with an endless number of smaller subdivisions or communities,—just in the same way as it is among their prairie cousin of the north. They may all, however, be referred to four grand tribal associations or nationalities,—the Pehuenches, Puelches, Picunches, and Ranqueles.
Some add the Puilliches, who dwell on the southern rim of the Pampas; but these, although they extend their excursions over a portion of the great plain, are different from the other Pampas Indians in many respects,—altogether a braver and better race of men, and partaking more of the character of the Patagonians,—both in point of physique and morale,—of which tribes, indeed, they are evidently only a branch. In their dealings with white men, when fairly treated, these have exhibited the same noble bearing which characterises the true Patagonian. I shall not, therefore, lower the standard—neither of their bodies nor their minds—by classing them among “Pampas Indians.”
Of these tribes—one and all of them—we have, unfortunately, a much less favourable impression; and shall therefore be able to say but little to their credit.