I have been thus particular in my description of the Patagonian chaussure; but you will understand my reasons, when I tell you that, from this trifling circumstance, not only has a vast territory of country, but the people who inhabit it, obtained the appellation by which both have long been known to the civilized world, that is, Patagonian.
When the sailors who accompanied Magellan first saw these colossal men, they noticed a peculiar circumstance in relation to their feet. The flaps, or “uppers,” of the gaiters, extending loosely across the tops of their feet, and exaggerated in breadth by the long hair that fringed out from their edges, gave to these Indians the appearance of having paws or “patas;” and the name patagones, or “duck-feet,” was given them by the sailors,—ever prone to the bestowal of a ludicrous epithet. This name, in a slightly altered form, they have borne ever since,—so that Patagonia means the country of the duck-footed men.
The gaiters of the Patagonians have their peculiar purpose. They are not worn merely for the sake of keeping the legs warm, but also as a protection against the thorny shrubs which in Patagonia, as in all desert lands, are exceedingly abundant.
The mantle and moccasons, then, constitute the Patagonian’s costume; and it does not differ so widely from that of his neighbor the Fuegian,—the chief points of difference being in the size and material.
Of course the guanaco-skin is much larger than that of the common seal; and a good Patagonian cloak would furnish “doublets” for a whole tribe of the diminutive Fuegians. Perhaps his ample garment has something to do in producing the exaggerated accounts that have been given of the stature of the Patagonians. Certain it is, that a man thus apparelled looks larger than he otherwise would do; and presents altogether a more imposing appearance. The Caffre, in his civet-cat “kaross,” and the Pawnee Indian, in his robe of shaggy buffalo-hide, loom very large upon karroo and prairie,—much larger in appearance than they really are. It is but natural, therefore, to suppose that the Patagonian, attired in his guanaco mantle, and seen against the sky, standing upon the summit of a conspicuous cliff, would present a truly gigantic appearance.
When first seen in this position he was on foot. It was in the year 1520,—before the Spaniards had set foot upon South-American soil,—and of course before the horse became naturalized to that continent. In less than thirty years afterward, he appeared upon these same cliffs bestriding a steed: for this noble animal had extended his range over the plains of America,—even at an earlier period than his European owner. When the Spaniards, in their after-attempts at conquering the Indians of the Pampas and those of the northern prairies, entered upon these great plains, they encountered, to their great astonishment, their red enemies upon horseback, brandishing long lances, and managing fiery chargers with a skill equal to their own!
Among the earliest tribes that obtained possession of the horse, were those of the Pampas: since the first of these animals that ran wild on the plains of America were those landed in the La Plata expedition of Mendoza,—whence they became scattered over the adjacent pampas of Buenos Ayres.
From the banks of the La Plata, the horse passed rapidly southward to the Straits of Magellan; and from that hour the Patagonian walked no more. With the exception of a spur,—usually a sharp stick of wood, upon his heel,—the only additional article of his “wear,” the horse has made no change in his costume, nor in the fashion of his toilet. He still paints his face, as Magellan first saw it,—with a white ring encircling one eye, and a black or red one around the other; with one half of his body colored black, and a white sun delineated upon it, while the other half is white, forming the “ground” for a black moon! Scarce two individuals, however, wear the same escutcheon; for the fashion of having eyes, arms, and legs of two different colors—just as our ancestors used to wear their doublets and hose—is that followed by the Patagonians.
Notwithstanding this queer custom,—usually regarded as savage,—it would be unjust to call the Patagonian a savage. If we overlook the circumstance of his painting himself,—which, after all, is scarce more absurd than numberless practices of civilized life,—if we excuse him for too scantily covering the nakedness of his person, and relishing his food a little “underdone,” we find little else, either in his habits or his moral nature that would entitle him to be termed a savage. On the contrary, from all the testimony that can be obtained,—in all the intercourse which white men have had with him,—there is scarce an act recorded, that would hinder his claim to being considered as civilized as they. Honorable and amiable, brave and generous, he has ever proved himself; and never has he exhibited those traits of vindictive ferocity supposed to be characteristic of the untutored man. He has not even harbored malice for the wrongs done him by the unprincipled adventurer Magellan: who, in his treatment of these people, proved himself more of a savage than they. But the Patagonian restrained his vengeance; and apparently burying the outrage in oblivion, has ever since that time treated the white man with a generous and dignified friendship. Those who have been shipwrecked upon his solitary shores, have had no reason to complain of the treatment they have received at his hands. He is neither cannibal, nor yet barbarian,—but in truth a gentleman,—or, if you prefer it, a gentleman savage.
But how does this gentleman maintain himself? We have already seen that he is not a fisherman,—for he owns no species of boat; and without that his chances of capturing fish would be slight and uncertain. We have stated, moreover, that his country is a sterile desert; and so it is,—producing only the scantiest of herbage; neither plant, nor tree, that would furnish food; and incapable of being cultivated with any success. But he does not attempt cultivation,—he has no knowledge of it; nor is it likely he would feel the inclination, even if tempted by the most fertile soil. Neither is he pastoral in his habits: he has no flocks nor herds. The horse and dog are his only domestic animals; and these he requires for other purposes than food. The former enables him to pass easily over the wide tracts of his sterile land, and both assist him in the chase,—which is his true and only calling. One of the chief objects of his pursuit is the ostrich; and he eats the flesh of this fine desert bird. He eats it, whenever he can procure it; but he could not live solely upon such food: since he could not obtain it in sufficient quantity; and were this bird the only means he had for supplying his larder, he would soon be in danger of starvation. True, the ostrich lays a great many eggs, and brings forth a large brood of young; but there are a great many hungry mouths, and a great many large stomachs among the Patagonian people. The ostrich could never supply them all; and were it their only resource, the bird would soon disappear from the plains of Patagonia, and, perhaps, the race of Patagonian giants along with it.