The other ends of the thongs are knotted to each other; and when the strings are at full stretch, the balls will then be about eight feet apart,—in other words, each thong should be four feet in length. The bolas are now made, and ready for use. The chief difficulty in their manufacture lies in the rounding of the stones; which, as above observed, is the work of the women; and at least two days are required to grind a pair of bola-stones to the proper spherical shape. To handle them requires long practice; and this the Patagonian has had: for, ever since the young giant was able to stand upon his feet, he has been in the habit of playing with the bolas. They have been the toy of his childhood; and to display skill in their management has been the pride of his boyish days; therefore, on arriving at full maturity, no wonder he exhibits great dexterity in their use. He can then project them to a distance of fifty yards,—with such precision as to strike the legs of either man or quadruped, and with such force, that the thong not only whips itself around the object struck, but often leaves a deep weal in the skin and flesh. The mode of throwing them is well known. The right hand only is used; and this grasps the thongs at their point of union, about half-way between the ends. The balls are then whirled in a circular motion around the head and, when sufficient centrifugal power has been obtained, the weapon is launched at the object to be captured. The aim is a matter of nice calculation,—in which arm, eye, and mind, all bear a part,—and so true is this aim, in Patagonian practice, that the hunter seldom fails to bring down or otherwise cripple his game,—be it ostrich, cavy, or guanaco.
By these bolas, then, did the Patagonian hunter capture the guanaco and ostrich in times past; and by the same weapon does he still capture them: for he can use it even better on horseback than on foot. Either the bird or the quadruped, within fifty yards, has no chance of escape from his unerring aim.
The bolas, in some districts, have been improved upon by the introduction of a third ball; but this the Patagonian does not consider an improvement. Wooden balls are sometimes employed; and iron ones, where they can be had,—the last sort can be projected to the greatest distance.
The Patagonian takes the young guanacos alive; and brings them up in a state of domestication. The little creatures may often be observed, standing outside the tents of a Patagonian encampment,—either tied by a string, or held in hand by some “infant giant” of the tribe. It is not solely for the pleasure of making pets of them, that the young guanacos are thus cherished; nor yet to raise them for food. The object aimed at has a very different signification. These young guanacos are intended to be used as decoys: for the purpose of attracting their own relatives,—fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, and aunts, even to the most distant thirty-second cousinship,—within reach of the terrible bolas!
This is effected by tying the innocent little creature to some bush,—behind which the hunter conceals himself,—and then imitating the mother’s call; which the Indian hunter can do with all the skill of a ventriloquist. The young captive responds with the plaintive cry of captivity,—the parents are soon attracted to the spot, and fall victims to their instinct of natural affection. Were it not for this, and similar stratagems adopted by the Patagonian hunter, he would pursue the guanaco in vain. Even with the help of his pack of dogs, and mounted upon the fleet Spanish horse, the guanaco cannot be hunted with success. Nature, in denying to these animals almost every means of defence, has also bestowed upon them a gift which enables them to escape from many kinds of danger. Of mild and inoffensive habits,—defenceless as the hare,—they are also possessed of a like swiftness. Indeed, there is perhaps no quadruped—not even the antelope—can get over the ground as speedily as the guanaco or its kindred species the vicuña, Both are swift as the wind; and the eye, following either in its retreat over the level plain, or up the declivity of a hill, is deluded into the fancy that it is watching some great bird upon the wing.
There are certain seasons during which the guanaco is much more difficult to approach than at other times; but this is true of almost every species of animal,—whether bird or quadruped. Of course, the tame season is that of sexual intercourse, when even the wild beasts become reckless under the influence of passion. At other times the guanacos are generally very shy; and sometimes extremely so. It is not uncommon for a herd of them to take the alarm, and scamper off from the hunter, even before the latter has approached near enough to be himself within sight of them! They possess great keenness of scent, but it is the eye which usually proves their friend, warning them of the approach of an enemy—especially if that enemy be a man upon horseback—before the latter is aware of their proximity. Often a cloud of dust, rising afar off over the plain, is the only proof the hunter can obtain, that there was game within the range of his vision. It is a curious circumstance connected with hunting on these great plains,—both on the Pampas and in Patagonia,—that a man on foot can approach much nearer to any game than if he were mounted upon a horse. This is true not only in relation to the guanaco and ostrich, but also of the large Pampas deer (cervus campestris); and indeed of almost every animal that inhabits these regions. The reason is simple enough. All these creatures are accustomed to seeing their human enemy only on horseback: for “still hunting,” or hunting afoot, is rarely or never practised upon the plains. Not only that, but a man on foot, would be a rare sight either to an ostrich or guanaco; and they would scarce recognize him as an enemy! Curiosity would be their leading sentiment; and, being influenced by this, the hunter on foot can often approach them without difficulty. The Patagonian, knowing this peculiarity, not infrequently takes advantage of it, to kill or capture both the bird and the quadruped.
This sentiment of the brute creation, on the plains of Patagonia, is directly the reverse of what may be observed in our own fields. The sly crow shows but little of this shyness, so long as you approach it on a horse’s back; but only attempt to steal up to it on foot,—even with a thick hawthorn hedge to screen you,—and every fowler knows how wary the bird can prove itself. Some people pronounce this instinct. If so, instinct and reason must be one and the same thing.
Besides hunting the guanaco, much of the Patagonian’s time is spent in the chase of the ostrich; and, to circumvent this shy creature, he adopts various ruses. The American ostrich, or more properly rhea, has many habits in common with its African congener. One of these is, when pursued it runs in a straight track, and, if possible, against the wind. Aware of this habit, the Patagonians pursue it on horseback,—taking the precaution to place some of their party in ambush in the direction which the bird is most likely to run. They then gallop hastily up to the line of flight, and either intercept the rhea altogether, or succeed in “hoppling” it with the bolas. The moment these touch its long legs, both are drawn suddenly together; and the bird goes down as if shot!
Drake and other voyagers have recorded the statement that the Patagonians attract the rhea within reach, by disguising themselves in a skin of this bird. This is evidently an untruth; and the error, whether wilful or otherwise, derives its origin from the fact, that a stratagem of the kind is adopted by the Bushmen of Africa to deceive the ostrich. But what is practicable and possible between a pigmy Bushman and a gigantic African ostrich, becomes altogether impracticable and improbable, when the dramatis personæ are a gigantic Patagonian and an American rhea. Moreover, it is also worthy of remark, that the rhea of the Patagonian plains is not the larger of the two species of American ostrich, but the smaller one (rhea Darwinii), which has been lately specifically named after the celebrated naturalist. And justly does Mr. Darwin merit the honor: since he was the first to give a scientific description of the bird. He was not the first, however,—as he appears himself to believe,—to discover its existence, or to give a record of it in writing. The old Styrian monk, Dobrizhoffer, two centuries before Mr. Darwin was born, in his “History of the Abipones” clearly points to the fact that there were two distinct species of the “avestruz,” or South-American ostrich.
Mr. Darwin, however, has confirmed Dobrizhoffer’s account; and brought both birds home with him; and he, who chooses to reflect upon the subject, will easily perceive how impossible it would be for a Patagonian to conceal his bulky corpus under the skin of a rhea Darwinii, or even that of its larger congener, the rhea Americana. The skin of either would be little more than large enough to form a cap for the colossus of the Patagonian plains.