Blanco y Colorado: Old Days among the Gauchos of Uruguay

by William C. Tetley

El Cerro del Pichinango.

The Cerro del Pichinango comprised something over sixteen thousand acres, on which fed twenty thousand sheep, two thousand head of cattle, and three hundred and fifty horses. The sheep were divided into seven flocks, not counting a small flock of Southdowns at the Cerro. Each flock had its own area of camp, over which to feed, and was located at its own "puesto," where its "puestero," or shepherd, lived and looked after it. The cattle grazed at will all over the estate, which was quite open, without fences of any kind, here and there, in large groups, and often in small points of twenty or thirty animals. There was good pasturage, and abundant water. The river Rosario, which bordered the estate on the West, did not run in a straight line, but curved in its course, while at the South-West corner it took a much larger curve, forming almost a semi-circle, and here the woods were wider than hitherto. All this gave the scenery quite a park-like aspect, which was very attractive. On the Southern side the river Pichinango did the same, the woods which bordered its banks being even more beautiful, hung with creepers and flowering plants, the river winding peacefully in between. Here, too, fish could be caught, and the carpincho, or water-pig, was able to enjoy himself undisturbed to his heart's content. Moreover, a considerable stream called the Cañada Grande, passed right through the centre of the estate, running for the most part clean and pure over a stony and rocky bed. La Concordia, where Mr. Dampier lived with his family, was situate at the opposite end of the estancia to the Cerro. The house stood on elevated ground overlooking the river Rosario, and its woods on the west, while towards the south it commanded a distant view of the Swiss Colony, with its red-roofed houses and patches of arable land between. On the right were the wide and beautiful woods which bordered the banks of the river Pichinango, where it joined the Rosario, at which juncture of the two rivers a broad rincon, or corner, was in itself quite a feature of the landscape. To the left the grass-covered plain, with here and there a large bed of tall thistles, rolled away for some four miles to the northern boundary of the estancia. The house was modern and comfortable: built on three sides of an open "patio," or court, which you entered through iron gates, and the drawing room spacious and airy, with its three large windows coming down to the ground, occupied the whole length of the house at the back. On the left and in front was the flower garden, divided by a carriage drive, which led out past a lodge to the open camp. The "peones'," or servants' quarters lay to the right, forming a square, in the centre of which was a large "euremada," or shed, with four open sides, used for tying up horses under and for the "peones" to seek shelter from the sun during the "siesta."

Further away was the "corral," or yard, in which to shut up horses, and beyond again were the sheepyards. There was also a considerable area of cultivated land, where maize, and potatoes, and "alfalfa," a species of clover, flourished, as did a large quantity of fruit trees, planted all round an open space, used for the production of vegetables. Winter had now come, and the weather had become stormy, with cold nights and cold winds from the South.

I was out in the camp pretty continually, nevertheless, visiting the various puestos, and turning inwards the cattle, especially on our northern boundary. When fine enough I had the Indians at work mending up the walls of the sheepyards, which were made of loose stones piled one upon another. These had been greatly neglected at the "Cerro" and needed building up and repairing, as many gaps were to be seen. Three of the gates, too, required attention. After a week, however, the weather improved, so a "para rodeo" of the cattle was arranged for the next day but one, which was a Saturday. We had our horses tied up the night before, and were all ready for a start just before sunrise, Don Frederico and his party coming up from La Concordia just about the same time. The rodeo, or meeting-place for the cattle, was situate in a direct line between the Cerro and La Concordia, about half a mile distant from the former. It had the usual big post planted in the centre, round which the cattle revolved, and the ground all round was quite bare of herbage, evidently well trodden by numerous animals. We had help from three of the puesteros, especially from one named Marmasola, who not only came himself, but brought three boys with him, all well mounted. Laborde and Martin arrived from their own side, accompanied by two or three dogs. I was riding "Carnival," who had now settled down at the "Cerro," having attached himself to the little grey mare with one eye, to which he had been collared on his first arrival. "Napoleon" was in great spirits, paying no attention whatever to the couple of mongrel terriers who followed behind him. He was quite aware that serious business was on foot. I got over with the Indians to the north-western corner of the estancia, and we spread ourselves out, driving the cattle before us. Some of them seemed inclined to break back. This was easily prevented, and I found it much easier to do this here, where it was all open camp, than it had been at the Sierras de Mal Abrigo, when hindered and surrounded by large masses of rock. Don Frederico came up from his side with a good deal of help; so altogether we made a very satisfactory "para rodeo." I had no experience of dealing with cattle in such large numbers, nor was I surprised to find that care was needed to keep them all together on the "rodeo," when we got them there. I felt pretty sure, however, that by bringing them up constantly, and always keeping them up some time when collected, we should soon get the herd under complete control. Don Frederico brought with him a Mr. John Jennings, who was living with him at La Concordia. He was a good Spanish scholar, and an excellent accountant, fond of gardening, and was much occupied at the time with the cultivated land there, to which I have before alluded. His figure was decidedly burly; he had a good-natured face and thin legs. He did not look well on horseback, as he appeared too heavy above the saddle, nor was he really much of a rider. Upon this occasion he bestrode a very dark grey, somewhat low in condition, and not apparently up to his weight. They both came up to the Cerro for breakfast: some mutton stewed with rice, hot coffee and camp biscuits; all very acceptable after the morning's gallop. I let go "Carnival," and had a little bay horse, with a white blaze and two white stockings caught up, and when they returned I rode with them as far as La Concordia. Here I stopped for awhile, and then rode over into the Swiss Colony to arrange some business which had to be attended to; nor did I get back to the "Cerro" until about an hour before sunset.

Curiously enough, since my first arrival, but little seemed to have happened in regard to the war. Every now and again a party of Blanco soldiers would ride up, have some food, and go on their way. They did not take our horses, for these were as yet plentiful, and probably they had better ones of their own. The Colorados had not come our way at all, being mostly concentrated near Monte Video, the capital, while a fairly large force were also encamped in the province of San Josè. Meanwhile the Blanco army was said to be in great strength out beyond Paysandû, waiting for finer weather, and until the horses should pick up after the somewhat early winter. Spring, when it came, advanced rapidly. The days soon seemed longer and the weather warmer. We had a good deal of sheep-working on hand, as the flocks came up from the "puestos" to the Cerro, to be passed through the sheepyards, when it was our custom to get through one flock in a day. Don Frederico generally rode up to see how the work progressed, bringing two or three "peones" from La Concordia, as this winter there was a certain amount of foot-rot among the sheep, which needed attention. Fortunately, however, this was never really bad at the Pichinango, as a great part of the camp lay high, and therefore dry, covered with a hard kind of grass, which grew profusely between the longer tussock-grass. The flocks near La Concordia, however, fed on lower ground, but they were passed through the sheepyards there, when I went down from the Cerro, taking two of the Indians with me to assist. And so the days passed on one much like another, until the sun began to shine longer, and the weather to get warmer when at length we began to realise that summer was not far off. Some four weeks passed without anything particular happening, and then came the branding of the calves, always an event of supreme importance on a large South American estancia. First there was a general "para rodeo" of the cattle, and then they had to be shut up in the large stone enclosure, or "manga." Our native neighbours had to be advised beforehand of the appointed day, so that they might be present to see if any of their animals were by chance mixed up with our herd. I also obtained the services of three or four natives in the neighbourhood, known to be good camp men, i.e., skilled in the management of cattle, and especially so at this particular work. When the appointed day came round, it proved fine and fortunately there was but little wind. We all made an early start from both ends of the estancia, and were well on our way when the sun rose in a blue sky. Having plenty of horsemen, the cattle came up particularly well to the rodeo, where we kept them revolving round for quite half an hour, and then by driving a point of tame cattle in front of them, we managed to get the entire herd inside the "manga" without much difficulty. They did not quite like the operation; odd animals would try to break away, but they were quickly brought back, and they looked to me a very large number, when once inside the stone enclosure; far larger than I had ever seen shut up together before. Meanwhile two big fires had been lighted to heat the brands, and all being ready, two natives entered the "manga" on horseback with their lassoes, and one by one caught and easily brought out the calves. And so the work progressed, until quite a large number of calves had already been marked. Then came the time for breakfast. A young cow was lassoed and killed, its hide quickly taken off, and the meat cut up into large joints, and placed before the fires to roast. Biscuits were handed out, also farinha, a kind of coarsely-ground flour, grown from a plant in Brazil. The neighbours appeared, each mounted on his best horse, with such silver on their reins and headstalls, bits, stirrups, or "recados," as they happened to possess. They mostly wore a gay-coloured summer "poncho," a broad-brimmed felt hat, black bombachos, or very loose trousers, tucked into long boots, often ornamented with heavy silver spurs, so that the whole scene looked quite picturesque. After breakfast there was a short pause, and then the work went on, and it was between three and four o'clock in the afternoon before all the calves were branded. The herd was now let go, and quickly dispersed, doubtless, very glad to be once more free—now that their knocking about was at length over. And then as evening drew on young women made their appearance, riding up on horseback, dressed in their best clothes, and a couple of musicians turned up anxious to have a meal and to earn a few coppers. Music was heard on every side, and it was not long before a dance on quite a large scale was in progress, and apparently greatly enjoyed. Meanwhile the moon rose and shed its silver light upon the scene. The evening was fine and warm, and it was after eight o'clock before the company dispersed. I watched the scene from the flat roof of the Cerro with much interest and amusement, for it was all quite new to me. However, before half-past nine o'clock all was quiet, the Indians in the galpon had already gone to sleep. I heard old Robinson snoring loudly in his room above the kitchen, so I locked up the doors and retired to my bedroom with the feeling that all had gone off well; indeed, to me it seemed to have been nothing less than quite an exciting and altogether satisfactory day.

Early in November shearing began, which, on an estancia, is the big business of the year. It took place at the Cerro in the large "galpon," and suddenly, as it were, the old place began to assume an air of importance and activity. Old Robinson, who managed the wooden wool-press during shearing, and for the time being abandoned the culinary art, started to get all ready, another cook taking his place. Mr. John Jennings, usually known as Don Juan, came up to take charge inside the woolshed, being a man of knowledge and experience, while I superintended the work outside, such as getting up the sheep so that there were always sufficient ready waiting to keep the shearers going. The afternoon before shearing was to begin a gang of fifteen shearers arrived on horseback. They were rather a rough-looking lot, indifferently mounted. I had half a dozen of their horses collared, and the others, which were poor, and in bad condition, were turned out to feed with them. These shearers were supplemented by other natives in our neighbourhood, and by those of our own people who knew how to shear, so that quite a good number were ready to commence the important work. A number of sheep were brought into the yards, and passed up into the small pens, which ran along outside the galpon, facing the two wide wooden doors. Two men were ready, waiting to catch the sheep: tie their legs and lay them on the floor, ready for the shearers. To each shearer, as he finished his sheep a little tin token called a "lata" was given, these being counted, and entered up in a book in his name at the end of the day and week. Most of the payment in money being made at the end of the time. As the wool was shorn it was gathered up and carried to two large wooden tables, where it was roughly classified according to quality. It was then put into long bags, made of a thin open canvas material, which were pressed in the wooden wool-press before being packed into the carts, which carried them away. The shearers had all to be fed with their proper allowance of rations, a matter requiring care and attention, and sheep had to be slaughtered each morning, and every now and again a fat cow, as they managed to consume quite a large amount of meat. Don Juan was very good-natured and pleasant to do with. He thoroughly understood how the work should be carried on, and how best to control shearers, and as I was glad to assist him in my spare time, I was able to gain a good deal of useful experience which might not otherwise have come my way. Shearing could only go on during fine weather; after rain the sheep had to get quite dry again before they could be shorn. When this happened, as also in the evenings, Don Juan would instruct me in book-keeping, and in writing Spanish, both of which I was well aware would be of value to me as time went on. Day succeeded day, and fortunately during the second half of November we had an exceptionally fine spell of weather, without it being unduly hot. So the shearing of the sheep made good progress. Don Frederico Dampier, who rode up from La Concordia nearly every day, seemed very pleased to see how things were going; indeed, the second week of December found us finishing up the last of the sheep. One afternoon Charles Bent came over from the Sierras for a short visit, which was a great pleasure, as I was able to hear how Royd was getting on, and how things were going over there, and if many soldiers were about. He appeared mounted on his best horse, a good-looking light brown, with a white star on his forehead, and a white stocking on the off hind leg, also a few white hairs at the root of his tail, apparently in the pink of condition. He told us that Royd had now removed all his remaining stock to his friend's estancia near San José, where he seemed to have settled down, and to be quite happy. Nothing now was left at the Sierras, and the place was to be handed back to its owner very shortly. Bent said he himself intended to go back to his relatives, up towards the Rio Negro, so we persuaded him to prolong his visit to the Cerro before doing so. He lent a hand inside the galpon, gave out latas to the shearers, and saw to various little matters needing attention, so both Jennings and I were very glad to have him with us during the last days of the shearing. When it ended it was a not unusual custom for the day following to be kept as a general holiday before the company finally dispersed, and the shearers took their departure. Don Juan, who was quite au fait at this kind of thing, thereupon arranged that on this day there should be a grand race, in which Bent proposed to ride his own horse, and a native, who had a "rosillo," or roan, he fancied very much, whom the natives generally thought a lot of, offered to ride his horse against him. The course arranged, was to be from the Cañada Grande, opposite Laborde's puesto, up to the Cerro, which was about a mile and a quarter, more or less. Both riders accordingly paid much attention to their steeds, giving them a daily ration of maize, and morning and evening exercise. Of course, there was a good deal of betting amongst the people in the galpon, for the South American Spaniard is a real gambler at heart, and the race was a much more exciting affair than the games of cards and dice throwing, etc., which habitually went on among the shearers during the evening when work was over. Don Juan, too, had always been fond of a bit of racing, and did not hesitate to back Bent's horse, which he pronounced the best of the two, supposing always he was able to stay the course. It was somewhat a stiff one, and longer than usual, the ground rising considerably during the last part of it. Bent considered this to be to his advantage, as his horse, accustomed to the Sierras, went exceedingly well over uneven ground, and he felt quite confident he should win the race. On the appointed day the weather was fine, and, as it happened there was no wind. The start was to be at eleven o'clock, and I was one of those chosen to see it made, and to send the horses and their riders on their way. Both apparently looked all right as they jogged quietly down to the starting point. Quite a crowd had collected to see the finish. Everyone wore their best clothes, and the old Cerro for the moment looked quite gay. It had seen many events and happenings in its time. A first-rate start was made, and the horses got away quite even. Then Bent's horse took a slight lead, but at the end of half a mile, to our great astonishment, suddenly collapsed, shivering all over, and breaking out all at once into a thick lather of white sweat; indeed, for four or five minutes he could scarcely stand, swaying all the time to and fro on his legs, like a drunken man. I did not know the least what had happened, but Jennings, who was well up in these matters, at once stated his opinion that the horse had been got at early that morning by one of the natives, who must have given him some poison, probably the leaves of a shrub which grew on the banks of the river Pichinango, for he said all the symptoms were just those which the leaves of that plant would produce, and he had known it done more than once before. These began to pass off during the afternoon, and the horse to recover; indeed, by next morning he looked as if nothing had been the matter with him. Of course, however, nothing could be proved: the stakes had to be paid over, and the bets, which were mostly in favour of the rosillo, had to be paid also. I myself had bet nothing on either horse, so I was no loser, for, unlike Jennings, as a matter of fact, I really had no taste for racing. There was, of course, a good deal of excitement, and some quarrelling, in the galpon during the evening—more especially as that day, being a general holiday, there had been a certain amount of Caña on the go; but Don Juan managed to quiet things down. Then the night came, and as it always does, overshadowed all things. The next morning all the shearers, having received payment for their work, mounted their horses and departed, and the old Cerro once again resumed its usual aspect of quiet and dignified seclusion. The old year passed peacefully away, and the new one came in with all its possibilities and all its hopes and fears. Meanwhile, Mrs. Dampier and the children had returned to La Concordia, from their visit to Monte Video, which really had been prolonged longer than they expected.

This was chiefly owing to the war, which made the long journey less safe than in time of peace, and there was always the danger of having the horses taken as you travelled through the open country. Don Frederico had gone into town to return with them, taking two peones with him, and quite a large tropilla of horses. People generally in disturbed times travelled by the diligence, which plied to and fro pretty regularly on the "Camino Real," or Government road—but it was a most uncomfortable mode of conveyance for a lady with children, so in spite of the risk it was preferable to travel in one's own carriage, with a good supply of horses and a reasonable escort. Fortunately, all went well, and they reached home safely without any trouble or contretemps of any kind.

During the middle of January the weather became very hot, and work had to be suspended from twelve until two o'clock as a matter of course, and very often longer, for in those good old days, as they were called, the custom of keeping the siesta during the summer months held sway over the length and breadth of the republic. The old Indian, Feliciano, who lived in a little house built of stone down below the big manga, was a wonderful old man. He looked after the flock of rams, and was now quite old; a true Indian of the Pampas, both in appearance and character, and his son, Juan, who was up with me at the Cerro, must have been himself well over fifty years of age. Old Feliciano himself was extremely silent and reserved. I don't think I ever heard him speak more than three or four consecutive words at any one time. But he was most scrupulous in the performance of duty in regard to looking after his flock, which was never neglected under any circumstances whatever. He had been years at the Cerro, where for a long time it was impossible to get him to live in any kind of house. He preferred to live in a "tolda," a shelter made of mare's hides, stretched over a light wooden frame, as did the original Indians of the Pampa, from whom he sprang, and among whom he was reputed to have been a leader or chief. As the sun set below the western horizon he would walk to some little rise of the ground, where he could better see it, and facing it, fall down on his knees and say a short prayer. He did not like being observed, but I have myself watched him do this when he was not aware that I was within sight. He had descendants living round him to the second and third generation. He was said to have been a famous horseman in his time, as indeed were all his race, for they practically passed their whole lives on horseback.

I had been riding a brown horse, with a wall-eye, and some white hairs in his tail; he was not much to look at, but I found him to be sure-footed and comfortable, and a good horse among cattle. There was a little chestnut, too, which was very pleasant to ride. The Indians had horses of various sorts and colours, which they had been accustomed to ride themselves. Among these was a little rosillo, or roan, which I noticed Justiano liked to saddle up frequently, particularly when work amongst cattle was going on. He was not much to look at, being small, with rather a hollow back, and he seemed to me poor in condition, and to be overworked. Moreover, I saw that he had a nasty sore underneath the recado, one day when he was being unsaddled, so I took pity on him, and told the Indian not to ride him in future, as I would try to dress the wound, and if possible get it well. So I washed it myself, night and morning, applying a solution of tincture of arnica, and it soon began to mend. The horse, too, improved in condition by a little rest and freedom from pain. When the wound seemed nearly all right again, I saddled him up with my English saddle, and took him out for about an hour. I enjoyed riding him; he was so full of go; but at the same time docile and quiet. When I saw Don Frederico, he told me his history. One afternoon at the end of the Flores War, a soldier rode up to La Concordia, and asked for a fresh horse. "I cannot think what has come to this one," he said. "He is a real good one, but no sooner did we cross the river Rosario, coming from the Swiss colony, than he seemed to collapse all at once. He has come nearly ten leagues (30 miles), without shewing any sign of being tired." Don Frederico himself came out at the moment, and looked at the horse. "I can tell you," he said. "The rosillo has our mark, and so soon as he crossed the river he knew he was on his own camp, where he was born. He must have been caught as a 'potro,' or colt, and have been tamed by the soldiers. Except that he carries the mark of this estancia, we none of us know anything about him. However, go to the kitchen and get some refreshment, and we will give you another horse, and doubtless the rosillo will be glad enough to find himself at home again." No sooner, however, was he let loose, than he gave two or three neighs of joy and then he trotted off, straight up to the Cerro, and joined the horses there, so we could only conclude he must have originally been caught and taken from the Cerro end of the estancia. Such was his history, and I now saw after him myself, and took him for my own riding. He was a real good little horse, and I liked him more and more as time went on. Napoleon liked him, too, and used to lie down beside him when I had him tied up under the "ombu" tree, which gave so good a protection from the sun in the courtyard, and then as evening came I let him loose, so that he might join the other horses, and feed and enjoy himself to his heart's content.

As it happened, since the New Year, no soldiers had passed the Cerro, nor had we heard any news of the war, but I was quite prepared to look upon this as merely an interlude, and we kept a good look out, especially in the early morning and late evening. So soon as the hot spell passed, and the weather became cooler, our first business was a gathering together of the horses. This meant a general sweep up of everything in the shape of a horse on the estancia: the riding horses at La Concordia and the Cerro alone excepted, for these were brought up into the corral each morning, in accordance with the daily routine. There were two large "manadas," or troops of mares with foals at the Pichinango, one called the "saino," or brown, and the other the "moro," or dark blue roan; these being the colours of the respective stallions which presided over them. These "manadas" usually fed quite apart, on different portions of the camp. They each made up a large number, as they included not only yearling foals, but both colts and fillies of two and three years old, although the former of these usually cut themselves off from the main body, forming small points feeding by themselves. To gather together so many horses and keep them in control a good many horsemen were needed, so nearly everyone who could ride joined in. Marmasola, who had a small lot of mares of his own which fed on the estate, was in great force with his sons and two other native friends. Laborde and Martin were always ready to help, and the Indians were delighted at the prospect of a really first-class gallop. I got a man called Pedro Lima, living in the Swiss Colony, but really himself a native, and a first-rate camp man, to come and take charge of the operation of getting all the horses shut up in the big manga; not an easy matter unless they were skilfully handled; and I asked him to bring two or three of his native friends well-mounted with him. In accordance with camp etiquette, I sent round to our native neighbours, inviting them to come and join us, as we intended branding some foals, so giving them the opportunity to come and see if any of their animals were by chance mixed up with our horses. The appointed day proved fine, and we were all in the saddle before sunrise, old Robinson alone excepted. We had arranged to join up with Marmasola and the party from La Concordia and so form a continuous line, driving everything in the shape of a horse straight in front of us in the direction of the Cerro. It must be remembered that this was a much more critical job than gathering up the cattle, as the horses could travel as fast or faster than we could. Moreover, when dealing with them in large numbers, care and good management were a real necessity if they were to be shut up inside the manga at all. I rode "Carnival"; the Indians were mounted as they liked themselves; "Napoleon," although he was no use, would not be left behind. Don Frederico and Mr. Jennings and their people joined us at the place appointed, as did Pedro Lima and his friends, as well as the puesteros, when plans were laid down and instructions given all round as to how the work was to be carried out. Don Frederico, who was a beautiful rider, was mounted on his gay rosillo. He always rode on a recado, with silver mounting in front and behind; he had silver fittings to his bridle, and chain reins for a little way, just where they joined the bit, then made of well-worked and softened hide, with silver rings. He wore long boots, silver spurs, and carried a light summer poncho across his saddle in front of him. Altogether, a picturesque figure!—a true estanciero of the old régime—nor do I think he was ever happier than when he felt his best horse under him, and work of this particular kind was the order of the day.