Blanco y Colorado: Old Days among the Gauchos of Uruguay

by William C. Tetley

Jennings, on his dark grey, cut a different figure; he did not look the genuine camp man at all, neither was he in the slightest degree; and it was easy to see that work of this kind was not congenial to him. Marmasola and his boys were in great spirits. What he did not know about horses was not worth knowing, although he himself was not a great rider; advancing years were beginning to tell their tale. But he had been through the war of Oribé, generally known as the Big War. He remembered the traditions of "the past," and as he had now been on the estate for a great number of years, certain privileges were accorded to him; but at the same time he would spare no trouble and was always willing to do anything he could to benefit the estancia and its owner. We all formed into line on the western boundary, facing towards the Cerro, stretching out both to right and left, and riding some three hundred yards apart. We allowed the cattle to go back between us, but drove all horses of every kind in front of us. Some of the colts tried hard to break back, and for the moment succeeded, but were eventually rounded up and brought back within the line. "Carnival" carried me splendidly: he was really very fast, and at the same time perfectly sure-footed. He made one feel quite safe even at full speed, and it was a pleasure to be so well mounted. Meanwhile, the line kept drawing in, and as the horses in front of us began to get up towards the manga, Pedro Lima and a couple of natives, by making a swift detour, got round in front of them so as to round them up as much as possible, more or less where the rodeo of the cattle was situate, and so to keep them in some measure under control until we all came up from behind and were able to form a regular ring round them. Meanwhile the old Indian, Feliciano, had some half a dozen tame horses not very far from the open gateway of the manga, and as these gave a convenient lead to all the others, we got the whole lot safely inside without much difficulty. This was fortunate, because if horses in a round-up of this description once succeed in breaking away in any number together, they are very difficult to get back again, owing to the speed at which they can travel. Once inside the manga, however, we were able to look them over at our leisure. There were a good many foals to be branded, so a fire was got ready. Moreover, breakfast had to be thought of, and it was not very long before a couple of roasts were preparing in front of it. We found there were nearly a dozen colts over four years old which in the ordinary way ought to have been caught up to be tamed, but owing to the war, it was decided to put this off for a year, for the reason that a good-looking colt which shewed any signs of having been handled, was more likely to be taken by soldiers than one which had been left entirely alone. They were very clever at seeing into this, even when the animals were feeding in the open camp. We found some riding horses shut up with the troop which did not belong to the estancia, but had probably been left behind by soldiers as they passed. These we caught up and took down to La Concordia, so that they might meanwhile do such work as they were able. If they could do nothing else they would be good enough for the puesteros to look after their sheep on, or for the ordinary routine work of the estancia. It was very interesting to watch all the horses when gathered together in the manga. I had never, of course, seen so many collected before, and it was a pretty sight to watch them and to note their different colours and characteristics. During the interval for breakfast the two stallions occupied themselves in having a fight, attacking each other fiercely; standing on their hind legs and striking at each other with their fore feet; then they would go round in a circle, each looking out for an opportunity to strike more effectively. Many of the mares too were busy picking up their belongings,—as they would often have a foal and a yearling, and even a two-year-old descendant regularly following after them.

It was very interesting to watch them all, and to observes their ways and manners. There was plenty of opportunity to do this, as after the foals were branded we did not let them go until between three and four o'clock. When at last they were turned loose, they did not let the grass grow under their feet, but soon divided themselves off more or less into their own lots, and with their own companions. Indeed, had they been looked up early on the following morning they would have probably been found feeding more or less together in the same groups, and on the same particular part of the estancia where we had originally found them. The weather had now become quite hot again, and we had continual sunshine for nearly a fortnight. There was a stone puesto about half way between the Cerro and the "Pass of the Pichinango," where an old negro called Tio Benigno lived, looking after a flock of sheep. He was now dead, and the flock had been removed, but his so-called widow, black like himself, was still living on there, with a numerous progeny of various sorts and sizes, almost destitute of clothes who ran in and out of the abode like rabbits, when anyone happened to ride up. They seemed to be living on the rations which had been allowed to the departed parent, which were still being allowed to them. Don Frederico would have been glad if I could have got them to leave the puesto altogether, but the question was where were they to go? I was riding down to La Concordia during the siesta when I saw a peculiar sight. As I was about to cross the Cañada Grande, a short way further up the stream, the black lady was sitting astride an old dun horse, short both of mane and tail in the middle of a large pool, with a fishing rod in her hand, apparently intent on fishing. Of clothes she had none. Such garments as she possessed lay in a heap on the bank by the water. Her black skin fairly shone and glistened in the sunshine. On her head was an old black silk top hat, which also reflected the rays of light. It had doubtless been a gift to her departed husband from one of the young Englishmen who might have been staying at the Cerro, presumably with no idea, however, that it would be put to its present use. The lady saw me pass, but did not appear in the least to mind. She simply gave a broad grin, and leaving her to pursue her peaceful occupation, I passed on my way. Not very long afterwards someone who had known her husband asked her to go and keep an eye on quite a small lot of sheep, and also to act as "lavandera," or washer-woman, as well. So I persuaded her not to lose the opportunity of changing her abode, and gladly sent a cart to move such belongings as she had. Indeed, I was glad to have the puesto empty, for it was in the direct route along which soldiers would pass coming from the town of Colla, and going north, and it seemed better that they should have the road clear in front of them. Rumour in time of revolution was always busy, and it was said that the Colorados intended for some reason best known to themselves to fall back before very long from the province of Colonia, and join up with their main force in the province of San Josè. Should this prove correct, it seemed probable that a portion of the Blanco army, which, during all this time had been steadily concentrating up beyond Paysandû, would seize the opportunity to occupy that province themselves. That being so, it seemed obvious that open hostilities, which had now for some time seemed far away from us, would come much nearer. The fact was it was impossible to foresee what lay before us in the future, and all we could do was to carry on as well as we could for the present, and hope for the best.

Up to now we had certainly been very fortunate, for our horses had not been taken; all had gone on very much as usual; nor had there been any interference either with our sheep or cattle. There happened to be two colts among the horses at the Cerro nearly five years old: a bay and a brown, and I determined to have these tamed. One was the foal of the bay "madrina" mare, and the other had joined the troop on its own account. They were both accustomed to come up each day into the corral, and to see people about, nor had either of them led the wild life of the open camp. So there was every reason to suppose they would prove docile, and I did not trouble to look out for a regular "domador," or horse-tamer, as I thought that Juan, the Indian, would manage, with the help of his nephews, both of whom were good riders. The rough and ready system of taming in the old days consisted of lassoing a colt in the yard, tying him up to a post for the night, and next morning saddling him up with a "recado," with the "cincha," or broad hide girth, as tight as possible. A narrow piece of hide nicely softened was then tied twice round the lower jaw, to which the reins were attached, a couple of pieces of soft sheepskin were fastened over the framework of the recado, while the four legs of the animal were tied together by a "maneador," or long thong of hide, in such a manner that by giving one pull it would all come loose and fall to the ground. The colt was then untied from the post to which he had been made fast, and up got the rider, who was going to give him his first gallop. Two men were ready on horseback, one on either side, while a third man on foot gave the thong round the horse's legs a sharp pull, when it fell loose. Usually the colt would make a wild rush forward, the two horsemen keeping each as close to him as they could on either side, so as to steer him in a straight line. Old Juan was now over fifty, nor was he a regular tamer; but he could still sit tight on a horse which did not buck-jump too hard or too long, and there was always the chance that he would not buck-jump at all, but just bolt off across the open camp. With the bay colt even this did not happen, for he merely lunged forward at a sort of uneven trot, wondering very much at finding anyone on his back. Then he stopped, unwilling to proceed, which Justiniano quickly made him do by a free application of his whip. Eventually he made his first gallop all right and came back apparently having had quite enough of it. That evening the brown colt was tied up as had been the bay, and the same procedure was followed in the early morning. Unfortunately, however, he buck-jumped rather badly, so soon as he was mounted and let loose, and he gave Old Juan a bit of a shaking, but he did not do it for long, and the Indian was able to sit tight and give the colt his first gallop, bringing him back quite sufficiently subdued for one day at any rate.

The gallops went on each morning, with both the colts for about ten days, by the end of which time not only was there no more buck-jumping, but they were beginning to get handy even to the extent of answering the pressure of the rein on the side of the neck, and of turning in some measure as required.

Juan was quite proud of his performance, and began to imagine he was a young man again and a regular horse tamer. Moreover, an extra allowance of Caña, or white rum, of which he was always fond, and at once took effect upon him, made him talk most amusingly of all the colts he had tamed in his early life, and the wonderful things he had done. At the end of three weeks, both the colts were bitted and could be ridden either by Margarito or Justiniano, and it was not long before they were able to take their place among the tame horses.

Attached, as they were, to the tropillas, they were as likely to be taken by soldiers as colts as they would be when tamed, for they would know well enough that young horses among their surroundings were not at all likely to be difficult to break in. I had been lately riding a "manchado," or piebald horse, which had been bred and born town of Colla. He had not much to commend him, but he was easy and quiet to ride. A sad story was connected with him. Between two and three years previously a young Englishman of good position who had come out to have a look at the country, was staying as a guest at the Cerro. One day he rode the "manchado" over to the little country town of Colla. He had not much to recommend him. Returning late at night, he unsaddled the horse in the small yard, just outside the stable. He then took off the bridle, and then, not thinking what he was doing, gave the horse a hit with the reins on his quarters, to drive him out of the yard. The horse kicked out sharply with both hind feet, one hoof catching him just under the throat, and the other at the pit of the stomach. He fell senseless to the ground, and must have remained unconscious for some time. When he came round, he managed to crawl into the galpon and awake the Indians, who, as usual, were fast asleep. They gave the alarm, and a messenger was sent in all haste for a doctor, who was then living on a small place he had beyond and to the eastward of the Cerro. He kindly came over at once, and applied such remedies as he could, but to no purpose, for the poor young man during the morning again became unconscious, and late in the afternoon passed quietly to his rest. It was indeed a sad business, and what made it worse was the thought of how easily it might have been avoided. The "manchado" used to rear a bit at times, but not really badly, and I never knew him show the least sign of kicking during the time I had anything to do with him. Later on, I handed him over to Justiniano, who always gave his heels an uncommonly wide berth, and eventually he was taken by a party of soldiers, and we saw no more of him. About a week later I had occasion to ride over one afternoon to the pulperia on the other side of the pass across the river Rosario, opposite to Marmasola's puesto. I called in as I passed to enquire if there was any news, and I saw his wife, who told me her husband was out with the flock. Reaching the pulperia, I found the owner, a tall good-natured looking man, at home, and we soon arranged the business about which I had come. He then told me that towards the end of the previous week Mamerto Gomez, a captain in the Red army, was coming out of the town of Colla with a troop of Colorado soldiers, on his way towards the province of San Josè. A short distance beyond the furthest houses a poor cripple sat by the side of the road begging. Mamerto halted as he passed, and turning to one of his soldiers, said, "Mata me aquel Bicho amigo," "Friend, kill that reptile for me," whereupon the man got off his horse and cut the poor cripple's throat from ear to ear. Leaving the dead body by the roadside, Mamerto Gomez and his troop passed on their way as if nothing had happened. I asked the pulpero if he had ever seen Mamerto, and what he was like? "Yes, Señor, I have seen him two or three times," he said, "and not long ago"; and he at once gave me particulars as to his appearance. Of course, I had no difficulty in recognizing him as the same Mamerto Gomez I had first seen at the Pulperia de Guaycoru, when the old negro said to me, "Cuidado, beware!" and as the man who had been seen entering the Sierras de Mai Abrigo, whom Royd had always believed to be the real cause of all his trouble and ill-luck, viz., the sad death of poor Henriquez, and the stealing of Bent's flock, and the attempt to break in to his puesto at night. I called at Marmasola's as I rode back, and found him in, and, as usual, we discussed the war. He, too, had heard that the Reds were leaving Colonia, and thought it would not be long before the Blancos turned up there in considerable force, when he thought it likely we might have parties of soldiers coming our way, as we should then be in the direct line of route between them and the concentration of their main army out towards Paysandû; so there was pretty sure to be a certain amount of coming and going. He also told me a story of two young Englishmen who came out to Monte Video during the Flores War, with the intention of making their way up country. They started to ride out from there alone, without any guide, and very foolishly, before leaving the city, they drew a considerable sum of money from the bank, which they carried out with them. They reached San Josè all right, and the following day proceeded on their way in the direction of the Cerro del Pichinango, where they intended to pass the night. They stopped at a pulperia, or store, for some refreshment about eleven o'clock, where there happened to be about a dozen natives, among whom were four or five of very bad character. Such was the account given to the police, who afterwards made enquiries. Whether they let these men know they had money with them nobody ever knew. They were known to be dressed each in a light tweed suit, with a large check pattern on it. The two young Englishmen were never heard of again, but a long time afterwards pieces of the cloth they were said to have been wearing were found in the wood on the further side of the river Rosario, not far from the pass which led over to the Estancia Pichinango. The conclusion come to was that three or four of the natives got on in front of them and attacked them, probably just as they were about to enter the pass, which was rather a wide one, and having shot them, either dragged or carried the bodies into the wood; of course, taking the money and everything they possessed from them. Whether or where they buried the bodies, of course, was not known. So much time having elapsed, it was impossible to make further enquiries. They had simply vanished—and being war-time, it was supposed that anything might have happened to them, for at that time in the camp murders even in broad daylight were by no means uncommon.

Marmasola always assumed a very serious aspect when telling this story, which usually ended by his sitting down on a "banco," or low wooden stool, and drawing the size of the check pattern on the garments of the deceased on the mud floor with the point of his knife, at the same time saying in a solemn tone, "Los dos pobres finados caramba!" "Alas, for the two poor dead men!"

I allowed him to finish without interruption, and then I mounted my horse and rode home to the Cerro, pondering on the many vicissitudes which it seemed possible might happen to the unwary during life in war-time in a South American republic. Nothing had happened during my absence. We got the "tamberos" up to their rodeo, and kept them there awhile, and when I got back the little flock of southdowns were about ready to be shut up in their sheepyard for the night. I looked them over to see that they were all right, and then I went up on to the flat roof of the house to have a good look round with the glass, and so see if all was quiet. The sun meanwhile was about to set, and it was not long before the light began to fade, and one more day had passed and was gone. When next I saw Don Frederico he discussed the situation, and said he thought it would be wise to sell a certain number of the "capones," or wether sheep, which were now in good condition, and also to get a tropero, or buyer of cattle of good position to come and purchase as many "novillos," or bullocks, as we could get him to take, as by so doing we should not only lessen the stock we had to look after on the estancia, but it would do away with the risk of losing them. The "capones" chiefly fed together in one flock near La Concordia, with a certain number in two of the other flocks, so there need be no delay in having them parted out so soon as we could arrange with a purchaser. So he decided to attend to this within the next day or two. Meanwhile, if I heard of anyone likely to purchase up in my direction, I was to let him know. He also said he would write to one or two of the troperos, who had been accustomed to buy novillos from us, informing them that we had a good number for sale, and asking them whether they would be able to make up a troop. It was not long before two buyers of sheep applied at La Concordia. A day was fixed for parting them out, and I went down early with two of the Indians to help to pass the flock through the sheepyards. The purchasers happened to be friends, so agreed to part both together on the same day, and divide the sheep between them afterwards. Altogether they took between six and seven hundred, and after they had finished we helped them over the Pass of the Rosario, facing the Swiss Colony, where they intended to shut them up for the night, before continuing their journey to the town of Colla, where one of them resided. During the following week we passed the other two flocks through the sheepyards at the Cerro, drafting out all the capones and sending them down to the flock at La Concordia to replace the sheep there which had been already sold.

Early in the following week, a little before eleven o'clock, a tropero arrived at the Cerro, and enquired if he could see Don Frederico, as he wanted to buy some "novillos." I had been out early on horseback, and had not long returned, and was just about to have some breakfast. I told him that he was at La Concordia, at the other end of the estancia, and invited him to come inside and join me, which he seemed pleased to do. He had a peon with him with a led horse in addition to the ones they rode, whom I directed to get something to eat in the galpon. The tropero was grandly dressed in full native costume, a beautiful summer poncho, bombachos of very fine black merino, tucked inside long boots, the latter adorned with large silver spurs, and I noticed he was fully armed. He was an agreeable man, evidently well educated, and he told me he had two other men and a tropilla of horses in the neighbourhood who had gone to look at some bullocks at a small native estancia. Breakfast over, I left him to finish his coffee and smoke, while I went out to tell Justiniano to catch me up another horse. I then offered to accompany him as far as La Concordia, so that if Don Frederico happened to be out, I could have him sent for with as little delay as possible. I gathered the tropero wished to make up quite a large troop, en route for Monte Video, and as we had a good many animals to sell, I did my best to make conversation. Fortunately, when we reached La Concordia, we found Don Frederico at home. The tropero's credentials were quite satisfactory to him, as was the price offered. It was therefore agreed that he should part out and purchase all the novillos on the estancia which he thought old enough and in sufficiently good condition to take. We on our part undertook to have all the cattle gathered on the rodeo on Thursday morning, so that he could part out his bullocks, and to help him to the best of our power—payment, as usual, to be made on delivery. The business concluded, the tropero had a glass or two of wine and departed. He said he had plenty of horses with him for his men. I then rode back at once to the Cerro, and sent off one of the Indians to advise our native neighbours and the other round to Laborde, Martin and Marmasola, to inform them at their puestos of what we had arranged, so that they might give help as usual. We tied up horses on Wednesday evening, and made all ready for an early start. I rode "Carnival," the Indians, too, were fairly well mounted. We met the party from La Concordia, Don Frederico riding his rosillo, with two big dogs following him, and Jennings mounted on his dark grey; he seldom rode anything else. The tropero and his men did not take part in gathering the cattle, but joined us at the rodeo, near the Cerro, mounted on their best horses, while the others they had with them were meanwhile feeding not far off, with a boy in attendance, to look after them. The cattle came up well, and just as we got to the rodeo, Pedro Lima arrived with a couple of natives, and also three or four of our neighbours beyond the Cerro turned up, so we had plenty of help to keep the cattle well under control. Don Frederico and the tropero came up to the house for some coffee and a biscuit, but we were soon back again, when the work of parting out the bullocks at once began. A point of tame cattle had meanwhile been brought up to a suitable position a short distance from the herd. These were guarded by Juan, the Indian, with his two nephews to help him. The tropero was mounted on an "oscuro," or black brown horse, and his two men rode one a grey and the other a bay.

He began by riding in among the cattle with one of his men, singling out a suitable bullock, and then the two together, one on either side, ran it out into the point of tame cattle, where it had to remain whether it liked to or not. Then a second bullock was run out, and so on, one after another, until quite a good number were parted. One of the tropero's men now went to help the Indians to guard them, as every now and again one would try to escape, intent on rejoining the main herd, and occasionally a bullock would break loose and make for the open camp, determined to fight hard for liberty. But it was not to be! for the men were well-mounted and knew their business, and the horses knew theirs. They were, of course, faster than the bullocks, and when an animal was desperate, and really refractory the lasso came into play, and he was brought back his energy spent, and having been well bullied about he generally thought it better to keep quiet for the time being. A really good horse for work of this kind must be safe and quick on his legs, and have plenty of courage. Indeed, the best thing the rider can do, if well mounted, is to sit tight and leave as much as he can to his horse, who seemed to know all that was expected of him, and was seldom found to fail.