The frequent allusions in the foregoing to the sanguinary practices pursued by rival chiefs against each other suggests the desirability of endeavouring to account for the creation and growth of the disposition to which such ferocity is attributable. We cannot do better than quote the words of M. Chevalier de St. Robert, a Frenchman, officially engaged in the affairs of the Plate, who, in his pamphlet, entitled Le General Rosas et la Question de la Plata, and translated by M’Cabe, the late Acting Consul-General for the Uruguay in London, gives probably the best account anywhere to be met with of life in the wilds, in this region of the world, and of the mode in which such life affects humanity in the cities afterwards. He says:—
The population of the Pampas have a peculiar physiognomy, such as is to be found in no other part of the world. They exhibit the instincts and the faculties which the desert every where developes, but still they have not those traits which elsewhere particularise a pastoral or a warlike tribe. The Arab, who dwells or wanders in the deserts of Asia, is but a fraction of that great Mahommedan society that dwells in cities. The tribe coincides with society in many things, it has the same creed, the same obedience to religious dogmas, and preserves every where the same traditional organization. There is nothing like this to be found in the Pampas. In the bosom of those immense plains, which extend from Salta to the Cordilleras, that is, over a space of more than seven hundred leagues, there are to be found neither distinct castes, nor tribes, nor creeds, nor even that which may be properly called a nation. There is nothing to be found but estançias (farms) scattered here and there, which form so many petty republics, isolated from the rest of the world, living by themselves, and separated from each other by the desert. Alone in the midst of those over whom he is a complete master, the estanciero is out of every kind of society whatsoever, with no other law than that of force, with no other rules to guide him but those that are self-imposed, and with no other motive to influence him than his own caprice. There is nothing to disturb his repose, to dispute his power, or interfere with his tranquillity except the tiger that may lurk about his grounds, or the wild Indians that may occasionally make a hostile incursion on his domains. His children and his domestics, gauchos like himself, pass the same sort of life, that is to say, without ambition, without desires, and without any species of agricultural labour. All they have to do is to mark and to kill, at certain periods, the herds of oxen and flocks of sheep which constitute the fortune of the estanciero, and that satisfy the wants of all. Purely carnivorous, the gaucho’s only food consists of flesh and water—bread and spirituous liquors are as much unknown to him as the simplest elements of social life. In a country in which the only wealth of the inhabitants arises from the incessant destruction of innumerable flocks, it can be easily understood how their sanguinary occupation must tend to obliterate every sentiment of pity, and induce an indifference to the perpetration of acts of cruelty. The readiness to shed blood—a ferocity which is at the same time obdurate and brutal—constitutes the prominent feature in the character of the pure gaucho. The first instrument that the infantile hand of the gaucho grasps is the knife—the first things that attract his attention as a child, are the pouring out of blood, and the palpitating flesh of expiring animals. From his earliest years, as soon as he is able to walk, he is taught how he may with the greatest skill approach the living beast, hough it, and if he has the strength, kill it. Such are the sports of his childhood—he pursues them ardently, and amid the approving smiles of his family. As soon as he acquires sufficient strength, he takes part in the labours of the estancia; they are the sole arts he has to study, and he concentrates all his intellectual powers in mastering them. From that time forth he arms himself with a large knife, and for a single moment of his life he never parts with it. It is to his hand an additional limb—he makes use of it always, in all cases, in every circumstance, and constantly with wonderful skill and address. The same knife that in the morning had been used to slaughter a bullock, or to kill a tiger, aids him in the day time to cut his dinner, and at night to carve out a skin tent, or else to repair his saddle, or to mend his mandoline. With the gaucho the knife is often used as an argument in support of his opinions. In the midst of a conversation apparently carried on in amity, the formidable knife glitters on a sudden in the hands of one of the speakers, the ponchos are rolled around the left arm, and a conflict commences. Soon deep gashes are seen on the face, the blood gushes forth, and not unfrequently one of the combatants falls lifeless to the earth; but no one thinks of interfering with the combat, and when it is over the conversation is resumed as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. No person is disturbed by it—not even the women, who remain as cold unmoved spectators of the affray! It may easily be surmised what sort of persons they must be, of which such a scene is but a specimen of their domestic manners. Thus the savage education of the estancia produces in the gaucho a complete indifference as to human life, by familiarizing him from his most tender years to the contemplation of a violent death, whether it is that he inflicts it on another or receives it himself. He lifts his knife against a man with the same indifference that he strikes down a bullock: the idea which everywhere else attaches to the crime of homicide does not exist in his mind; for in slaying another he yields not less to habit than to the impulse of his wild and barbarous nature. If, perchance, a murder of this kind is committed so close to a town that there is reason to apprehend the pursuit of justice, every one is eager to favour the flight of the guilty person. The fleetest horse is at his service, and he departs certain to find wherever he goes the favour and sympathy of all. Then, with that marvellous instinct which is common to all the savage races, he feels no hesitation in venturing into the numerous plains of the pampas. Alone, in the midst of a boundless desert, and in which the eye strains itself in vain to discover a boundary, he advances without the slightest feeling of uneasiness—he does so watching the course of the stars, listening to the winds, watching, interrogating, discovering the cause of the slightest noise that reaches his ears, and he at length arrives at the place he sought, without ever straying for it, even for a moment. The lasso which is rolled around his horse’s neck: the bolas suspended to his saddle, and the inseparable knife suffice to assure him food, and to secure him against every danger—even against the tiger. When he is hungry, he selects one out of the herd of beeves that cover the plain, pursues it, lassos it, kills it, cuts out of it a piece of flesh, which he eats raw, or cooks, and thus refreshes himself for the journey of the following day. If murder be a common incident in the life of a gaucho, it often also becomes the means to him of emerging from obscurity, and of obtaining renown amongst his associates. When a gaucho has rendered himself remarkable by his audacity and address in single combats, companions gather around him, and he soon finds himself at the head of a considerable party. He ‘commences a campaign,’ sets himself in open defiance to the laws, and in a short time acquires a celebrity which rallies a crowd about him.
UP THE PARANA.
CHAPTER XIII.
UP THE PARANA.
Preparations for an experimental trip up the Parana.—Captain Sullivan’s descent of the river at a terrific pace.—Island of Martin Garcia.—Note on the confluents of the Rio Plata.—A Scotch experimental philosopher in Corrientes.—Alluvial deposits at the delta of the Parana.—Signs of progress in the interior.—An American pioneer of civilization.—The steamer aground, and fired upon.—Moonlight on the river and the woods.—Geographical note on the Parana and the Rio Plata.—Obligado and San Nicolas.—Mr. Mackinnon’s description of the scenery.—Arrival at Rosario.—Multifarious applications of hides and horns.—Descent of the river, and arrival at Martin Garcia.—Corrientes and the guachos.—Military system of the country.—Its evil effects on the morals and industry of the people.—Grazing capabilities of Corrientes.—Facilities and prospects for commerce.—Interest of the Platine provinces in the opening of the river to foreign trade.—Difficulties of the navigation, and a word about the Uruguay.