Across Patagonia

All the dogs had remained on the other side, crying and yelling in a gloomy concert, as they saw us leaving them behind; but as soon as they saw us ride up on to the plain, they plunged into the water, and swam over in no time.

After having counted the horses and examined their packs, which had all got well drenched, as we ourselves had, we continued our ride, with the intention of marching the whole night, so as to arrive at Cabo Negro in the morning, for we were now positively frantic with hunger. For a time, notwithstanding the intense darkness, we managed to get along pretty well, but presently we found that we had got off the trail somehow, and we had to stop, whilst the guides blundered about in the darkness, searching for it. Then, after we had got on to it once more, the horses shied at a big white stone lying on the road, and bolted in all directions, and of course had to be got together again – a task which involved nearly an hour's delay.

Apart from these mishaps, our progress was necessarily so slow, owing to the darkness, that we at last came to the conclusion that after all it would be better to halt where we were, and proceed at daybreak. Acting on this determination, we immediately unsaddled, and, too tired to put up the tents, rolled ourselves up in our furs, and slept, or tried to sleep, till morning. I think this was the unpleasantest night of the whole trip. Faint with hunger, drenched and cold, I could not get repose, although I felt as tired and jaded as could possibly be. The ground too, where we were camped, was stony and hillocky; and when, at the first sign of dawn, I crept out of my furs, my bones were so stiff that I could with difficulty move, my companions being all in an equally bad plight. But we were in good spirits for all that. Four hours' riding would bring us to the wood of Cabo Negro, and there we should get food in abundance. Never had the horses been so quickly saddled and packed as on that morning; within half an hour from commencing operations we were already cantering along the trail.

Scaling the brow of a steep hill we came in view of the familiar landscape – the Straits and the Cordilleras, and not far off the black patches of beechwood round Cabo Negro; and, nestling amid them, the little farm-house on whose stores we projected a determined raid.

My brother and Mr. B. now rode ahead in order to have something ready against our arrival. After two or three hours' sharp riding they reached the farm-house, and without speaking a word rushed off to the kitchen, and laid their hands on and utterly devoured what was to have been the breakfast of the farmer and his family. The farmer appeared on the scene just as they had swallowed the last mouthful, and it appears being no doubt used to such strange visits, seemed less surprised than one would have imagined to see two dirty wild-looking men sitting uninvited in his kitchen, who between them had calmly demolished the morning meal of a whole household.

Having thus satisfied their own immediate wants they applied themselves to catering for ours; and to such good purpose that, by the time we reached our old camp under the beeches of Cabo Negro, we found a good fire already blazing, half a sheep hanging on a tree, ready for roasting, and such stores of bread, eggs, and other provisions as made our eyes glisten and our mouths water. How we feasted need not be told. I think very little of that half sheep remained to be warmed up for supper, and most of the other provisions shared a similar speedy fate.

CHAPTER XXI

CABO NEGRO – HOME NEWS – CIVILISATION AGAIN – OUR DISREPUTABLE APPEARANCE – PUCHO MISSING – THE COMING OF PUCHO – PUCHO'S CHARACTERISTICS.

We had still three days to wait till the date for the arrival of the steamer, and as we by no means liked the idea of having to pass them in Sandy Point, we resolved to remain at Cabo Negro for a couple of days more, and only get into the colony in time to settle with our guides, and make ourselves look a little civilised against going on board.

But as we were naturally most anxious to get our correspondence, my brother rode into Sandy Point to fetch it. He returned, bringing a bagful of letters and newspapers, and we devoted a whole afternoon to their perusal, and to discussing their contents. These letters seemed to bring us back to the world again, to the world and its almost forgotten responsibilities, pains, and pleasures, which but the day before had seemed as remote to us as if we had quitted the earth altogether, and were living in some other planet. How many things seemed to have happened since we had been away, and how the interest in these events was magnified, hearing of them as we did, thousands of miles away from home, after so long an absence! Occurrences which, in the bustle and noise of ordinary existence, would hardly have excited more than few exclamations of surprise, or scarcely a passing thought, now seemed to assume the most important proportions, and were discussed at inordinate length, and with the keenest interest. There was a letter from the gamekeeper, telling with interminable prosiness how cleverly he had surprised, in flagrante delicto, the man whom he had long and so wisely suspected of poaching; how, notwithstanding every care on his part, the severe winter had proved too much for a favourite old setter; and, thanks to his efforts, how extraordinary a number of pheasants there was in the copses, etc. Another from the head stable-man, with intelligence of a similar nature from his department; lengthy documents from the agent, telling how one tenant couldn't pay his rent, how another wouldn't though he could, how one lot of cottages required repairing, and how advantageous to the property, if a fresh lot were built; the peculiarity of all these epistles being the predominance of the bad over the good news. Then were letters telling how A. had married, and "the very last woman one would have thought, too;" how B. had got a divorce, "and no wonder, one might have seen that all along;" how C. had gone off to shoot big game in the Rocky Mountains; and how D. had merely gone and shot himself – and so forth, and so forth; every trivial item affording us a goodly space for lengthy gossip, a luxury which, since our departure for the plains, had so signally failed us. It is only when unable to indulge in it that we find what an important factor the tittle-tattle and small talk of ordinary life is, in general conversation.

There were several papers too in our budget, and we devoured their three-months' old intelligence with no less avidity and eagerness than that with which we had perused our letters.

That day passed, and the next, and then the hour came for us to saddle up once more, and ride in to Sandy Point. As may be imagined, this time we did not jog along behind the pack-horses. Leaving these to the care of the guides, to come on at their leisure, we cantered merrily on alone – along the familiar path by the shore of the Straits. As the huts of Sandy Point came in sight, we began to realise that at last we were getting back to civilisation, and prospectively to England, and already plans of what we were to do on arriving home were formed and discussed. There was only one night more to pass before setting foot on board the steamer which was to take us back to the world; but so impatient were we, that even that short time seemed all too long, and we wondered if it ever would pass.

Soon we were trotting along the streets of Sandy Point; and, reaching Pedro's house, dismounted, and found ourselves under a roof once more! Pedro, advised of our coming, had prepared breakfast for us, and, without more ado, we sat down to it. We handled our knives and forks very awkwardly at first; it required almost an effort to eat in a civilised manner, and, accustomed of late to take our meals in a recumbent position, we by no means felt very comfortable in our chairs. And now, for the first time, the scales fell from our eyes, and the sight of the clean table-cloth and neat room caused us to become aware of our own personal appearance, and the enviable "giftie" was ours, of seeing ourselves as others saw us. The sight was certainly not a delectable one. Our looks and garments were not out of keeping with our late life in the pampas, but, surrounded by cleanliness and civilisation, they were decidedly out of place. We had performed our ablutions as often and as thoroughly as circumstances would permit, but they had not permitted much. The men of our party, particularly, were unpleasant to look at. Their hair had grown long and elfin; their faces were tanned to a dark red-brown, which the dust, and the smoke from the camp-fires had deepened into – well – black; and their unshaven chins were disfigured by a profuse growth of coarse stubble. Our clothes did not bear close inspection, the blood of many a guanaco, the grease of many an ostrich-dinner, the thorn of many a califaté bush, had left their marks; and, altogether, a more ruffianly, disreputable lot than we looked it would be hard to imagine. But hot water, soap, and razors, and a change of raiment, did wonders; and when, after several hours' hard work, we met again we were scarcely able to recognise one another.

We passed the day in settling with the guides, and in packing up our few traps in anticipation of the arrival of the steamer early next morning.

Feeling tired, I went to sleep early, but the comfort I expected from lying between sheets again was by no means vouchsafed me, and the soft mattress and cool sheets, instead of inviting slumber, seemed to frighten it away. I felt half inclined to get up and go to sleep on the floor. However, my eyes closed at last; and from a dream, in which I was once more chasing the ostrich in sight of the memorable Cleopatra Peaks, I was awakened by Mr. Dunsmuir banging at my door, telling me that the steamer had arrived and that it was time to be off. I jumped up and dressed hurriedly, and found all the others ready to go on board. The luggage had already been put into a boat, and there was nothing further to be done but to say good-bye to our guides and walk down to the jetty to embark.

I had only one regret on leaving Sandy Point. The day we arrived at Cabo Negro one of our dogs, called "Pucho," who was rather a favourite of mine, and whom I wished to take with me to England, was suddenly missing. Pucho, a peculiar dog, had joined us under peculiar circumstances at our camp at Laguna Larga. We were quietly sitting round the camp-fire after dinner, when suddenly the dogs jumped up and began to bark furiously at some unseen enemy. We got up and peered out into the dusk, but could see nothing, though it was evident that something there was, for the growls of our dogs increased in earnestness and fury every instant. "A puma!" suggested somebody, but our horses were grazing quietly, so it could not be a puma. "An Indian, or some trader, perhaps!" was another equally unfounded surmise. What could it be? Here, as if to settle the mystery at once, the dogs all rushed out of one accord, and for a few moments we could hear a terrible snarling and growling going on in the distance. It came nearer and nearer, and then the cause of the commotion was explained. Surrounded by our dogs, who were giving it a by no means friendly welcome, a strange dog walked slowly towards the camp-fire. It bore its tail between its legs, seeming half-humbly, half-defiantly, to crave admission into our circle. Its humble demeanour, however, only bore reference to us, for the defiant manner in which it occasionally bared its white teeth, and turned on our dogs whenever they came too near, showed that it cared little for them. We called out in friendly tones, and this settled its bearing for once and for all. It turned round, made one savage dash at one or two of its tormentors, and then calmly made its way towards the fire, looked out for the most comfortable spot, stretched itself leisurely, and lay down with its head resting on its crossed paws, seemingly as much at home as if it had known us all its life. I ventured to stroke it, but my advances were received in a most unfriendly, and, considering its position of alien outcast, audaciously impertinent manner, for it snapped viciously at me. But from the first "Pucho," as we called him, made it a point of distinctly refusing to be patronised. He joined us, he gave us to understand, not on sufferance, not as a suppliant for our favours, not as a guest even, but as an equal; and this status he claimed as regards us only, for as to our dogs, he ignored them completely, though willing, as subsequently appeared, to make use of their good services. He looked sleek and fat, a circumstance which led us to think highly of his powers of speed, as it is by no means easy for a dog to run down a guanaco singly, and most dogs who lose their master, as this dog had evidently done, soon die of starvation. We therefore congratulated ourselves on his arrival, as we hoped he would be able to afford our own dogs help in the chase. But we had grievously reckoned without our host. The next day, on the march, a guanaco was sighted close to us. Now was the time. "Choo! choo! Pucho!" we shouted, expecting to see him speed out like an arrow after the guanaco. But nothing could have been further from his thoughts. He looked first at us and then at the guanaco for a moment, not without interest, perhaps, but certainly without showing the slightest inclination to hostile demonstration. Then, with another look at us, which said as plainly as words could, "Well, that's a guanaco, no doubt, but what then?" he quietly trotted on. We were very angry at seeing our hopes deceived, besides being surprised at his extraordinary demeanour; but Gregorio, giving the dog the benefit of the doubt, said that perhaps it had only been trained to run ostriches, as Indians frequently teach their dogs to do. This seemed plausible enough, and our confidence in Pucho was momentarily restored. Presently an ostrich started up. Now then: "Choo! choo! Pucho!" was the excited cry again. All the other dogs flew out like the wind after the bird, and Pucho followed them. But only at a trot, and apparently merely to judge how the other dogs behaved, for he soon stopped, and contented himself with watching the chase till it disappeared from view, and then he leisurely came back to his usual post at my horse's heels. Everybody was enraged with him; Francisco suggested that being a "bouche inutile," Pucho should be knocked on the head with the bolas; but I could not hear of this, and Pucho's life was spared. And so he remained with us, and I had ample opportunities for studying his peculiar character. As on the first day, so he continued. Although generally there or thereabouts when a distribution of the spoils took place, he never once helped the dogs in the chase. That this did not arise from inability or want of speed, but rather from a sense of his own superior dignity, was shown by the fact of his once having been seen to pursue and catch a fox, a feat none of our other dogs were capable of. Amongst other peculiarities he had a way of mysteriously disappearing if the day's march was too long. "Where is Pucho?" was a frequent cry, and "Thank God, he's gone at last!" was an ejaculation often heard on these occasions. But so sure as the guanaco-rib for dinner was done to a turn, the soup ready, and the fire blazing comfortably, so sure would Pucho suddenly appear on the scene, look out for the most cosy spot near the fire, and cheerfully await his supper, as if nothing had happened.

When, therefore, he was missing at Cabo Negro, I took little notice, thinking he would be sure to turn up. But dinner-time came, and no Pucho; nor did he appear again, even when we went on to Sandy Point.

This was the thought that was troubling me as I walked down to the pier, for I had taken a liking to this dog, or I had better say I held him in reverential awe; for I think he would object himself to the term "like," as savouring of patronage. Half absently, therefore, before going down the ladder into the boat, I turned round to take a last look for Pucho. Surely that is a dog coming down the street, I thought, as I looked up; and right enough it was a dog, and what is more, Pucho himself! There was no mistaking the calm mien, the leisurely trot. He picked his way along the battered pier, half wagged his tail as he saw me – a great condescension, and then, without a moment's hesitation, led the way down the ladder into the boat, much to the surprise of my companions, who had thought and hoped that they had really seen the last of him.

I took him, or rather he came to England with me, and as I write this he is sitting in the cosiest corner by my fire, a privilege he allows my pet terrier to share with him, an act very foreign to his usual nature, and one for which I have never been able to account.

So here we are on board at last. We say good-bye to Mr. Dunsmuir, the anchor is weighed, the screw goes round, and we are off. Sandy Point disappears from view; one by one Cape Negro and Cape Gregorio are passed, and before I know it – so engrossed am I in the thoughts that crowd into my mind at the sight of these well-known points – we are abreast of Cape Virgins. It fades again astern, there is no land on either side, and Patagonia, bleak and silent and solemn, with the days we spent on its mysterious shores, is behind us.

As I write, these days come vividly to my mind again, and in fancy I once more behold that distant desert land, – the land of the lonely plains, where the guanaco and the ostrich and the Red Indians roam far from the ken of mankind, and where I spent a careless, happy time, which I can never forget. I remember the days when, after a long and weary ride, I slept, pillowed on my saddle, the open sky above me, a sounder and sweeter sleep than I had ever slept before; I remember those grand mountain-scenes, where we traced the wild horse to his home, through beechwood glens, by lonely lakes, by mountain torrents, where no mortal foot had ever trod before me. I remember many an exciting chase and many a pleasant evening spent round the cheery camp-fire. I remember, too, many a discomfort – the earthquake, the drenching rains, the scorching sun, the pitiless mosquitoes, and the terrible blasting winds. But from the pleasure with which I look back on my wild life in Patagonia, these unpleasant memories can detract but little. Taking it all in all, it was a very happy time, and a time on whose like I would gladly look again.

THE END