Part 18

Of ground game there are foxes, tattoo or mulita, armadillo, and ostriches.

Amongst the birds the most common are various kinds of hawks, including some very much like the great bustard, English brown buzzard, and osprey falcon, and two or three kinds of parrots and cockatoos, the green parrots being the curse to agriculturists, eating all the maize, as the locusts do in the South.

There are many different kinds of "carpinteros" or woodpeckers, most of them having most wonderful plumage of brown, green, scarlet, blue, and yellow.

A strange bird which is not often seen is the "tucan," a small black bird, with a beak almost as big as his body, and of a splendid orange colour with a scarlet tip; he is a top-heavy looking little chap when seen seated on an orange tree, his favourite haunt.

Amongst table birds there are grey pheasants, martinetta, and partridges. Of wild fowl, there are enormous varieties, including the "pato real" or great tree duck, whistling mallard, various kinds of teal and shovellers, widgeon, muscony and hooded duck, black-headed geese, grey geese, and swans. Amongst water-birds are the black, grey, and white "garza" or heron. The latter are especially valuable on account of the splendid feathers on the back of their necks. Of the smaller birds there is the gallinetta, a kind of landrail, the curse of hunters shooting wild duck, their wretched screech warning every bird in the district. The beautifully coloured and almost transparently winged golden moorhen covers every stretch of water inland, and the "chaja" or wild turkey, one of the most useless birds in the Chaco, and quite uneatable, sends forth his dismal cry "chaja."

The kingfishers are, perhaps, the most noticeable of all the river birds, and are of all sizes, from the small European variety to one almost ten times their size. Gorgeously plumaged, they skim, like flashes of light, over the water, which is full of all kinds of fish including "Dorado," a splendid fighting fish, excellent eating, which can be caught with rod or fly, and goes up to 10 kilos in weight; "Suravi," a great mud fish, which is seen sometimes basking out of water, weighing up to 50 kilos, with enormous head, and good eating; "Savala," the mud-eating cruiser, which one sees nearly always with its tail out of water, and which makes excellent revolver shooting; "Palmieta," the curse of the Chaco streams and rivers, making bathing unadvisable on account of its hostile assaults on the extremities of all foreign bodies; and the "rallo," or sun fish, a large flat fish with a long tail.

Thus was spent a week of happy days of excursions and explorations, where sometimes we had to walk through great distances of undergrowth and the everywhere-abundant prickly cactus, cutting our way with large cavalry swords, always with our eyes skinned to catch sight of some strange bird, beast, or flower. Sometimes we waded for miles through swamps, which, in some places, abound with enormous water snakes up to 6 metres long.

We put up all kinds of water-fowl, as we struggled on, splashing through rivers, clambering up and skeltering down slippery banks, reaching home tired and weary every night to recount all the day's doings, sitting out in the patio in the cool evening, eaten up by mosquitoes.

So ended my holiday, with hurried packing, much toast-drinking, and a final little farewell dance to the accompaniment of guitar, gramophone, mouth-organ, and accordion. The journey south was of no great interest, half on horseback, half in "galera," or public mail coach, with, as fellow passengers, a German traveller, a curé (most jovial of beings, who had brought enough food with him to feed a whole regiment), a head of police and his men, and two coach boys.

The coach, with five young horses tied in abreast, went bumping and jolting along hour after hour, until we came to a big river, unfortunately in flood. The horses were unhitched, tied together and swum across; a boat coming from some unseen corner, took passengers and luggage across, leaving the coach itself alone, with a long wire tied to the end of the pole. The horses were fastened to the end of this wire on the other side of the river, and then, with a whoop and a cheer, the coach tumbled head-over-heels into the raging flood, twisting and turning in all ways, first one side up and then the other, until at last it reached the near bank. And so we travelled on, back to civilisation; a tiring journey in dust and heat by rail, bringing us home to the same old flat, treeless, priceless plains of the Central Argentine, to dream for many days of birds, fishes, animals, flowers, trees, good friends, and the fine natives of the Northern Chaco.

WORK IN THE WOODS.

WORK IN THE WOODS.

The worker in the forests is of necessity an early riser, the nature of his task requiring that he should be up betimes. His preparations for breakfast are simple, and he is ready to start out after half an hour spent in imbibing a few matés full of yerba infusion. The cartmen tie in their bullocks, kept overnight in a corral, and drive off to bring in wood prepared by the axemen, the bullock-herd takes his charges to pasture and the men's employer mounts his horse to visit the camp of his axemen, or goes to the store to fetch meat and provisions. The axemen generally live in tents or temporary shelters, convenient to their work, and some distance from the contractor's rancho. They have to work hard, stripped to the waist in summer; they fell the trees, and either square the logs for baulks and sleepers, or cut the bark and outside layer of white wood off to make logs for export, working by moonlight when the heat of the day is excessive. Their food consists of biscuits, called Galleta, dried to the consistency of flint; these they soften in soup made from fresh meat or dried "Charki." To this soup is added rice, maize, or "Fido's," which is coarse macaroni.

The favourite roast, called the "Asado," is made from ribs of beef impaled on a stick and placed near the fire till sufficiently cooked. This delicacy, usually as hard as nails, is enjoyed by the men, who cut off portions, which they hold in their teeth, while, with a jack-knife, mouthfuls are sawn off close to the nose, at the risk of shortening that organ. Water is drunk, or coffee sweetened liberally with moist sugar. This coffee is made in the country, chiefly from beans or maize, with a large percentage of chicory to give it body.

It is picturesque to see a long string of carts enter a deposit to the sound of pistol cracks from long whips, and to watch the cartmen unload the heavy logs.

A cartman will load his cart with logs of a ton and upwards, each with the aid of his team of bullocks, placing the chains so that the animals, at the desired moment, by advancing a short distance, roll the log from the ground on to the cart. In the case of very heavy logs the cart is placed upside down on the log, which is then bound to it, and the bullocks pull the whole thing over. The distances which have to be covered by these carts are considerable, fifteen miles in the day is not unusual, changing bullocks once en route, but a great deal depends on the roads being dry, as in wet weather the wheels sink up to the hubs in the mud and the roads are soon dotted here and there with loads abandoned till better conditions enable them to be reloaded and delivered at a depository.

These cartmen are hardy fellows and work wet to the skin, covered with mud up to their knees, or, again, hidden in the dust from the roads, which envelopes the moving carts in a choking cloud.

It is little to be wondered at if the axemen and cartmen, when pay day arrives, go in for a spree, which for them usually takes the form of gambling, enlivened by dancing and drinking till daylight.

The result of sojourning in the woods does not, as might be expected, have the effect of making these men unsociable, and they embrace every opportunity of attending a race meeting or dance. When the men are excited by drink quarrels are frequent, and the police search them for arms before admitting them to a Re-union.

Arms are carried ostensibly as a precaution against meeting with Indians and bad characters in the lonely recesses of the forest, and the men like to carry a knife and a good revolver, or, better still, a Winchester, to enable them to get a shot at any wild animal they may come across, the skins of these being much prized. They take a pleasure in presenting a visitor with a puma skin or other trophy of the chase.

Among these people one looks for, and finds, the primitive idea of hospitality, an unaffected welcome and willingness to give of the best they have. Here are men independent by virtue of their labour, which gives them sufficient for their daily wants. They have no thought for the morrow or what will be their lot when too feeble to work.

The axemen, who are natives of Italy and Austria, are very good workmen, but compare unfavourably with natives of the country, being extremely dirty in their persons, to such a degree that it is a disagreeable experience to have to interview them in an office, whereas the Argentine native puts on his best apparel when he goes to an estancia.

The forest workers are nomads, and, as the woods get cut out, move on to fresh camping grounds, leaving the woods to revert to their former solitude, a haunt for the wild animals, who creep back once silence has returned.

CACHAPÉS, AND OTHER THINGS.

CACHAPÉS, AND OTHER THINGS.

To a man coming from the Southern Camps to the forest belt of Santa Fé, the cachapé must appeal as something peculiar to the district, and most essentially local. He has had a surfeit of carts with two wheels, each 12 feet high, and dragged by anything from sixteen to twenty-eight horses; Russian carts, like Thames punts on four wheels, no longer amuse him, while American spring carts are much too European to warrant unslinging the Kodak. But the cachapé--here is something not to be lightly passed over. Lying idle it may not strike him at first sight as a cart, but rather as a remnant of some revolution, when, tired of waging light operatic war, the army disbanded, leaving their gun-carriages to serve more peaceful purposes.

Two pairs of short, squat, enormously powerful wheels; between, and joining them, a roughly hewn pole and various chains in an apparently hopeless tangle. Yet see them in work--every niche doing its work, every chain taking ten per cent, more strain than it was ever intended to take, creaking, groaning, crashing into holes, crawling laboriously over snaps and trunks to fall again with its load of four tons with a jerking, swaying, and straining as though struggling to free itself from its load, and you recognise the raison d'être of the queer little cart.

The capaché is not without its humorous moments. Supposing the cartmen find a log too heavy to load in the ordinary way; they do not return and inform the boss that the log must be hoisted by mechanical means or propose high-priced cranes. Seeing that obviously they can't put the log on the cart, they accept the alternative and put the cart on the log, chain it on securely, then haul everything right side up again with the bullocks and proceed to the unloading station. Once there, it might be supposed that they would tumble the cart over again, but here the intelligent foreigner is misled. The correct proceeding now is for the cartmen to lie on their backs and push with their feet, after the manner of the gentlemen in music halls, who, reclining on sawed-off sofas, twiddle gold-spangled spheres with their toes; only our cartmen lie in water and mud and the gold-spangled sphere is changed for a three-ton log. The force the men can exert in this position is little short of marvellous. Out one crawls, reviews the situation, then back again under, a creak, a combined push, and over the wheels comes the log, throwing up the mud and water for 50 feet around. Then back they go again for another load six miles through the forest. Wet through, their clothes hanging in ribbons from shoulders and belt, one day's mud caking on another's, and with a long sword stuck through their belt in front, they present a figure comical enough were it not that one knew the other side of the picture.