Mistaken Journey

New Zealand Listener, Volume 12, Issue 297, 2 March 1945, Page 24

Mistaken Journey

O bhov

TROY

SHEFFIELD

An account of adventures in Central South America by an English "Innocent Abroad." He is now on a cattle ranch in the Matto Grosso.

x. ALTER ‘hadn’t stayed long in Buenos Aires either, and had drifted up country taking occasional jobs with different ranchers. This was a hectic period, when he had come to the end of his money, and in between jobs hit the trail like any other hobo. He gradually strayed further afield, and was embroiled in a revolution in Paraguay. After a deal of desultory fighting, his side was utterly vanquished, and Walter was lucky to escape with his life. It was well nigh all he did escape with, for he literally had nothing except the shirt and trousers he was wearing — not even a hat, or a pair of boots. There were others in a similar plight, and a band of them, outlaws, and in danger of their lives, managed ot cross many miles of country, and to reach the comparative safety of Bolivian territory. But Walter still wandered on until he found work in a tiny township in Matto Grosso, across the Brazilian border. Due east was Descalvados, where he met old Ramsey, and was engaged by him as a.cattle hand. This had happened some 12 years ago, but Walter’s home was still in the little border township, for he only worked on the fazenda during certain seasons of the year. He had taken to himself a wife, a Brazilian woman, and was the proud father of five children. He also owned a few head of cattle, and expressed himself as being entirely satisfied with his lot. * * * NOTHER feature of that New Year’s Day was the evening meal. This was indeed the "big feast." After breakfast a sucking pig had been killed, and was prepared for our delectation. At midday the Senhora had laughingly warned us to eat sparingly, in view of the special tréat in store, and had declared that in the evening she would allow nobody to leave the table until every atom of food had been eaten. Had she kept her word, we should all have been there till breakfast time, for she cooked enough for an army. First, in came the piglet, pinkly glowing, with a lemon in his mouth, and his curly tail dangling over the edge of the dish. He was placed at the head of the table, but by no means alone. His one brief moment had arrived, and, alas! he had to share it with a chicken and a rump steak. For vegetables we had mandioca, marrow, and, of course, rice and

beans; while in case any of these failed to satisfy, there was a huge tureen of steaming spaghetti dressed with thick gravy and reposing under a top layer of a dozen fried eggs. I seem to remember, too, a sticky sweetmeat in a tin, and a water-melon full of flat seeds. But my interest in life had waned somewhat by that time, although next morning, Walter assured me that I had made a very creditable speech to the Senhora in Portuguese. The party adjourned to the verandah, and we succumbed to the glamour of the lovely night. Even the mosquitoes were silent. Then suddenly there was a cry, and the Senhora snatched her baby from the floor, where only a couple of feet away was a big hairy tarantula. One of the girls quickly dropped a bucket over it, while another ran for paraffin and matches. They ~ drenched the deadly thing in spirit, and then set fire to it. It popped and crackled like a firework, and the children were highly delighted. Maybe the child did have a narrow escape,,and maybe the repulsive creature deserved its fate; but the spell was broken, the mosquitoes started to bite, and Walter and I made our way back to our rooms. * * * EXT day we were off again. It had been decided that a party consisting of Walter, two of his Indians, and myself, should make a tour of inspection round the distant parts: of the fazenda. These trips were made periodically, and included visits to various Indian settlements in the interior. Accordingly, horses were saddled and our hammocks, mosquito bars, a change of clothing, and varidus other odds and ends, including a cooking pot, were safely packed. Care was taken to pick out four horses in good condition, since the trip was likely to last five days or so, and they would be worked hard all the time. We certainly looked the part as we set out that morning. One of the two Indians was Rufino, reputedly the best horseman in those parts, and a bullfighter into-the bargain. Both he and the other native wore patched shirts and trousers of many colours, and with long knives stuck in their belts, handkerchiefs knotted round their necks, and their high-crowned straw hats, they looked game for anything. Neither Walter nor I seemed bound for a quiet picnic either, as our rifles, revolvers, and knives showed; but a ‘true picnic touch was added to our departure, for we nearly forgot the salt! % ue % [_EAVING the fazenda, we headed south, roughly parallel to the river downstream, and then afterwards swung westwards a few points, gradually leaving the river farther away to our left. The campo here was under nearly two sa tae (continued on next page) ©

re (continued from previous page) feet of water, and progress was necessarily slow. Walter and I rode side by side, and he told me about the Indian, Rufino. At that time Bolivia and Paraguay were openly at war over the disputed territory of the Gran Chaco, but for many years previously that territory had been the scene of covert hostilities between the rival factions. Banditry was rife, and the people who suffered most were the native Chaco Indians, for whom allegiance either to Bolivia or Paraguay meant nothing, and who wished only to be left alone to live their own lives in peace. One day an outlaw band swept down on a small Indian community, stole their horses, and carried off the lad Rufino to look after them. He was virtually their’ prisoner, and the harsh treatment meted out to him sharpened his desire both for escape and for revenge. Seizing his opportunity one night, he collected all the firearms and hid them in the thick undergrowth where they could never be found. Then he rode away into the night, taking with him all ‘the other horses. That was a desperate venture, and probably resulted in the death of his captors, for, weaponless and on foot, their chances of succour were remote. His own life, too, was now forfeit should he ever be recognised, so instead of returning to his people he crossed the border into Brazil and came to Walter Hill’s little township. By that time he had lost all his horses except the one he rode, and an unscrupulous peon claimed that one too, accusing Rufino of having stolen it. Naturally, he found it hard to defend himself, and without Hill’s intervention would have lost his horse and received a whipping as well. But Walter, who knew as well as everybody else that the accused was lying, had the courage to say so and threatened that any whipping might have unexpected results. This had all happened some six or eight years before, and since then Rufino had been Walter’s own personal boy, and was always with him. He was a treasure, Walter declared, his accomplishments ranging from bullfighting to nursing the children. I did not have the opportunity of seeing him perform either of these feats, but I often saw him rope cattle at full gallop, or ride into fighting bulls when their tussles were holding up the whole herd; and on one occasion his quick wits saved Walter and myself from probable death.

‘, HE weather was unkind to us, for ‘" heavy rain set in during the morning and continued throughout the day. The going was not easy, either, because once clear of the floods we struck timbered campo where the thick scrub and tall grasses hindered our progress. Even so, the ride was full of interest. In the swamp an alligator was a common sight, and commanded only a casual glance. More beautiful to look at were the birds and butterflies. Some of the birds were remarkably unafraid, though this seemed to vary in inverse ratio to their size. The large birds, storks, pelicans, and water fowl, flew away at our approach, but the small, brightly-coloured ones merely hopped on to another branch and -watched us go by. One, in particular, I liked to see. He was a cheerful little fellow, about as big as a thrush, with a scarlet head and a white collar round

his neck; he looked just like a eprightly | sergeant-major in full dress. The butterflies, of course, were amazing, for nowhere in the world are there more varieties than in Brazil. Once the two Indians wheeled their horses and dashed off through the scrub. They were soon lost to sight, though we could hear them plunging about at no great distance. Presently they returned and Walter explained that they had spotted a wild pig, and given chase. In more open ground it would have been an easy kill, and we should have had pork for supper once again; but the dense undergrowth, while not hindering the pig in his blundering rush for safety, presented an impenetrable obstacle to the horsemen, and their quarry had escaped. The natives get these animals by chasing them on horseback and hitting them on the head with the steel ring of their lassoes. Towards sundown the rain stopped and Walter decided to make camp. We had a stock of cold meat and some of this was warmed in the pot for supper, which on trips of this kind is the only prepared meal of the day. Together with hard biscuits and maté, it proved highlyacceptable fare, * * *" OUR first discovery in the morning was that the meat had turned bad, which meant that unless we could bag something we should be hungry by the time we reached our objective, an Indian settlement some seven hours’ ride distant. This was rank bad luck, as things turned out, for we came to a stretch of marshy land, and there, plain as a pikestaff, were the fresh tracks of a tiger. Rufino eagerly declared that they were not more than two hours old and that we should get them for sure. But Walter deemed otherwise. The Indians, he knew, could trail the big cat.unerringly, even through bush and timber, but it would be slow work and could easily take all day, We had no food and were faced with a stiff ride before we were certain of finding any; so, under the circumstances, his decision was probably a wise one, although it was a big disappointment at the time. However, we soon forgot our lost tiger for, after another two or three miles, Rufino held up a warning hand and pointed away into the distance. We remained motionless, while the Indian and Walter conversed in’ low tones. Then Walter dismounted, and told me to follow him. For,ten minutes we pushed our way as noiselessly as possible through the elephant grass which entirely hid us from view, and then, coming to the end of it, Walter stopped and whispered to me to look out for a shot. "What at?" I said, which was a fair question, because no one had told me, and I was ready to have a bang at anything from a duck to a rhinoceros. : "Why, deer of course," he replied, "and it means the big feast if we can get one." : We straightened up to take a look, and about 400 yards away were a dozen deer, their heads up, looking suspiciously right towards us. But in that second it took to.take aim and fire they were in instant flight, their white scuts bobbing through the bush waving goodbye to our empty stomachs. ‘ (To be cecuteadl: said week)