Mistaken Journey

New Zealand Listener, Volume 12, Issue 298, 9 March 1945, Page 23

Mistaken Journey

Be

ROY

SHEFFIELD

Ra Pet, ea Meee ts Are Ne LCRA IRS NS" An account of adventures in Central South America by an English "Innocent Abroad." He is now on a cattle ranch in the Matto Grosso. wwewwewewee ew ee YT Ys me

XI. UR lucked changed, though, for the Indians’ quick eyes noticed a turtle splashing along a creek. It was a fair-sized one too, just about as much as Rufino could lift, but he swung it up across his saddle, and we rode on, looking for the next course on the menu, Further along the same creek, the Indians once more called a halt. This time Walter pointed to a small hummock of earth, and to an alligator whose snout was just visible under a bush about ten yards away. Walter handed his pistol to the other Indian, who dismounted and walked very slowly to within 15 feet of the alligator. His shot went straight between the eyes, and the beast was stone dead with barely a shudder. We all dismounted, and Rufino made the turtle a safe prisoner by turning it over on its back. We scraped away the earth from the hummock and there, in the shape of 31 aljigator’s eggs, was the rest of our dinner. A fire was kindled, and when it was well alight the turtle was dumped in the flames. That seemed rather hard on the poor turtle as he was still alive, but the only way to get at the meat is to break the shell, and this is impossible unless it is heated. When it was hot enough the Indians broke the shell with a stick and cut up the meat for roasting, while Walter and I busied ourselves boiling the eggs in the stewpot. They were larger than a chicken’s egg, with a rough, pitted shell, and according to Walter were much better fried, than boiled. I find this easy to believe, for the way we had them I thought they tasted disgusting. Each egg contained a quantity of slimy liquid and a small jelly alligator in embryo, but Walter and the two Indians broke them in halves and poured the contents down their throats in evident enjoyment. One was enough for me, and the others finished the whole of the remainder between them, an average of ten apiece. The turtle meat, however, which was soon roasted over the fire, was much more appetising. Walter was in good form over this. "There you are," he said, "you could go to all the hotels in London city, an’ you couldn’t get a turtle’s liver like this in none of ’em. An’ as for ’gators’ eggs, why, they’d think you was plumb crazy if you asked for ’em. This is the big feast all right, all right, an’ no mistake."

I thought to myself that I would certainly be "plumb crazy" if ever I askedfor alligators’ eggs again under any circumstances. But the turtle’s liver was different. It is, of course, a rare delicacy, and one to which my keen appetite did full justice. * * * T was then just after mid-day, and we took a brief siesta before continuing the ride. As usual, the mosquitoes bothered me too much to go to sleep, and I was content to brush them off, and to watch the vultures steal scraps of meat. It is amazing where these birds come from, Even in the most deserted place a brief stop for food would fetch them out of a clear sky, while at the camp there were always dozens of them about, ready to seize on the remains of a meal almost before one’s back was turned. They are horrible creatures; their curved beaks, clumsy rolling walk, and everything about them are the epitome of all that is sinister and evil. Among those that came down then was one particularly nasty specimen, His head was grey, not black like the others, and he viewed my attempts to scare him off by tossing little sticks at him with silent contempt. He was asking for trouble, and I took a shot at him with my revolver. Walter and the two others dozing by my side came back to earth abruptly and reached for their weapons. "What is it, pal?" demanded Walter in some alarm. I sat up and brushed my knee nonchalantly. : "Mosquito!" I replied, accenting the middle syllable in true Portuguese manner. It was the best joke the Indians had heafd for a long time, and they howled with laughter; tough as they were, even they did not shoot mosquitoes off their knees with a revolver! % — E reached the little Indian village, if the half-a-dozen huts could be called a village, during the afternoon, and set a pack of lean, mangy curs barking frenziedly. The Indians were pleased to see Walter, and came out to greet him with smiles. He cracked jokes with all of them, and soon had the leather-faced old squaws giggling like schoolgirls. Maté was forthcoming and the ceremony was performed in true conventional style. This green tea, yerba maté as it is called in Spanish, or herva matté in Portuguese, is extensively drunk in South American countries, and in those places where meat forms so great a portion of the diet it is very beneficial, Quoting the text book: "It contains a nitrogenous principle, which is both nourishing and sustaining. It does not tax the digestive powers in the slightest degree." Which is all very good and healthy, but some methods of drinking it are not beyond criticism from the hygienic point of view. On this occasion, seven of us sat down in the shade of one. of the palm-roofed (continued on next page)

_ (continued from previous page) huts. We formed a circle round the fire, the three senior men of the village and our own mixed party of four, and waited for the water to get hot. But it must not boil, as that golden rule does not apply to maté. Every Indian or peon in a cattle district has a drinking-horn made from a cow’s horn, and Walter had given me one on our first trip together. However, only one horn is used, that of the host, when maté is served in this fashion, and only one bombilla too. The bombilla is a tube, either of metal or cane, through which the maté is imbibed and is fitted with a small strainer to prevent the grounds from being drawn up into one’s mouth. Our host put a small handful of maté into the horn, added hot water, and slowly sucked his tea through the bombilla. This was not bad manners, for the first lot is supposed to be an inferior brew, and the headman showed his politeness by drinking it. He then filled the horn with water again and handed

it, with the DombDilla, to the man on his left. That was Walter, and he slowly sucked the horn dry before handing it back to our host. Again the latter filled it up with water and gave it to the next ‘man on his left-in this case, myself. I duly. obliged, being careful to make suitable smacking noises with my lips, which is a sign of appreciation. And so it went on, round and round the circle, the same bombilla going into everybody’s mouth until the drink was finished. I was well used to the practice by that time, though I always contrived to. sit on Walter Hill’s left and to give the mouthpiece a surreptitious rub between my fingers as I took it. When riding out in the campo our maté was taken cold without even dismounting from our horses. Whoever happened to be carrying the bag of maté on his saddie put some into his horn, and it was passed round with his bombilla, each man dipping it into the swamp to fill it. When you are following in the track of four or five hundred head of cattle there is usually a fair amount of mud and manure floating about, and this method has probably even less to commend it than the other. | Walter talked to the Indians, and presented {hem with a few strips of tobacco. They, in turn, prepared an evening meal of corn-cob and mandioca root, and after slinging our hammocks in an empty hut we turned in. * *x i HE following day’s programme was much the same as the last. Leaving the little Indian settlement, we made for another one, a day’s ride to the west, and at no great distance from Walter’s home. Again we rode through heavy rain, and twice we saw herds of deer without being able to get a shot at them. Other animals we might have seen included tapir, or South American elephant, wolves, and ant-eaters, as well as the wild pig, tigers, and birds already mentioned. But hunting is neither a very pleasant nor profitable pastime, and a party could stay out for a fortnight and still not see a tiger, or anything else worth their trouble. "Tiger" is the common name given to all members of the big cat family in South America, though it would be more correct to speak of them as leopards or jaguars. Our reception at the next Indian community was as cordial as the one on the previous day, and we had another

maté drink to celebrate the occasion, Here, too, all was well. The Indians had not seen any Descalvados cattle in those parts, and nothing else had happened to upset the peaceful routine of their lives. The headman was an old fellow who had worked for Ramsey at one time, and he was something of a character. He had all the old-timer’s contempt of the younger generation, and the particular bee in his bonnet was salt. Since the young men of his tribe had become salteaters, he declared, they were soft and degenerate and had lost all the skill and bravery of their forefathers. Why, in his young days he would go into the forest and whistle a tiger. When the tiger came, he would kill it with his spear, single-handed. Where were the young braves who would go and do likewise to-day? ( Walter interpreted the diatribe for my benefit, and said that he would try to get the old chap to tell the story of the white hunter who wanted to shoot a tiger. Presently the tale began. I tell it in the language of Walter Hill, for that is how I heard it.

"It happened many moons ago," translated Walter, "when the old cock was in his prime. A white man comes to him, an’ sezs ‘I wish to shoot a tiger.’ So he takes the white man into the forest, an’ he whistles him a tiger. But when the tiger comes, the white man gits scared an’ runs away an’ climbs a tree. The tiger, he gits scared, too, an’ he runs away an’ climbs a tree. So the Indian sez, ‘Don’t git scared, white man. You come on down, an’ when’ I whistle that tiger, you shoot him, see?’ So the white man gits down from the tree, an’ old Ugly whistles the tiger. Pretty soon he shows up agin, but that cock-eyed paleface shoots too soon an’ runs up his tree agin. The old tiger, he’s gettin’ pretty ‘mad ’bout all this, so he lets out a roar, an’ he gits back up his tree agin too. "Come on down, white man,’ sez the Indian, ‘there’s snakes in them trees. You keep down here where you're safe an’ shoot the tiger.’ "So he whistles the tiger a third time, an’ this time ke comes right up and sniffs ’°em. ‘Go on, white man, why don’t you shoot him?’ sez the Indian. So the white man shoots, but he misses the tiger and hits the Indian. So the old fellow sees he’d best do the job himself, as it was gittin’ kinda dangerous round there, an’ he ups an’ kills the tiger with his spear. An’ when they gits back the white man stands up straight an’ folds his arms, an’ they take his picture with the tiger. But he was mighty sorry he’d loosed that gun into our ol pal here, an’ d’you know what he gives him for a present? Why, a bag of salt!" x It was a good tale, though it had probably gained a few points in frequent repetition, and when the Indian’s eloquent gestures were finished, he sat there nodding his head, and gazing into the fire. They also gave us corn om and mane dioca root for supper that night. These peopile’s needs are few, and one or two odd corners of cultivated ground is all this community bothered about. In addi-+ tion to corn and mandioca, they grew sugar, beans, maize, and potatoes, while the forest yielded them fruit and other edible roots. They also possessed a few head of cattle, while a hunting trip would usually add variety to the cooking (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) pot; so that altogether they seemed to live happy, well-ordered lives, and were in no urgent need of the refining influence of modern civilisation. * * * BIDDING farewell to the Indians, we headed due north next morning, being then just half-way round on our circular trip. We reached campo. of a more open character hereabouts, a likely enough place to discover a bunch of straying cattle, and in order to cover more ground Walter split the party up into three sections. Deciding on a distant landmark as a meeting place, he and I made straight towards it while Rufino and the other native acted as skirmishers on either flank. We met and separated again two or three times, and it was getting on into the afternoon when Rufino said he had seen deer. This time our luck was in, for after approaching the place on foot through a belt of timber we came within easy distance of a small herd feeding in the tall grass, and Walter dropped the nearest one without any trouble. There was water in a creek on the other side of the timber, so we soon had a fire blazing, and were sniffing at the appetising odour of roasting venison, Meanwhile, Walter and I had the "big wash" in the creek, and bathed the horses’ backs. ‘Two of them were developing nasty saddle sores, and were bothered by the beastly sticky flies which swarmed over the raw places. We washed them clean, but Walter said they would need attention when we returned to the fazenda. The venison tasted good. It was the first decent meal we had eaten since killing the turtle two days previously. A feed of this kind, where strips of meat are roasted over an open fire, is called "churrasco," and besides a sharp knife the only other necessary adjuncts are your two hands and a good set of teeth. Evening dress, of course, is optional, * x 2k URSUING our circular course, the route was north-east next day, and after a breakfast of hot maté and cold meat we were away to an early start. Wherever possible we adopted the open formation of the previous day, though this time I made a fourth member in the line and did not stay with Walter. We covered a lot of ground in this way and the Indian on the east flank was able to observe recent tracks of cattle. Walter was riding in the next position to him, and when the native galloped up with his news he signalled to Rufino and me to return. The cattle tracks were easily followed by the Indians and ,possibly by Walter too, but only very occasionally could I see that the various marks he pointed out to me were anything like the imprints of hooves. Eventually we came up with the cattle, a bunch of about 50 all told, and deucedly wild they were too as a result of being on their own for a considerable time. They were quite the liveliest animals I had helped to manage up to then, and it was a good thing we came upon them from behind, as it were, because at sight of us they made a mad dash across the campo, luckily in the direction we intended driving them Walter called a brief halt while we drank cold maté and ate some meat,

"Flow are you makin’ out, son?" he asked me. "I’m O.K., thanks, Walter," I replied. "Well, I hope you are, that’s all," was the rather grim rejoinder, "’cos we’re all goin’ to be pretty beat by the time we git home to-night." That was news, indeed, for although we had been gradually circling closer to the fazenda since the previous morning we were still a matter of 40 miles away, and it had not been intended to return until the following day. "The boys sez it’s goin’ to rain, an’ keep on rainin’,"’ Walter continued, "an’ as. we’ve got to push these sons-o’-bitches in until we pick up some gentle cattle

we might as well keep goin’ ourselves; ’cos if the boys is right, we'll sure be plenty wet enough by that time." HE boys were right. Unquestionably so! Even then, the odd spots of rain which had been threatening all the morning quickened into a steady downpour, and we set off in pursuit of the cattle without further delay. Some of the beasts would charge straight at a horseman, and would not be checked by shouts or wavirig hands, Then we had to give way, and be quick about it, too; but in most cases the cattle swerved either to right or left, and with a quick turn the horses’

superior speed enabled us to wheel them back in the right direction. Once more we had the bunch galloping towards home, but their next trick was a sudden plunge to the left where, less than a mile away, was a strip of thickly-timbered campo. This time, as it was on our flank, the job of checking them fell to Walter and me. Had the cattle reached the trees our task would have been hopeless, for 50 horsemen could not have dislodged them from the shelter of the dense undergrowth. Luckily for us they did not get there, although we had only about 200 yards to spare before we turned them, (To be continued next week)