The Bee Hunters: A Tale of Adventure

These vast solitudes are infested by two races of men, perpetually at war with each other: the Indian Bravos, or Pampas, and the Guachos.

The Guachos, a caste peculiar to the Argentine provinces, are not to be met elsewhere.

These men, charged with the supervision of the wild cattle and horses which range at large through the whole extent of these wide plains, are, for the most part, whites by race; but, crossed in blood with the aborigines for many years, they have in time become almost as barbarous as the Indians themselves, from whom they have learnt their cunning and cruelty.

They live on horseback, lie in the bare sun, support themselves on the flesh of their beasts when unlucky in the chase, and only approach the towns and haciendas for the purpose of exchanging their skins, their ñandú (the ostrich of the Pampas) plumes, and furs, for spirits, silver spurs, powder, knifes, and the cloths of gaudy colours with which they delight to adorn their persons.

The true Centaurs of the New World, as rapid as the Tartar riders of the Steppes of Siberia, they transport themselves with prodigious speed from one extremity of the Banda Oriental to the other. They recognise no law beyond the whim of the moment; no master but their will. For the most part, they do not know the proprietor who employs them, and whom they only see at rare intervals.

The Guachos are almost as much to be dreaded as the Indians by travellers, who dare not venture upon the Pampas except in considerable numbers, so as to afford mutual protection against the aggressions to which they are constantly exposed, either from Indians or from the wild beasts.

The caravans are usually composed of fifteen, or even twenty, wagons, or galeras, drawn by six or eight oxen apiece. Their drivers, crouching under the hide covering of the galeras, urge them on with long goads, slung over their heads, with which they can easily reach the leading oxen of the team.

A capataz, or major-domo, – a resolute man, thoroughly acquainted with the Pampas, – commands the caravan, having under his orders some thirty peones, who, like himself, are mounted, and gallop around the convoy, watch the relief cattle, and, in case of attack, defend the travellers of every age whom they escort.

Nothing can be seen at once so picturesque and sad as the aspect the caravans present as they extend themselves in a long serpentine line over the Pampas, advancing at a slow and regular pace along roads full of quagmires, over which the immense galeras roll, groaning on their croaking and massive wheels, tottering with indescribable swayings and joltings along ruts, out of which the oxen, lowing and stretching their smoking nostrils to the ground, can hardly drag them.

Ofttimes these heavy caravans are passed by arrieros (muleteers), whose recua (string of mules) trots gaily on, to the tinkling of a silver bell attached to the neck of the yegua madrina (the leading mule), and to the sound of "Arrea, mulos" (Get on mules), incessantly repeated, in all notes of the gamut, by the arriero chief and his peones who gallop about the mules to prevent their straying to right or left.

When night comes, the muleteers and ox drivers find precarious shelter in the post houses – a kind of tambas or caravanseries, built, at considerable distances apart, in the Pampas. The galeras, detached from the oxen, are ranged in single file; the burdens of the mules are piled up in a circle; then, if the corral (stables) be full, if there be many travellers at the post house, beasts and men encamp together, and spend the night under the open sky, – a mode of sleeping which is no hardship in a country where cold is almost unknown. Then commence, by the fantastic light of the bivouac fires, the long tales of the Pampas, interspersed with joyous bursts of laughter, with songs, and words of love uttered in whispers.

Yet it is rare for the night to pass over without a quarrel of some sort arising between the muleteers and the drivers, who are by nature jealous of each other, and enemies by profession. Then blood flows, the consequence of a navajada or two; for the knife always plays a too active part among these men, whom no fear of consequences restrains in their unbridled frenzy.

Now, on the night of the day on which our story begins, the last post house on the Portillo road, when you leave the Pampas, going to Buenos Aires, was overfilled with travellers. Two numerous recuas de mulas (strings of mules), which a month before had crossed the Alto de Cumbre, and encamped on the Rio de la Cucoa, close to the Inca's Bridge, one of the most singular natural curiosities in the country, had lighted their fires before the post house, close to two or three convoys of galeras, whose oxen were quietly lying in the interior of the circle formed by the wagons.

The post house was a building of considerable extent, constructed of adobas (sundried bricks.) The entrance was furnished with a portico – a species of peristyle formed of the trunks of four large trees, planted in the ground in lieu of pillars, and supporting a veranda broad enough to afford shelter from the piercing rays of the sun.

In the interior of the toldo, as they call these miserable hovels, resounded the songs and laughter of the drivers and muleteers, mingling with the notes of a vihuela (Spanish guitar), scraped with the knuckles of the hand in a manner sufficient to drive one to despair, and with the sharp and clamorous outcry of the postmaster, whose squeaking voice strove in vain to quell the uproar, and regulate the disorder.

Just at this moment the rapid gallop of many horses was heard; and two parties of riders, coming from points diametrically opposite, stopped, as with one accord, before the porch of the toldo, after passing with great dexterity through the encampments before the post house, the approaches to which were vastly obstructed by the galeras.

The first of these parties, consisting of only six riders, came from the direction of Mendoza; the second from the opposite side, from the heart of the Pampas: the latter comprised some thirty individuals at least.

The unexpected arrival of the newcomers stopped, as by enchantment, the clamour which the ranchero, or owner of the house, had been unable to still, and a sudden silence seized on the company, which had been so joyously uproarious a few minutes before.

The muleteers and drivers glided like shadows out of the house, and, with furtive steps, regained their respective encampments, exchanging uneasy looks amongst themselves; so that the room was empty in a twinkling, and the ranchero was able to come forward and receive the guests who had arrived so unexpectedly. But he had scarcely reached the threshold, and cast a glance outside, when a mortal pallor overspread his visage, a convulsive shudder shook his frame, and his tones were almost unintelligible, as he managed to stutter forth the essential phrase of welcome in South America; "¡Ave, María purísima!" (Hail, purest Mary!)

"¡Sin pecado concebida!" (immaculately conceived) answered the rough voice of a tall cavalier, with harsh features and a ferocious eye, who seemed to be the leader of the more numerous party.

We must observe that the second party appeared in some degree to share the terror felt by the inhabitants of the post house; and having perceived the others before their own presence was remarked, the six cavaliers had prudently reined in their horses, and thrown themselves into the shade as far as possible, being little desirous, in all probability, of being inadvertently seen by the dangerous fellow travellers amongst whom chance or ill luck had unfortunately thrown them.

Now, who were these persons, the sight of whom sufficed of itself to inspire a general panic and womanly consternation in the breasts of the hardy explorers of the wilderness – of men whose life was a perpetual struggle against the wild beasts, and who had so often confronted death without blenching, that they almost fancied they were beyond his grasp?

At the time in which this story happens, the hateful and bloody tyranny of that half-breed – that Nero who had nothing belonging to humanity but its semblance, that ignorant and brutal guacho, that man-faced tiger, in a word, Don Juan Manuel de Rosas – which had so long crushed the Argentine provinces, was still all-powerful; and these men were federales, hired assassins of that butcher in cold blood, whose name is now damned by the execration of the world; in short, they were members of that horrible restauradora (regeneratory) society, better known under the name of mashorca (mashorca signifies literally "more gallows"), which for several years filled all Buenos Aires with mourning. Constrained by public indignation, the Dictator, later on, had made a pretence of dissolving this society; but he did nothing of the sort, in reality; and up to the final fall of the unclean tyrant, it existed de facto, and at the slightest sign of its master scattered murder, violation, and fire through the length and breadth of the confederation.

The reader can now understand the terror which seized upon the careless and peaceable travellers assembled in the toldo, at the appearance of the ominous uniforms of these hired ruffians, to whom pity was unknown.

Compelled by one of these instinctive presentiments which are seldom fallacious, they felt that some misfortune threatened them. They crept out with slouching heads, and hiding themselves behind their bales, began to shudder in the darkness, without attempting to prepare for resistance, which they knew would be futile.

In the meantime, the colorados, or federales, had dismounted, and entered the rancho, marching on their toes, on account of their enormous spur rowels, and allowing their heavy iron scabbards to trail beside them: The clang made by these in their contact with the flooring seemed a sound of evil augury to the terrified listeners.

"Halloa!" cried the leader, in a harsh voice; "¡rayo de Dios! What does this mean, Caballeros? Does our arrival banish all pleasure from this dwelling?"

The ranchero multiplied his obeisances till he addled his brains with bowing, and twisted his shapeless hat in both hands without finding a word to say. At the bottom of his heart, this worthy man, who was acquainted with the expeditious habits of his unwelcome guests, had the greatest dread of being hanged forthwith; a thought which by no means helped him to recover his presence of mind, and the coolness required by circumstances.

The large room was barely lighted by a single smoky candle, shedding a yellow and doubtful light. The colorado, coming from the open, his eyes still clouded with the thick darkness on the Pampas, had not been able to distinguish objects at first; but as soon as he had got accustomed to the semi-obscurity which reigned around him, and perceived that, with the exception of the ranchero, the place was empty, he frowned, and stamped on the ground in ire.

"¡Válgame Dios!" he exclaimed, looking furiously at the poor devil perspiring with fear before him, "Have I fallen unawares into a nest of serpents? Is this miserable hut the meeting place of salvajes unitarios? Answer, wretch, or I will have your tongue torn out and thrown to the dogs!"

The post master grew green with fear when he heard this menace, – a threat he well knew these men capable of executing. He was still more frightened at the expression salvajes unitarios, an epithet used to designate the enemies of Rosas, and generally the prelude to a massacre.

"Señor General," cried he, with an heroic effort to utter a few words.

"I am not a general," broke in the colorado in a somewhat smoother tone, for his pride was secretly flattered by the sonorous title; "I am not a general yet, though I hope to be one someday. I am only teniente (lieutenant), which is already a pretty step; so call me nothing else for the present. Now, go on."

"Señor Teniente," replied the ranchero, a little comforted, "there is nobody here except good friends of the well beloved General Rosas; we are all federals."

"Ha! I doubt that," said the terrible lieutenant. "You are too close to Monte Video to be thorough Rosistas."

We must state here that throughout the Argentine provinces there was only one town which had the noble courage to oppose itself to the savage tyranny of the ruthless Dictator. This town, whose devotion to the sacred cause of liberty has made it celebrated throughout both the Old and New Worlds, is Monte Video. Resolute to perish, if it must be, in the holy cause it bad embraced, it heroically sustained a siege of nine years against the troops of Rosas, whose impotent efforts were repeatedly shattered against its walls.

"Señor Teniente," replied the ranchero obsequiously, "the people who meet here are solely arrieros and wagoners, who are only passers-by, and never meddle with politics."

This explanation, which the postmaster thought most adroit, had no influence on the colorado.

"¡Vive Dios!" he cried, with haughty voice, "We will see; and woe to the traitor I discover! Luco," he continued addressing his cabo, or corporal, "just step and rouse up those brute beasts, and bring them hither. If any sleep too soundly, stir them up with the point of the sabre; it will exhilarate them and induce them to move more quickly."

The cabo gave a malicious grin, and went out immediately to execute his orders.

The lieutenant, after addressing a few more questions of minor importance to the ranchero, at last thought fit to seat himself on the bench which ran round the room, and, to enliven the time of the corporal's absence, set himself to consume the liquor and food assiduously placed before him by the host, who was swearing to himself all the while at being obliged to find drink gratis for so many. He knew well that, though the consumption of liquors by the soldiers would be enormous, he would never see the colour of their money, and might think himself happy if he escaped without other damage.

The soldiers, except five or six who remained without in charge of the horses, seated themselves by their officer, and followed his example in drinking like sponges.

The corporal's task was easier than he expected, for the poor devils of muleteers and drivers had overheard the peremptory order of the leader. Comprehending that resistance would not only be useless, but make their situation worse, they obeyed their officer's orders with resignation, and came back again into the room, attempting to hide their fright with ill-counterfeited smiles.

"Aha!" cried the lieutenant; "I knew we should find some malcontents here, – ay, good people?"

The peasants multiplied their excuses and protestations, to which the lieutenant listened with the greatest indifference, taking all the while short sips from an enormous goblet, filled to the brim with refino de Catalonia, the strongest spirit known.

"There, that will do," said he at last, making the steel scabbard of his sword rattle against the bench; "let us reconnoitre a little; and first of all, for whom are you, in the devil's name?"

The travellers, terrified by this demonstration, answered the question by hastening to shout at the top of their voices, and with an enthusiasm the more demonstrative the less it was real:

"Viva el benemérito General Rosas, Viva el libertador, Vivan los federales, Mueren los salvajes unitarios. A degüello, a degüello con ellos."2

These well-known federal cries, which served as rallying calls in their bloody expeditions, dispelled the doubts of the officer. He deigned to smile; but it was a tiger's smile, exposing the white fangs ready to bite.

"Bravos, Bravos," he cried: "that is right at all events. These are true Rosistas. Come, ranchero, trago de aguardiente" (a draught of brandy) "for these worthy people. I intend to treat them."

The ranchero could have easily dispensed with this factitious generosity of the officer, the cost of which he well knew he should have to pay out of his own pocket. However, he executed the order, hiding the chagrin he felt under the most gracious air he could assume. The cries and protestations of federalism were renewed with redoubled ardour: the brandy circulated, and joy seemed to have reached a climax.

The lieutenant next took a guitar, which happened to lie beside him.

"Come, muchachos," said he; "a zambacueca" (a Mexican dance). "Voto a Dios, Room for the dance."

There was no refusing. Whatever the secret fears of those present, the gracious invitation of the colorado was so neatly put, that they were obliged to take heart of grace, as the saying is, and play their parts to the end. It was the best plan to resign themselves to their lot. They were in the claws of the tiger, who might devour them at any moment if the fancy seized him.

The middle of the room was cleared; the dancers, male and female, took their places, their eyes fixed on the officer, in expectation of his signal.

They had not long to wait; as soon as the lieutenant saw his victims prepared, he swallowed an enormous bumper of refino, and set himself to rattle on the guitar with his knuckles; while he sang, or rather screeched, in a shaky voice, the gay zambacueca so well known in the Argentine provinces, and which begins with the following charming verse:

"Para que vas y vienes,Vienes y vas.Si otros andar menos,Consiguen más?"3

It has been truly said that the Spaniards are excessively fond of dancing; but in this, as in many other matters, the South Americans have left them far behind They have carried this passion to such a pitch, that it reaches the limits of folly. The scene we are about to describe will prove the truth of our assertion.

These very men, who had only consented to dance because, as one may say, the knife was at their throats, and were still under the influence of extreme terror, had scarcely heard for a few minutes the groaning chords of the guitar, and the words which marked the time, than they immediately forgot their precarious position, and gave themselves up heart and soul, in a sort of savage frenzy, to their favourite pastime.

Those who at first had prudently kept themselves within bounds, in consequence of their anxiety, were soon fascinated by the bounds of the dancers, and leaped and stamped, howling, like the others, with all the strength of their lungs.

Thus at the close of a few minutes all constraint had vanished, and the noise had again grown as deafening, and the uproar as stunning, as it had been when the federals arrived.

Meanwhile the corporal had diligently carried out the orders he had received from his superior; but, as we said above, the muleteers and wagoners, having accidentally stopped in front of the rancho, and then entered the room of their own accord, had materially lightened his task. But that worthy officer, zealous in the performance of his duty, had taken half a dozen soldiers with him, and scoured the several encampments, passing the blades of their swords between the bales, looking into the insides of the galeras,– in a word, ferreting about everywhere, with the sagacity of an old bloodhound which it is impossible to baffle.

Persuaded at last, after the most minute search, that all those whom he thus looked after had entered the rancho, he determined to follow them. But the uproar he heard inside convincing him that all was going right, for the time at least, he changed his mind, and dismissing the soldiers who were with him, and who desired nothing better than to join the merriment, remained outside.

As soon as he found himself alone, the corporal's whole demeanour changed. He first satisfied himself that no indiscreet eye observed his motions; he then rolled a cigarette between his fingers, lit it, and, walking backwards and forwards with the air of an idler enjoying his leisure, gradually increased his distance from the porch.

After some ten minutes of this manoeuvring, which bore no bad resemblance to a ship tacking against a contrary breeze in her endeavours to get away from her port, he found he had passed beyond the wagoners' camps, and was so far from the rancho, that, thanks to the obscurity of the night, it was impossible to see him from thence. He immediately stopped, looked once more round him, and threw the lighted cigar in the air.

The light pajillo described a brilliant parabola against the sky, and then fell to the ground, when the corporal extinguished it with his foot.

At the same moment a slender line of fire sparkled in the obscurity a little way off.

"Good," growled the corporal; "see what it is to be prudent."

A second time he scanned the neighbourhood narrowly; then, reassured by the obscurity which reigned around, he resolutely turned aside into the darkness, humming under his breath these three verses of a song well known in the Pampas:

"O Libertad preciosa No comparado al oro Ni al bien mayor de la espaciosa tierra."4

Directly, a voice, low as a whisper, took up the subsequent verses:

"Más rica y más gozosa Que el más precioso tesoro."5

At this response, which he doubtless expected, the corporal stopped short. He struck the end of his scabbard on the ground, rested himself on the hilt, and said aloud, as if talking to himself:

"I should like to know why the ñandús (ostriches) have so suddenly taken themselves off into the Pampas?"

"Because," answered the voice which had continued the song, "they smelt the odour of dead bodies."

"That may be true," said the corporal, without seeming astonished at the answer which came so oddly; "but then the condors would come down from the Cordilleras."

"It is already twenty-one days since they passed the Alto de Cumbre."

"The sunset yesterday was red."

"His rays reflected the light of the conflagrations caused by the mashorca," said the voice again.

The corporal hesitated no longer.

"Approach, Don Leoncio," cried he; "you and your companions."

"We are here, Luco;" and the corporal was immediately surrounded by six persons, armed to the teeth.

It is useless to say that these men were the six persons who an hour before had arrived at the post house simultaneously with the colorados, and whom prudence had induced to remain concealed.

The dancing and shouting in the rancho still went on. The merriment was gradually growing into a gigantic orgy.

Consequently the strangers were sure they should not be disturbed. Moreover, although the moon had now risen, and gave a certain amount of light, the little group, sheltered by the wagons behind which they stood, was in no danger of discovery; while, thanks to its position, nobody could leave the rancho, without being seen directly by those composing it.

We will profit by the moonbeams to depict in a few words these fresh personages; a task made more easy by the fact that they had dismounted, and were holding their horses by the bridles.

We said they were six in number: the first three were evidently peones; but their heavy silver spurs, their tirador, or girdle of embroidered velvet, their beautifully chased weapons, their rich ponchos of fine Bolivian vicuña wool, and, above all, the respectful familiarity which they used towards their masters, indicated that they had earned for themselves a certain degree of consideration.

These peones were, in fact, not only servants, but friends; humble ones, it is true, but devoted ones, tried many a time in scenes of frightful danger.

Of the masters, two were men of about thirty-five, in all the vigour of their age and strength. Their dress, similar in cut to that of their servants, was only distinguished from it by the superior richness and fineness of its texture.

The foremost was a tall and well-built person, with graceful manners and elegant gestures. The outline of his face was proud and decided, and his hardy features expressed a kindness and frankness which, at first sight, won the sympathy and regard of all.