El Carmen. A romance of the River Plate, etc

Preface

. This is a story of El Carmen estancia and of two Englishmen who lived there, and of a woman whom they both loved ; also of how Belleville boomed and, like a bubble, burst, involving the whole countryside in a common bankruptcy. It also treats of certain peons and gauchos and their families, interesting although somewhat useless people, who must soon disappear for ever, being lost in the surging wave of Italian immi gration, which will surely soon overrun and fill these fertile, virgin plains of the Plate.

Chapter I

Late one starlight evening, some thirty-two years ago, two young men limped into the patio, or courtyard, of the estancia* El Carmen, asking food and hospitality for the night. Don Theodoro Cargaval, the proprietor or patron, opened wide his hall door and asked them in. His two handsome daughters, the Senoritas Inez and Magdelena, waited on them, Spanish fashion, while they ate, and Don Theodoro bade them rest, assuring them that he and his, and his estancia El Carmen, were at their entire disposal. Next day, when his guests were well rested and were about to leave, Don Theo doro inquired their names, wishing to know, * Cattle farm. he said, whom he had had the honour of entertaining. One of the young men then spoke up in broken Spanish : 'We are two Britishers, who came out here some months ago seeking to live ; but we shall both soon probably die of hunger, for we are broke, and on our beam ends.

My name is Jack Anstruther, from Scotland ; he is called George Dennis, an Irishman, and we are pals.' ' What, then, do you propose to do, my poor fellows ?' asked Don Theodoro ; ' have you indeed no prospects and no friends ?' ' Alas ! senor, we have no prospects,' Jack replied ; ' and of late I have begun to think that we have no friends ; though, God knows, we both thought we had many hither to. We are now on the tramp to a little hamlet called Belleville, where we hope to find work.' ' Then, I greatly fear that you are in a bad case,' replied their host, ' for Belleville is indeed a God-forgotten spot ;' then, turning to his capataz* : ' Manuel, cannot we find here work for these poor strangers, that they may have a little time to pluck up heart * Steward. before starting again upon their way across the camp ?'* Manuel considered, then asked : ' Can they ride ?' ' Yes, I can ride,' exclaimed George, the Irishman, smiling ; ' and my pal can ride, too, though he is best at keeping books — ain't you, Sandy ?

Speak up for yourself.' This was how these two needy men first came to live at El Carmen. They were both useful and active. Don Theodoro got to like them, and pressed them to stay on with him, until at length they took root, and El Carmen became their home. For Don Theodoro was now growing old ; his only son was dead, and Manuel, his capataz, rather careless. Of late, also, the management of his broad estancia had become a trouble to him ; his cattle were deteriorating, and strange stallions of the camp had broken in among his well-bred mares, which were his pride ; so, finding that Jack Anstruther could keep his books, and that George Dennis loved horses even more than he did himself, he thanked his stars and his patron saint for throwing these two young fellows across his path to * Country.

I take his dead son's place, and to be the pro tectors of his dearly-loved daughters when his time should come. Accordingly, some six months later Jack Anstruther married Inez, his eldest daughter, and George Dennis her sister Magdelena. After this double wedding things ran very smoothly at the estancia for several years. Jack proved to be a careful and judicious manager, and the estancia prospered under his rule ; and George delighted his father-in law and all the peons* and gauchost of the countryside by his gallant horsemanship, his shooting — for he was an enthusiastic sports man — and by, I regret to say, his prowess in replenishing his father-in-law's herds of cattle and horses, which of late had begun to in crease in a most marvellous way. Some few more years elapsed, and seven handsome children gladdened the old man's heart.

He now admitted that he was happy, and with pride he thought that all his people and dependents were happy also. It was too much. Fate noticed his beaming face and put down her foot. * Labourers. t Native cowboys. It happened thus. George had left the estancia one morning to bolear* ostriches, and had ridden far into the southern camp. At noon he halted to sestear. While he rested, some Pampas Indians passed by and speared two of his peons before they could catch their horses, and pursued him as he fled all the way to El Carmen, killing him as he reached his patio gate. Then they raided the rancho, spearing Jack Anstruther and several peons as they rushed out of the house, as well as Magdelena, George's wife, and all the young children. Old Don Theodoro, Doha Inez, and her eldest son, christened Jack, after his father, were fortu nately from home.

Magdelena's youngest child, a babe in arms, was concealed in the cattle - well behind the corral t until the Indians had ridden off south, and so also escaped. The babe, being a boy, was sub sequently christened George, after his dead father. After this tragedy Don Theodoro and his daughter Inez lived on at the estancia side * To hunt with the bolas. t An enclosed yard into which cattle and sheep are driven. by side, careless of all things, eating, sleeping and sucking mate,* leaving the management of the estancia to Manuel, who passed on most of the heavier work to his son, now fast growing up. However, when the years rolled on, Time, the great healer, laid his cool hand on the wound of this great sorrow, and Don Theodoro and his daughter took hold of life again and lived in the love of the two boys, Jack and George, now fast passing from childhood to youth.

When Jack was about ten years old and his cousin six, Don Theodoro found them a tutor. It happened thus. Don Theodoro was taking a paseart along the only street in Belleville on one of his periodical visits there, when he chanced to notice a limp, timid and hopeless man loafing around the town seeking a meal. This brokenhearted wreck spoke English, and out of pity Don Theo doro took him home to his estancia, thinking that he might perhaps make a good cook. His charity was rewarded, for though Ardle, the waif, could not cook, he proved worth * Yerba, a Paraguayan herb much used throughout South America, taking the place of tea. t A walk. his salt, and undertook the education of the boys, teaching them English and other things. Some more years rolled by : Jack was now a well-grown youth of eighteen, sturdy and thick-set like his father, George a pro mising boy of fourteen, slight and tall, when Fate, passing through the camp again, noticed this estancia, where happy, peaceful content had of late begun to reign.

She came, this time taking the shape of a bullock cart — a cart such as Italian colonists use, narrow, with four small wheels, covered in with an awning stretched on wires, and drawn by two oxen yoked to the pole by their heads. Don Theodoro remarked it first, as he stood scanning the broad plain at his hall door. He saw it in the distance, through the flickering heat glare, as it moved along, almost at random, the oxen stopping from time to time to crop the tops of the sweeter grasses, as though he who drove them slept. Don Theodoro watched it, shading his eyes with his open hand ; then, calling one of the peons, said : ' Go, Pablo, see who those people are, and ask them to honour me by taking their siesta in my rancho, and by joining me in my mid-day meal, which is even now almost ready ; afterwards they can proceed on their journey, when the fierce heat of the day is passed.' So Pablo mounted one of the horses, of which five or six always stood saddled in the patio, and rode off towards the bullock-cart.

Don Theodoro and the others watched him. They saw him approach, reach it, stop, lean forward to look in, draw back, look in again, and then, wheeling, gallop back for the estancia, as though riding for dear life. Into the patio he came breathless, and with a face of fear, crying, ' Oh, patron, it's the cholera ! it's the cholera !' And when the other peons understood what he said, they began to sidle off trembling, for each saw the fear of death in his neighbour's eyes. But Don Theodoro cried, ' Stay, men ! what ails you ? where go you in such a hurry? Breakfast waits. Are you not hungry, that you should wish to get back to work so soon?' Then: 'Pablo — come here, Pablo ! What is it ? speak ! — Why do you tremble like a frightened girl ?' And Pablo answered : ' Oh, sir, a man is lying dead in the bullock-cart — dead on his back.

Jesu ! he must be dead, for the waggon is full of flies and he smells. It's the cholera — it must be the cholera! Heaven save and keep us ! Oh ! and I too am as good as dead, for I smelt him.' Then Don Theodoro shouted : ' Manuel ! do you hear me, Manuel ? go take a load of damaged alfalfa* from the butt of the rick, and a few armfuls of dried cow-dung, and burn up this bullock-cart and the man in it, before the poison has time to infect our camps ; but first loose the oxen, and be sure you see that the man inside is dead.' But Manuel trembled, and for the first time, perhaps, in his life tried to shirk his master's orders, and muttered, ' Ah ! the accursed cholera— the accursed cholera !' While he still hesitated, Jack said : ' I will go, grandpapa, and burn up this blessed bullock-cart and the dead man in it— that is, if there is a dead man, which I doubt' So the peons threw some armfuls of cow dung into a light cart, and on top of it they pitched half a ton or so of damaged alfalfa hay, and off Jack went, Manuel following him through shame.

They reached the cart, and sure enough on the floor was a man, as Pablo * Lucerne grass. had said ; his knees were in the air, his jaw had fallen, and his mouth was black with flies ; flies crept in and out of his nostrils, and his eyes were two black patches of flies. So Jack unyoked the oxen, and flung cow dung into the cart until he had completely covered up the dead man, and he pushed the hay underneath between the wheels, and kindled it, and when the flames leaped crackling up, piled on more cow-dung until it was consumed ; after which he returned with Manuel. Now, for some time there had been a talk of cholera in the camps. It was first heard of at Rio in the Brazils, where the slaves were said to be dying in hundreds, then at Buenos Ayres, afterwards at Rosario, later on at Parana, and quite lately a Chilian cattle-dealer passing by, who had slept at the estancia, declared that it had even reached Santa Fe.

This was serious, very serious ; so the peons and gauchos had at once bought amulets of their padres and charms from a certain wise woman, who surely was a witch, since she certainly some times did cure snake-bites. They also in vested in candles, framed pictures of the Blessed Virgin, and little plaster -of- Paris statues of other holy saints. It is an ill wind that blows no one good. At any rate, the way had been so prepared for the cholera that it should not come in vain, and the minds of the people were ripe and their bodies ready to receive it whenever it should appear. After their return, the peons avoided Jack and Manuel, watching them, looking at them askance, expecting soon to see one or other sicken ; but when they perceived that neither he nor Manuel, nor even Pablo, who had been the first to smell the corpse, had taken harm, they took courage, enjoyed their even ing meal, and chatted much as usual until bedtime.

Benito, a certain horsebreaker, the handsomest and bravest of them all, even lifted up his voice and laughed, making light of the cholera, saying, ' Phoo ! who's afraid ? A man can die but once.' The following morning everything was much as usual, and the incident was almost forgotten, and would no doubt soon have passed from their minds, had not Juana, a little child of four, sickened. She sickened during the siesta-time, and died before sun set. Her parents buried her trembling. Towards morning, shortly after daybreak, Benito, he who had laughed, took ill and flung himself upon the ground groaning. Then panic seized upon all, and the peons fled out into the camp, each man for himself, pursued by a blue fear of death and by the cholera, which followed after them and, over taking, slew three.

Before noon George took it, then Doha Inez, and later on Don Theodoro, her father. Jack nursed them, expecting each moment to be himself stricken. Presently Don Theo doro died, so, taking a spade, Jack selected a spot beyond the corral and dug a grave. He worked feverishly, the sweat pouring from his face and arms. From time to time he would stop and run back to the rancho, and peep in through a halfopened door to see if his mother and cousin still lived ; and finding them still alive, he would quickly administer caha,* and run back again to the grave and dig ; for he had not the heart to remain and watch them die. Towards evening Dona Inez died, and Jack buried her with his grandfather in the grave he had been digging. Then he began a new grave, * A spirit distilled from the sugar-cane. meaning it for George and for himself: however, George still took his cana.

At length Jack grew hungry, so he took the peons' iron pot and filled it with great hunks of beef, and set it on the fire to boil, and cooked a puchero,* and ate and gave George some of the soup with his cana, and then took some himself and slept. When he awoke, most of the peons had returned, and an old hag, Manuel's wife, was nursing George, who was now recovering. The cholera had come and gone, and was now visiting an Indian village some eighteen leagues to the south, whose copper-coloured inhabitants were simply dying like flies. Thank God, every cloud has a silver lining ! This was how Jack Anstruther, known throughout the camp as Don Juan, and his cousin George Dennis, also called Don Jorge, came to possess the broad estancia El Carmen as well as the numerous herds of cattle, sheep, and horses grazing on these extensive pastures, both being co-heirs under Argentine law. * Soup.

Chapter II

El Carmen estancia house was a long, low, one-storied, flat-roofed building, built of sun dried bricks plastered with well-tempered mud and whitewashed. Along one side and round one corner ran a veranda, overlooking a small garden, where grew a few useful vegetables and some hardy flowers which had once been cared for, but which had long since run wild. This garden was fenced off from the camp by a prickly hedge of aloes and cactus. On the other side of the house was the patio, round which were the usual farm buildings necessary to an estancia : the galpon, or wool shed ; some peons' quarters, where old Manuel, the capataz, and his family lived ; the kitchen ; and to the left of the patio gate was the corral ; in the centre of this patio was a draw-well. All round the house, in the patio and garden, willows and paradise-trees had been planted, affording grateful shade in summer.

This was the house Jack and his cousin George had just in herited, besides some seven leagues of camp. It was late and growing dark when Jack awoke after his long sleep. He had slept the entire round of the clock. As soon as he was awake and had realized what had taken place, he rose and left the hall where he had slept, and peeped into George's room, expecting to find him dead. To his surprise, George was still there, propped up in his bed with pillows, while at his side was Juana, Manuel's old wife, administering nourish ment. Jack rubbed his eyes, thinking he dreamed, looked again, and finding that George was indeed there, he flung open the half-closed door and strode into the room, crying : ' George, old chap, how goes it ? I thought you were dead, and that I was left here alone.' George looked up at him smiling, and Jack felt that at length he was alive again, and that life was good in spite of all, so he shook his cousin's hand and left the room, silently thanking God.

Outside into the patio he went, outside under the brightly-twinkling stars, for he wanted air. In the patio it was already almost dark. Through the deepening twilight he saw the peons of the estancia sitting on their heels as usual round a bright fire of cow-dung. Some were smoking cigarettes, others were drinking mate. They had evidently returned, and he recognised their well-known faces one after the other by the flickering light of the smouldering fire. Old Manuel was there, and his son, young Manuel, and Pichon, a boy of eight, and several others ; but there were four absent — those who had died. Presently old Manuel turned and saw him standing at the estancia door. Manuel rose and approached him, walking delicately, as does a dog who expects a kick, and, lifting his sombrero, said diffidently : ' Patron, tell me of Don Jorge, my young master — is he better ?' ' Yes, Manuel, he is better,' Jack answered. ' I think he will live.' On hearing this, Manuel slunk off back to the fire, muttering his thanks to God and to his patron saint.

When he left, Maria, his youngest daughter — a little girl os twelve — came out of the kitchen and silently stood before her master, offering him a mate. Jack held out his hand and took the mate and drank. When handing it back, he noticed that it was the silver mate-pot, so he said : ' Maria, why have you to-day brought out the silver mate-pot ? Are there no common ones in the kitchen ?' ' It was poor Don Theodoro's,' she answered. ' Father says that you are our master now — you and poor sick Don Jorge inside — and I thought you would like it.' ' All right, Maria, it's no matter ; but I am hungry : go, cook me an asado,* and serve it in the hall.' Jack then re-entered the house, and, after lighting the lamp, sat down to wait. On looking round he found Ardle, his old tutor, asleep, leaning on the table, with his head on his outstretched arms.

Jack awoke him, and Ardle rose tottering, for he was drunk. So Jack ordered him off to bed. He then ate and laid him down in his clothes and slept, for he was quite unstrung. When he awoke next day, the sun was high * Roast. in the heavens ; Manuel was waiting for him in the patio, loitering about. Jack called him up, and Manuel said : ' Patron, it is Sunday, so I waited, thinking you might wish to pay your peons their weekly wage, as poor Don Theodoro, now with the holy saints, never failed to do.' ' Certainly,' Jack answered ; ' you did right. I will go now and fetch the money.' So he entered his grandfather's bedroom and looked about until he found the carpincho* skin belt with the wrought silver buttons which the old man always wore, which held his knife, keys, and tobacco ; and he unbuttoned the pocket and took out the key of the iron safe, where the money was always kept, opened it, and took out where with to pay Manuel and the peons ; then he closed the safe and buckled on the belt, and called up Manuel and handed him the money, standing there at his own hall-door in the blazing sunlight in the sight of all.

Thus Jack entered upon his inheritance, taking tight hold of the reins, nor did he ever once lose them while he lived there. He was the master, and the peons ran to his word. * Riverpig. Presently he inaugurated a series of changes, for a new broom sweeps clean, and surprised his friends and neighbours, who said : ' See how the young cock struts !' Others said : ' Yes, if only poor Don Theo doro were alive ! Now, he was a man who will be greatly missed.' They shook their heads and wagged their beards, looking unutterable things ; some even voiced what was in their minds, pitying Jack's cousin, Don Jorge. ' Poor fellow !' said they ; ' poor light hearted, happy fellow, who has ever a smile for all, like his poor dead, handsome father, who was always so free with his money when he had it. It will be indeed well for him if anything remains of El Carmen when he grows up, for Don Juan is truly a most extraordinary man.' But Jack took no notice of all this tattle ; first of all he made an excuse, superseding old Manuel, and appointing young Manuel capataz in his place.

Then he ordered a mustering of the cattle, and parted out a thousand head, which he sold to a saladero,* making use of the money so obtained to wire * Slaughterer. 2 — in two leagues of camp near the rancho ; also he imported ten shorthorn bulls from Buenos Ayres and twenty Lincoln rams, which he turned out in his wired-in camp to breed with stock he had meanwhile selected. He installed his old tutor, Ardle, in a little room off the hall, giving him a desk, a chair, and a fat ledger, telling him to keep the estancia accounts henceforth. These were a few only of the many reforms Jack instituted, and are chronicled here, not because the author wishes to compile an ac curate diary of every little unimportant event which took place at El Carmen ; but, since straws show how the wind blows, these few facts may enable the reader to appreciate better what subsequently occurred.

In all these arrangements George necessarily ac quiesced, somewhat reluctantly, it may be : for he was seldom asked until the proposed change had been made ; still, he did acquiesce, giving his elder cousin a free hand. Thus eight more years rolled by happily and peacefully, both cousins taking their part in the management of the estancia, Jack taking the lead in all things, till at length George grew contented and satisfied, ceasing even to question his cousin, on whose judgment he had learnt to rely. During these eight years much had been done at El Carmen, which had now quite a changed appearance : more camp had been wired in, and there were two alfalfa paddocks, one on either side of the estancia house. No longer did the neigh bours wag their heads when Jack's name was mentioned, but spoke respectfully of him, ceremoniously lifting their hats when they chanced to meet in the camp or in the streets of Belleville.

With George they laughed and talked, slapping him upon the back and joking, felicitating him upon his good fortune in having such a reliable, hard working cousin to take all the worry and trouble off his hands. Indeed, George was very popular everywhere, and was in great request on fiesta-days, when the neighbours met to run horses and make matches for ten or twenty dollars a side, and at the bailes* of the camp, when the senoras and senoritas made much of him, who made love to all impartially. He was friends with all — with high and low, rich and poor ; but among all he was perhaps more friendly with Maria, * Open-air dances. Manuel's daughter, now a woman grown, nineteen years of age. Indeed, this friend ship dated from their childhood, though Maria was merely the daughter of a peon and a servant in the house.

Every day for years, almost as long as he could remember, Maria had never failed to bring him a mate, as soon as he appeared in the patio in the early morning, before he started away into the camp about his daily work. Then in the afternoon, when he returned hot and dusty, would she be there almost before he had un saddled his horse, standing before him silently offering a mate, ready to fetch another should he have need of it. Afterwards, when she grew up, there were other meetings — meetings in the garden, be neath the paradise-trees, during the siesta time, when Jack and the others slept, and strolls in the evening after dinner, in the pale light of the stars, when the fire-flies flickered in the tangled grass, pursued by their enemies the toads, who fed on them. Presently she outgrew her girlhood, changing quickly from a slight, dark-eyed, sallow, and somewhat in significant-looking maid to a handsome, well developed brunette with magnificent black hair and dark, dreamy eyes, that looked out pensively, and sometimes sadly, from under her long black lashes.

Jack hated her, not so much on her own account, although she was lazy and neglected her work, but because of his cousin George, who humoured her, and especially because of her two babes, who were a constant annoyance to him every time he crossed the patio, where they were generally to be seen rolling about in the dust among the dogs and poultry. These children were twins, not long since weaned. In consequence of their birth, a room had been added to the estancia, where Maria now lived with her old mother, and nursed the children.

Chapter III

For some weeks everyone at the estancia had been very busy. Even Manuel, the capataz, had turned to and worked, for it was the sheep-shearing season. In all, some 17,000 sheep had been shorn, and the clip was good. The galpon was full up to its iron roof, and beside it was a large heap of wool piled up like a rick of hay, temporarily protected from the weather by bullock and horse hides stretched over it, and secured to the ground by raw hide thongs on either side. The work had been hard while it lasted, but it was at length completed. The wool was now ready to be despatched to Belleville for sale to the dealers. One morning at the end of this spell of hard work, Jack entered the estancia house, where George was already seated in his shirt sleeves, with his elbows on a native-made jacaranda wood table.

First he closed the outer hall door to keep out the heat glare and the flies, and, mopping the sweat from his face and neck, retired to his bedroom for a wash ; then he returned and sat down opposite his cousin and Ardle, who had mean while come in from the office, and waited in silence for breakfast. Presently the door opened, and Maria entered, carrying a black iron pot containing the puchero. She silently helped her masters and retired, gliding from the room like a shadow. She walked as a cat walks, noiselessly, and the dreamy blankness of her ex pressionless face never changed. So the cousins and Ardle set to, for they were hungry, and drank of the soup of the puchero and ate some of the meat which had been boiled in it. Then they attacked the asado, or roast, and finally finished up with coffee, smoking cigarettes while they drank.

Thus did the cousins breakfast, and so had they breakfasted for years, sitting down punctually each morning at 11 a.m. Seldom was there any change in the menu — beef or mutton, mutton or beef, with camp biscuits for bread, and boiled mandioca-root* for vegetables. Both young men were tall, manly-looking fellows, showing their mixed nationality in their length of limb and in the colour of their eyes and hair ; but they resembled the natives among whom they had lived all their lives in many ways. They spoke little, enunciating their sentences slowly and with a certain reserved dignity and ceremony, as though ever mindful of the importance of their position. Their habits and manners were more or less the habits of the country, modified by their more liberal education. For example, from time to time one or other would pass his hand over his face and neck.

It would be done quite mechanically, and when either happened to help himself to salt or sugar, he never forgot to cover up the salt-cellar or sugar-bowl with a piece of paper or with the lid of a biscuit tin. This he would do instinctively, even if there were no flies in the room, for by dint of constantly keeping the outer door shut, and by protect ing the windows with wire-gauze netting, these pests were in a measure excluded. * This root resembles a parsnip. After finishing his breakfast, Jack tilted back his chair, exclaiming : ' God be praised ! our wool is in at last.' ' And a good job too,' George answered, rolling himself a cigarette ; ' at last we can take a pasear over to Belleville.' Belleville was their nearest market town, some thirty-five leagues distant. It was a small though growing place where stores could be bought, and was a meeting-place for all the neighbouring estancieros,* who would meet, drink, and dine together, and then return to the accustomed monotony of their farms.