Among Hundreds I Never Saw One With Any Black Or
White On It.
I believe that before Don Anastacio's time a few of these wild pigs
had been kept as a curiosity
At the estancia, and that when he came
into possession he allowed them to increase and roam in herds all over
the place, doing much harm by rooting up many acres of the best
grazing land in their search after grubs, earthworms, mole-crickets,
and blind snakes, along with certain roots and bulbs which they liked.
This was their only provender when there happened to be no carcasses
of cows, horses, or sheep for them to feed on in company with the dogs
and carrion hawks. He would not allow his pigs to be killed, but
probably his poor relations and pensioners were out occasionally by
night to stick a pig when beef and mutton were wanting. I never tasted
or wanted to taste their flesh. The gaucho is inordinately fond of the
two gamiest-flavoured animals in the pampas - the ostrich or rhea and
the hairy armadillo. These I could eat and enjoy eating, although I
was often told by English friends that they were too strong for their
stomachs; but the very thought of this wild pig-flesh produced a
sensation of disgust.
One day when I was about eight years old I was riding home at a lonely
spot three or four miles out, going at a fast gallop by a narrow path
through a dense growth of giant thistles seven or eight feet high,
when all at once I saw a few yards before me a big round heap of
thistle plants, which had been plucked up entire and built into a
shelter from the hot sun about four feet high. As I came close to it a
loud savage grunt and the squealing of many little piglets issued from
the mound, and out from it rushed a furious red sow and charged me.
The pony suddenly swerved aside in terror, throwing me completely over
on one side, but luckily I had instinctively gripped the mane with
both hands, and with a violent effort succeeded in getting a leg back
over the horse, and we swiftly left the dangerous enemy behind. Then,
remembering all I had been told about the ferocity of these pigs, it
struck me that I had had an extremely narrow escape, since if I had
been thrown off the savage beast would have had me at her mercy and
would have certainly killed me in a couple of minutes; and as she was
probably mad with hunger and thirst in that lonely hot spot, with a
lot of young to feed, it would not have taken her long to devour me,
bones and boots included.
This set me thinking on the probable effect of my disappearance, of my
mother's terrible anxiety, and what they would think and do about it
They would know from the return of the pony that I had fallen
somewhere: they would have searched for me all over the surrounding
plain, especially in all the wilder, lonelier places where birds
breed; on lands where the cardoon thistle flourished most, and in the
vast beds of bulrushes in the marshes, but would not have found me.
And at length when the searching was all over, some gaucho riding by
that cattle-path through the thistles would catch sight of a piece of
cloth, a portion of a boy's garment, and the secret of my end would be
discovered.
I had never liked the red pigs, on account of the way they ploughed up
and disfigured the beautiful green sward with their iron-hard snouts,
also because of the powerful and disgusting smell they emitted, but
after this adventure with the sow the feeling was much stronger, and I
wondered more and more why that beautiful soul, Don Anastacio,
cherished an affection for such detestable beasts.
In spring and early summer the low-lying areas about Canada Seca were
pleasant places to see and ride on where the pigs had not defaced
them: they kept their bright verdure when the higher grounds were
parched and brown; then too, after rain, they were made beautiful with
the bright little yellow flower called _macachina_.
As the _macachina_ was the first wild flower to blossom in the land it
had as great an attraction to us children as the wild strawberry,
ground-ivy, celandine, and other first blooms for the child in
England. Our liking for our earliest flower was all the greater
because we could eat it and liked its acid taste, also because it had
a bulb very nice to eat - a small round bulb the size of a hazel nut,
of a pearly white, which tasted like sugar and water. That little
sweetness was enough to set us all digging the bulbs up with table
knives, but even little children can value things for their beauty as
well as taste. The _macachina_ was like the wood-sorrel in shape, both
flower and leaf, but the leaves were much smaller and grew close to
the ground, as the plant flourished most where the grass was close-
cropped by the sheep, forming a smooth turf like that of our chalk
downs. The flowers were never crowded together like the buttercup,
forming sheets of shining yellow, but grew two or three inches apart,
each slender stem producing a single flower, which stood a couple of
inches above the turf. So fine were the stems that the slightest
breath of wind would set the blossoms swaying, and it was then a
pretty sight, and often held me motionless in the midst of some green
place, when all around me for hundreds of yards the green carpet of
grass was abundantly sprinkled with thousands of the little yellow
blossoms all swaying to the light wind.
These green level lands were also a favourite haunt of the golden
plover on their first arrival in September from their breeding-places
many thousands of miles away in the arctic regions.
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