W. H. Koebel

Similarities between the farming routine of Uruguay and of Argentina—The Banda Oriental a pastoral rather than an agricultural land—Viticulture an asset in estancia affairs—Wheat, maize, and linseed—Scarcity of alfalfa—Excellence of the natural pastures—The possibilities of private agricultural colonisation—Favourable outlook for grazing countries in general—Lemco estancias—The estancia San Juan—A comprehensive enterprise—Cattle, cereals, and viticulture—Stone quarries—A Campo sketch—The cutting out of a bullock—A Gaucho meal.

The Uruguayan estancia life resembles that of Argentina very closely. And of this latter so much has been written in recent years that a too lengthy description of the routine of one of the great cattle farms would almost inevitably savour of repetition and superfluity. The duties of both estanciero and his major-domo are, indeed, almost identical with those of their brethren upon the other side of the great river. There are similar rides of inspection in order to "revise camp," similar great rodeos, or gatherings of cattle, and a general method of life that is distinct from the other merely in minor details.

In the main ethics of the farming itself, it is true, there are some differences. Seeing that Uruguay is a pastoral rather than an agricultural land, the system of setting apart a certain proportion of a private estancia for the purpose of colonisation by crop-raising tenants is almost unknown. On the other hand, as it happens that the soil of a portion of almost every province is suitable for viticulture, a great number of the Uruguayan landowners throughout the republic cultivate vineyards—an industry that in Argentina is confined almost entirely to the two great grape-growing centres of Mendoza and San Juan. In many districts of the Banda Oriental, moreover, fruit-growing forms part and parcel of the industrial programme of an estancia, instead of necessarily forming an entirely separate branch of commerce, as is the case in Argentina.

Although I have referred to Uruguay as an essentially pastoral country, it must not be inferred from this that the cultivation of cereals and the like has no existence in the land. On the contrary, many districts—notably that of Colonia, the most fertile in the Republic—produce really important quantities of wheat and maize, and a certain amount of linseed beyond, although this latter is grown in a minor degree. Very few districts in the country are adapted for the favourable cultivation of alfalfa, a fact that is undoubtedly to be regretted, since the merits of this lucerne for the purposes of fattening cattle are supreme. Yet this disadvantage is to a great extent counterbalanced by the excellent pastures of natural grass with which Uruguay is so plentifully endowed.

It is likely enough, too, that the system of private agricultural colonisation referred to above will in the future be seriously undertaken. At the present moment experiments in this direction are being undertaken, and, should the landowners become impressed with the success of the departure, it is quite possible that the system will spread with the same rapidity as was the case in Argentina.

In the meanwhile the supreme interest of Uruguay remains pastoral; and the bulls and the rams continue to be lords in the land. In a sense this is undoubtedly just as well, for in all probability never was the outlook for grazing countries more favourable than it is at the present moment, when the exports of North America are rapidly dying away, and the markets of Europe are opening their metaphorical mouths in a clamorous demand for further supplies.

Some of the largest and most imposing of the Uruguayan estancias are situated in the western districts of the Republic. Many of these, such as the Bichadero, OmbÚ, and others, are owned by the Lemco Company, and constitute most imposing estates, stocked by pedigree cattle.

The San Juan estancia is situated in the neighbourhood of Colonia, and, under the able management of Mr. J. Booth, affords one of the best possible examples of an estate whose lands have been aptly utilised to serve various purposes. The estancia is noted in the first place for the quality of its live stock—and with no little reason, since it harbours over a thousand head of pedigree shorthorn and Hereford cattle.

But the energies of the San Juan estancia are not confined to the raising of cattle and the production of maize. Viticulture is a matter of great importance here, for the place enjoys a great repute for the quality of its wine. Its vineyards, as a matter of fact, repose on a subsoil of iron-stone rocks, which lends a particularly pleasant flavour to the vintages. In addition to the great vineyards that spread themselves over portions of the estate, the cellars of its bodega are well worth a visit. The building is specially constructed for the purpose, and contains air-spaces between the inner and outer walls, thus rendering the interior to all intents and purposes damp-proof.

The cellars contain forty-two large casks, each with a capacity for holding 3,600 litres, and, beyond these, twelve giant specimens, in each of which eight thousand litres of wine may be stored. The extent of the vineyards on the place is thirty hectares, and from this area an average 250,000 litres of wine are produced annually. Thus it will be seen that the vineyard industry of San Juan is of no mean importance.

Among the other branches of general industry in which San Juan is interested is that of stone-quarries, the quality and extent of the deposits here being considerable. A large bee-farm is also attached to the place. In addition to this comprehensive programme there are, of course, the ordinary side-issues of estancia production in the way of both live stock and agriculture. Among the horses bred are not a few racers of pedigree stock that have given a good account of themselves in the neighbourhood and elsewhere.

The estancia-house of San Juan is delightfully situated amidst orange, wattle, and paraiso trees, from whose trunks and branches hang festoons of air-plants and masses of yellow orchids. From the picturesque, shaded building itself the view embraces miles of undulating country on all sides, with a few distant peeps of the waters of the River Plate to the south-west. It would be difficult to conceive a pleasanter or a better managed spot.

Such estancias as these, of course, represent the cream of the land, and Uruguayan "camp" life must not be judged as a whole by such particularly favourable examples. Even the foreigner in the Republic, whose life is wont to be rather more fully surrounded with comfort than that of his native-born brother, must perforce make a beginning, and, as in all else, it is always the first steps that are the roughest. It is said that one of the first requisites of a gardener is a cast-iron back. In the same way the primary needs of the budding estanciero are undoubtedly health and a good horse. In these respects he is likely to be well suited, for the climate will attend to the former and his patron to the latter.

I have already said that the scenes upon the Uruguayan estancias are much the same as elsewhere, but the following sketch may serve to show a little of the local colour with which the rural Oriental landscape and life are imbued:

The bullock is grazing in the midst of his fellows, plucking stolidly at the spring grass, whose close blades paint the undulations of the Uruguayan Campo in soft green. No pedigree animal this, his lengthy horns, rather pointed nose, and shaggy mottled coat being redeemed by various features that tend to raise him from the mere ruck of the disappearing country-bred. There is a trace of Hereford in the compact form, straight back, and in the symptoms of red-brown and white that endeavour to assert themselves from out of the confusion of his other markings. Representing one of the earlier stages in the forward march of the local breeds, he is of the type known to experts by the cryptic word "useful"—a meritorious physical condition whose reward is wont to fructify in an earlier death than that accorded to those of his brethren who are less liberal in meat. At the present moment the bullock is supremely content, although profoundly unconscious of the charm of his surroundings. This is perhaps just as well, since his ribs would undoubtedly emerge from their plump covering were he to waste the precious moments of mastication in favour of less material delights. As it is, he tramples carelessly on the patches of scarlet verbena, and crushes the life from the white tobacco blossom and the blue lupin flower with a ponderous impartiality. It is enough for him that the warm sunlight beats down upon his back, and that the plentiful grass rises to his cud in a ceaseless green stream. Moreover, the few score of companions that surround him lend a dimly-felt but comforting sense of comradeship.

From the green of the foreground to the blue and mysterious distant swellings of the horizon the face of the Campo has been devoid of humanity. Near by a humble rancho, it is true, raises its diffident walls from the earth, a lowly erection of turf and reeds, enlivened here and there by a small auxiliary patch of corrugated iron, that catches up the sun-rays to flash them back in brilliant defiance. But there are no signs of life about the place beyond that afforded by a couple of hens of worn and frayed appearance that make rapid and spiteful passes at the dust with their beaks. Only when the sun is falling near to the horizon does the first sign manifest itself of more active stirrings. The figures of two horsemen have emerged from behind a distant clump of eucalyptus that stands out like a green island from the midst of a rolling sea.

As the riders draw nearer it is plain that they are Gauchos—Gauchos in a workaday mood, and consequently in attire far less picturesque than that which lends colour to their feast days. Yet they afford striking enough figures of men in their sombreros, kerchiefs, white shirts, broad trousers, horse-hide boots, and giant spurs. Each part and parcel of his horse, they come loping easily along with that curious air of careless alertness that is characteristic of the Gaucho. With the first warning of human approach the cattle have raised their heads in the wary and rather resentful stare that the presence of such visitors demands. When no doubt longer remains that the grim-faced riders are heading directly for their own company, doubt turns to active alarm. There is a flinging up of heels and tails, a bunching together of scattered units, and a surging to and fro, while the horns wave in a panic of indecision. The bullock with the traces of Hereford markings has run to a common centre with the rest.

A moment later the horses are cleaving the ranks of the cattle, and the cumbrous bodies of the horned creatures go floundering to right and left just as they have floundered a dozen times before, with precisely the same degree, moreover, of dread and confusion. Dodging and twisting ponderously, they rush to and fro for a while, then flee with a thunder of hoofs from the impact, ending up in a breathless halt at length to turn their horns upon one another in a fury of terror. All but the bullock with the scanty Hereford markings. He has raced and charged with the rest, only to find on each occasion a horse's flank or chest barring the way to safety, and a threatening human arm raised on high that sent him without further ado to the right-about. And now the situation is doubtless quite inexplicable, since the rumbling of his companions' hoofs has died away, and he is racing across the Campo quite alone save for the horseman who gallops remorselessly on either flank—fatal attendants who are no more to be shaken off than the hairs of his hide. A lasso circles lightly in the air, uncoiling as it goes like an aerial snake: the noose falls with a gentle rattle on the hurrying animal's horns. A terrific jerk shakes him from tail to nostril. But the bullock has kept his legs, and stands firm now, pulling with all his might against the strain that follows, heaving from side to side in his fight with the rope that never slackens. There is a thudding of horses' hoofs at his quarters now. Enraged at the presence of a second foe, the bullock kicks wildly, and the action is the signal for his doom. Another rope has whistled through the air, and has encircled his fetlock in some demoniacal fashion. In consequence, he gives a strenuous jump into the air—his last, for ere his feet have touched the ground his legs are wrenched away from under him, and the heavy body of the creature, flung full upon its side, strikes the earth with a crash. Ere he can move the beat of galloping horses' hoofs has drawn near, and ceased. Two men have sprung to the ground, and are securing his legs with ropes; then one rises to draw the blade of a huge knife from its sheath at his belt. A minute later there is a pool of darker crimson by the side of the verbena patches. A couple of hours later there is a log fire upon the Campo, and the beef is being cut into long strips from where it is spitted above the blaze, and eaten wholesale as Gaucho appetite demands. In the meanwhile the carancho birds are gathering thickly above, for meat is cheap upon the open pastures, and they will be economically-minded Gauchos indeed who do not leave them the greater share of the carcass.