Part 11 (1/2)
MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.
Eighty square leagues of dense forest. One is inclined to feel a trifle small and overcome when this fraction of Mother Earth is put into one's hands (metaphorically), with orders to know all about it and to be able to answer all questions as to what is going on in it.
The work is like most other occupations: not quite so romantic as it sounds at first, but as interesting as one cares to make it.
One's main employment can best be ill.u.s.trated by a leaf out of a mental diary.
Fulano de Tal, axeman, wants credit for provisions at the almacen or general store--Has he sufficient wood cut to warrant it? It is the Mayor-domo's business to find out.
With this end in view, he rides along ”The Mangy” watercourse till he comes to the lowland of ”The Blind Cow.” The barking of half a dozen mongrel curs leads him into the edge of the forest, and he comes upon the residence of Fulano de Tal. The man has perhaps recently moved to this spot, and has not had time or energy to build himself a ”rancho,”
and therefore the homestead consists of about four yards of canvas stretched across the branch of a tree like the roof of a tent.
Beneath this is a ”New Home” sewing machine, a Brummagem bedstead, and a small trunk, made burglar-proof by innumerable bands and fastenings of bright tin, or even gilt wall-paper. Scattered around are the little Fulanos, in costumes varying from nothing to very little.
Their mother ceases her cooking operations, wipes her hands on the nearest child's head, and invites the visitor to dismount.
He answers that he is looking for her husband, and she directs him with a sweep of the hand which covers a quadrant of the compa.s.s and includes several square leagues of thick forest. Taking a likely track, however, he soon hears the ring of axe-strokes, and finds his man patiently chipping away at a felled tree, which is rapidly taking the form of a baulk, with the sides as smooth as if sawn.
His horse is tied up near, and he takes the Mayor-domo through his ”corte,” showing him the wood prepared for the carters. Give him a chance and he will count every log twice (most likely he has already plastered mud over the marks which show the rotten patch in the wood, and is wondering whether he has cleared the black sufficiently off a piece of ”campana” to persuade a reasonable man that it is really fresh wood).
It is part of the inspector's stock in trade to know these and a myriad other tricks, too numerous to take separately.
The typical axeman in the Santa Fe Chaco is more genuinely ”childlike”
than, and quite as ”bland” as, the famous Celestial. He never quite grows up; he will spend his last dollar on a mouth-organ when he is forty, and give a wild war-whoop of delight as a stack of newly piled sleepers falls cras.h.i.+ng to the ground.
He loves sweets and the bright clothes which he wears with childish dignity on feast-days and holidays.
His _amour propre_ is tremendous, and influences his code of honour to a great extent. The first ten commandments he will break most cheerfully, but the eleventh--”Thou shalt not be found out”--he respects to the best of his power.
Stealing, for instance, he regards as a pastime, but call him a thief and you must be prepared for trouble. A perfect instance of this can be quoted in the case of an estanciero who found a peon wearing one of his s.h.i.+rts.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Square Quebracho Logs worked by the Axeman, showing Resin oozing therefrom._]
”You are wearing my s.h.i.+rt,” said the master. ”No, Senor; I bought it in the store.” ”But you stole it from me,” insisted the estanciero, pointing to the tab at the front, where his name was written in marking ink; ”there is my name on it.”
The man, being quite illiterate, had not reckoned on such d.a.m.ning evidence, but he recovered himself and replied with dignity: ”Very well, Senor; if it is yours, take it; _but don't call me a thief_.”
Honesty is with them, admittedly, a matter of degree. A man will always say if questioned about some small deficiency, ”Do you think I would swindle you for a matter of two dollars?” or ”Do you think I would risk my credit with the Company for the sake of _one_ calf?” To be honest in a case where a larger profit is involved is a height of integrity to which he does not even pretend. ”I am going to be frank with you”--that is an expression which puts the wise man on his guard, for it is generally followed by a cascade of lies.
Business must be done on a completely different basis to that which obtains in England. To return to our friend Fulano, for instance: he wishes perhaps to ask for an increase of fifty cents per ton on his wood, and introduces the subject by a short conversation about the points of his horse, pa.s.sing on to the bad state of the bullocks and enlarging on the chance of a rainy winter. You have just decided that he has nothing more to say and are preparing to leave him, when he makes his request with as much circ.u.mlocution as possible. To have come straight to the point would have been contrary to all his ideas of correct procedure.
I have heard two natives make one another's acquaintance with a bout of verbal sparring which an Englishman would obviate by a single sentence, such as ”Good morning; Mr. Brown, I believe?” ”Yes,” the other would answer, and the business would be entered upon immediately.
The Spanish blood, however, calls for some such dialogue as the following, which is taken from real life.
_A._--”Good day.”