MAP SHOWING THE ORINOCO AND ITS TRIBUTARIES
High-resolution Map
By
S. Pérez Triana
With an Introduction by
R. B. Cunninghame Graham
‘Que ejcura que ejtá la Noche!
La Noche! que ejcura ejtá!
Asi de ejcura ej la ausencia ...
Bogá, Negrito, bogá,
Bogá!’
Candelario Obeso
New York
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
Publishers
1902
‘Climas pasé, mudé constelaciones, golfos inavegables, navegando.’—Ercilla:La Araucana.
To read a book to which a friend has asked youto write a preface is an unusual—nay, even apedantic—thing to do. It is customary for apreface-monger to look contemptuously at theunopened bundle of his friend’s proofs, and thento sit down and overflow you his opinions uponthings created, and those which the creator hasleft in chaos. I plead guilty at once to eccentricity,which is worse than the sin of witchcraft,for witchcraft at one time may have exposedone to the chance of the stake; but eccentricityat all times has placed one outside the pale ofall right-thinking men. To wear a different hat,waistcoat, or collar, from those affected by theviApollos who perambulate our streets, to cut yourhair too short, to wear it by the twentieth fractionof an inch too long, isscandalum magnatum, andnot to be endured. So in confessing that I haveread ‘Down the Orinoco in a Canoe,’ not only inthe original Spanish in which it first appeared,but in its English dress, is to condemn myselfout of my own mouth, to be set down a pedant,perhaps a palterer with the truth, and at the besta man so wedded to old customs that I mightalmost be a Socialist.
It is undoubtedly a far cry to Bogotá. Personally,more by good fortune than by anyeffort of my own, I know with some degree ofcertainty where the place is, and that it is notbuilt upon the sea. My grandfather was calledupon to mediate between Bolivar and GeneralPaez, and I believe acquitted himself to thecomplete dissatisfaction of them both. Such isthe mediator’s meed.
The general public, of whom (or which) Iwish to speak with all respect, is generally,I take it, in the position of the AmericanviiSecretary of State to whom an office-seekercame with a request to be appointed the UnitedStates Vice-Consul for the town of Bogotá.The request was duly granted, and as thefuture Consul left the room the Secretaryturned to the author of this book, and said:‘Triany, where in thunder is Bogoter, anyway?’ Still, Bogotá to-day is, without doubt,the greatest literary centre south of Panama.Putting aside the floods of titubating versewhich, like a mental dysentery, afflict all membersof the Spanish-speaking race, in Bogotámore serious literary work is done during amonth than in the rest of the republics in ayear. The President himself, Don José ManuelMarroquin, during the intervals of peace—whichin the past have now and then prevailedin the republic over which he rules—has foundthe time to write a book, ‘El Moro,’ in whichhe draws the adventures of a horse. The bookis written not without literary skill, containsmuch lore of horsemanship, and is a veritablemine of local customs; and for the moral of it—andviiisurely Presidents, though not anointed,as are Kings, must have a moral in all theywrite, they do and say—it is enough to make aman incontinently go out and pawn his spurs.
Thus, Bogotá, set in its plateau in Columbianwilds, is in a way a kind of Chibcha Athens.There all men write, and poets rave andmadden through the land, and only wholesomenecessary revolutions keep their number down.Still, in the crowd of versifiers one or two, suchas Obeso, the negro poet, who, being denied allaccess to the lady of his love—the colour linebeing strictly drawn in Bogotá, as well befits ademocratic government—brought out a paperonce a week, entitledLectura para ti, havewritten verse above the average of Spanishrhyme. Others, again, as Gregorio GutierrezGonzalez and Samuel Uribe Velazquez havewritten well on local matters, and Juan de DiosCarasquilla has produced a novel called ‘Frutosde mi Tierra,’ far better than the average‘epoch-making’ work of circulating library andpress.
Pérez Triana, son of an ex-President, andspeaking English and Spanish with equalfluency, is a true son of Bogotá, and writesas easily as other people talk.
His book occurred in this wise. The usualbiennial revolution having placed his enemiesin power, he found it requisite to leavethe country with all speed. The seaportsbeing watched, he then determined, like FrayGaspar de Carbajal, to launch his boat upon theOrinoco, and, that the parallel should be exact,write an account of all he saw upon the way.Few books of travel which I have come acrosscontain less details of the traveller himself.Strangely enough, he rescued no one single-handedfrom great odds. His strength andvalour, and his fertility of brain in times ofperil, together with his patience, far exceedingthat of Indian fakirs, are not obtruded onthe bewildered reader, as is usual in likecases.
Though armed, and carrying on one occasionso much lethal stuff as to resemble, as he saysxhimself, a ‘wandering arsenal,’ he yet slew noone, nor did he have those love adventureswhich happen readily to men in foreign landsfrom whom a kitchen wench would turn inscorn in their own native town: nothing ofempire and little of patriotism is there in hisbook. In fact, he says that those who are hiscountrymen are those who have the same idealsas himself—a cursed theory which, if it onceobtained, would soon abolish Custom-houses,and render armies useless, make navies all to besold for scrap iron, and would leave hundredsof patriotic sweaters without a platitude. Whatchiefly seems to have appealed to this unusualtraveller was the strangeness and beauty of thelong reaches on the interminable waterways,the brightness of the moon, the thousand noisesof the desert night, the brilliant birds, kaleidoscopicfish, and the enchantment of a worldremote from all that to a really well-constitutedmodern mind makes life endurable. At times,although I tremble as I write, it seems to mehe doubts of things which we all take on trust,xisuch as the Stock Exchange. Even the armyis not sacred to this democrat, sprung from ashameless State in which there is no King, andwhich, consequently, can never hope to contemplatea Coronation show, for he retails ajoke current in Columbia, but which, I think,if duly followed up, might be encountered inMenander, or, at the least, in Aristophanes.A Columbian Mayor of a town sent to thePresident a hundred volunteers, with a requestthat all the ropes should be returned. Jokessuch as these cannot be helpful to a State; infact, a joke at all is to a serious man a rankimpertinence, and if an author wishes to obtaina place within the ranks of Anglo-Saxonliterature, he should not joke at all, or, if hedoes, joke about fat or thin men, bald heads orsea-sickness, or on some subject which thegreat public mind has set apart for wit. However,as a member of the Latin race, it cannotreasonably be expected of him that at onebound he should attain unto the fulness of ourAnglo-Saxon grace.
The careful reader of this book may possiblybe struck with the different point of view fromwhich a Latin looks at many questions whichto an Englishman are set immovably as thefoundations of the world, embedded in theputty of our prejudice.
For instance, on arriving at the open plainsafter a tedious journey across mountain rangesand through forest paths, the thing that intereststhe author most is that the land in theColumbianllanos is not held in many instancesby individuals, but that so scant is populationthat it is open to all those who chooseto take it up. This does not strike him asa folly or as affording room for speculation,but simply as a fact which, on the whole,he seems rather to approve of, but withoutenthusiasm, looking upon the matter as acurious generality, but not inclining to refineor to reduce it to any theory in particular.A state of mind almost impossible for Saxons(Anglo or Celtic), who, as a general rule, seemquite incapable of looking at a proposition asxiiia whole, but must reduce it to its componentparts.
The voyage in itself was memorable, for noone of the party seems to have been the leastthe kind of man who generally ventures uponjourneys of the sort, and furthermore because,since the first conquerors went down the riverwith the faith that in their case, if rightly used,might have smoothed out all the mountainranges in the world, no one except a strayadventurer, or india-rubber trader, has followedin their steps. Leal, the jaguar-hunter, whoslew his tigers as I have seen them slain inParaguay, on foot, with a forked stick in onehand and in the other a bamboo lance; theIndian guide Gatiño; and the young VenezuelanGovernor of a State, who, shut up in his house,fought to the death, his mistress, an ex-balletdancer, handing him up loaded guns, are to thefull as striking characters as I have met in anybook of travels outside the types that crowdthe pages of the ‘Conquistadores’ of America.The naked Indian in his canoe, before whosexiveyes the immeasurable wealth of powder,looking-glasses, a red flannel shirt, and othertreasures, rich and rare to him, were spread,who yet had strength of mind to scorn themall rather than pledge his liberty for two days’paddling, is the kind of Indian that merits sucha chronicler as he has found. Long may hepaddle on thecaños and theaguapeys, and die,still crowned with feathers and with liberty,as did his fathers, by some forgotten beach orby somemorichal, where parrots chatter andtoucans flit through the leaves, and hummingbirdshover like bees above the tropic flowers.
What most delights me in the book is thatthe author had no settled plan by means ofwhich he strove to square the circle of the globe.
‘We wandered,’ as he says, ‘with the definiteaim of reaching the Atlantic Ocean. Beyondthat we did not venture to probe too deeplythe mysterious and wonderful manifestations ofNature, but took them as they appeared to ourlimited means of vision and understanding, andsought nothing beyond.’
A charming way to travel, and a wise, and ifnot profitable to commerce, yet to literature,for books writ in the fashion of this briefrecord of a trip through the great waterwaysof Venezuelan and Columbian wilds, althoughperhaps not ‘epoch-making,’ yet live andflourish when the smart travellers’ tales, bristlingwith paltry facts and futile figures, which fora season were sea-serpents in the press, havelong been pulped to make the soles of ammunitionboots.
R. B. CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM.
The hour was about ten one evening inDecember, which in equatorial Andine latitudesis a month of clear skies, cold winds,and starry nights. The moon shone brilliantly,casting upon the ground shadows as clear asthose caused by a strong electric light. Truly,the local poet who said that such nights asthese might serve as days in other lands wasright.
We came out—three of us, Alex, Ferminand I—through an old Spanish gateway, arectangular structure ofadobes, or sun-burntbricks, capped with a slanting roof of tiles,dark-reddish and moss-covered, with a swinginggate of cross wooden beams, held together byiron bolts. This was the gateway of the2hacienda of Boita, about thirty miles north ofthe city of Bogotá, in the South AmericanRepublic of Colombia. We passed into theopen road, and turned our horses and ourminds northwards.
From south to north, as far as eyes couldsee, stretched the road, an old Spanish causeway,bordered on either side by low-lying stonefences, in front of which were ditches filledwith water and covered with vegetation.
The ground was hard with the consistency ofbaked clay. As no rain had fallen for weeks,the dust was thick, and the horses’ hoofs ranglike hammer-strokes upon muffled or brokenbrass. We let the reins hang loose, and thehorses, knowing their way, started at a briskcanter. Wrapped in thought and in ourponchos, we journeyed on.
No sound was audible; we seemed to betravelling through a deserted or dead world;the neighbouring meadows, black beneath themoon, contrasted with the grayish white line ofthe broad causeway. Now and then the solitaryhouses, some close to the road, some far back,loomed up with the magic-lantern effects ofmoonlight, and their white walls seemed like3huge tombstones in that lonely cemetery.Sometimes we crossed bridges, under whichthe water lay motionless, as though enchantedby the universal stillness; only a gentle breeze,causing ripples on the neighbouring pools, madethem glitter and revealed their presence. Acow or a stray heifer would poise its headacross the stone fence and watch us withwondering moist eyes, whilst two tiny columnsof condensed breath rose from its nostrils.
Beyond, black and frowning, misshapen andmysterious, the huge boulders of the Andesraised their vague outlines, forming a sort ofirregular circle, in some directions quite closeto us, in others lost in the darkness which themoon and the stars were too remote to overcome.Indeed, that other local poet was alsoright in thinking that under the brilliant moonthose mountains looked like huge sepulchres,wherein are stored the ashes of dead worldsupon which judgment had been passed.
And so we journeyed on.
Many travellers have observed that whenevera voyage of a certain nature is undertaken—onethat for some reason or other differsfrom the ordinary transference of one’s self elsewhere,4when through circumstances beyond ourcontrol we know that the moment of startingnecessarily marks an epoch in our lives, evenas the beginning of a descent or an ascent fromthe summit or the foot of a mountain necessarilymarks a change in our motions—ourthoughts fly backwards, and not only coverthe immediate time and space behind us, but,once started, plunge, so to speak, with therapidity inherent to them, into the deepestrecesses of our memory, so that, as our bodiesare carried forward, our minds revisit oldscenes, we hold converse with old friends,and the old-time world seems to live and throbagain within our hearts.
Unheeding the clatter of the horses’ hoofs,which was the only perceptible noise, my mindflew across the few leagues that separated mefrom my dear quaint old native town, cradledthere to the south at the foot of two hills, eachcrowned by a tiny church. I saw its streetsmeeting at right angles, its two streams,dubbed rivers, parched with thirst, crawlingunder the ancient arched Spanish bridges, itslow houses, with their enclosingpatios plantedwith roses and flowers that bloom all the year5round, with fountains murmuring in the midst,and creepers covering the columns and theceilings of the open corridors, and then climbingout of sight; the numerous churches, eachone with its familiar legend; the convents—solid,spacious—turned into barracks or publicoffices or colleges; the still old cells desecrated,their dividing walls torn down so as to convertthe space into large halls, and, ruthless iconoclasmhaving carried away the statues of thesaints, no other trace of religion left but a stonecross, or a carved saint’s face set too high aboveground to be reached by irreverent hands.
Yes, there was the little Church of HolyHumility—El Humilladero—anadobe structure,a mere hut, yet reverenced beyond wordsas being, so tradition said, the first church builtin the land. And not far from it the Church ofla Tercera and its convent, about which gruesometales were told. Its monks never slepton mattresses, and, as they felt death approaching,would have themselves placed upon theground to die close to their Mother Earth; andone of them, it was said, for some misdeameanouror possibly greater fault, had committed suicide,and wandered headless—people had seen him—on6dark and stormy nights through theneighbouring street of the Arch, as it wascalled, though of the arch nothing but thememory remained. And close to that conventof la Tercera was the other one of the jollyFranciscan Fathers, four beautifulpatios surroundedwith broad cloisters, into which openedover 600 cells, each provided, besides thesitting and sleeping room, with a snug kitchen,old Moorish style, an open hearth for charcoalfire, on which meats were roasted and earthenwaresaucepans simmered and purred all daylong, extracting the juice from beef, mutton,plantains, mañoc, green corn, potatoes, and theother numerous vegetables of that region,forming a most substantial broth, a peculiarlyrichpot-au-feu which enabled the reverendmonks to recruit their strength and spirits afterthe pious labours of the day; and with thiscame, it is said, a copious supply of that beer,chicha, brewed from molasses and Indian corn,strong and delicious—to those who like it.These reverend monks, it is said, owned broadlands and numerous herds, and each had alay brother who looked after the material wantsof his superior, and received daily rations7sufficient for ten or twenty men, so that agreat part of them was sold by the monksto the profane outside the cloister walls. Asthe lay brother looked after all these worldlyinterests, he enabled the monk to devote hiswhole time and attention to finding a smoothpath to heaven, not only for himself, but for asmany others of his fellow-creatures as he met.
But though of good cheer, they were notlacking in piety, nor were they unable to withstandtemptation. Their church was beautiful,all full of gilt columns, carved woodwork,niches with statues of saints displaying richsilks and gems and gold embroidery.
And though many of these things haddisappeared in my day, and of the monks onlya few more vital spirits survived, downcast andforlorn, lamenting the good old times, yetenough remained to give an idea of the happierage.
A proof of the virtue of the monks wasvisible at the entrance of the church looking onthe main street, where the Evil One himselfhad branded it, so to say, for the greater gloryof God and the renown of the convent.
It was whispered that Father Antonio,8who combined profane accomplishments withspiritual insight, skilled in playing the guitar,not averse to a song or two, fond of cards for afriendly quiet game with the Father Superiorand two or three other plump, kind-heartedbrethren, where small sums were staked merelyto give zest to the game, discovered to hishorror one night that the Evil One, possibly inmemory of his namesake (the monk’s, not theEvil One’s), had decided to tempt his virtue,and appeared in his cell in the guise of abeautiful damsel.
Alas! the Evil One had reckoned withouthis host. Holy water was poured upon him,the cross with the Redeemer nailed on itwhich lay handy was taken up by Antonio, sothat Beelzebub in his fright jumped out of thewindow with such force that his cloven foot leftits imprint upon the granite slab outside thechurch, and this imprint I saw myself in my veryyoung years. Although many people continueto see it, I have grown so short-sighted that,strive as I may, the stone now appears untouchedand like the others. But then thesethings will happen, and they certainly shouldnot lead us to doubt so pious a tradition.
And so all the old memories of the town keptpassing before me. I saw a living panorama,silent, bathed in mysterious light, movingslowly in the background of the mind, large,infinite in its magnitude, with space in it formen and buildings and mountains and riversand broad plains and leafy forests, and, what ismore, with space in it for Time, the boundlessTime that contains all and everything.
Schooldays, holidays spent in the neighbouringtowns and villages which lie in the warmervalleys, my first voyage to a certain distance,and then across the ocean—life, in fact, with itsebb and flow under various suns and indifferent continents—all came back; but it wereout of place to give my reflections on them here.
Then, pausing for one moment as a bird alightson the mast of a ship before launching forthinto mid-ocean, my mind rested for an instanton the old cemetery where so many loved onesslumbered. Alas! when we leave the graves ofthose whom we have loved, not knowing whenwe shall again kneel upon the sod that coversthem, we feel that death itself has not severedthe link that bound us to those who were bloodof our blood and bone of our bone.
A little geography may not be amiss here.A glance at the map will show that the city ofBogotá is situated upon a vast plateau, at analtitude of about 8,500 feet above sea-level,4 degrees from the equator, and 75 degreesto the west of Greenwich. Its position inthe continent is central. It is perched like anest high up in the mountains. To reach theocean, and thus the outer world, the inhabitantsof Bogotá are even now still compelled to haverecourse to quite primitive methods; true, thereare some apologies for railways starting northward,southward and westward, but in somecases their impetus ends as soon as theyreach the end of the plain, and in others longbefore attaining that distance. Once therailway journey finished—which does not exceedtwo or three hours on any of the lines—the11traveller has to content himself with theancient and slow method of riding, mostly muleriding. The ground is so broken and the roadsare so bad that horses could not cross them assafely as that thoughtful, meditative, and much-malignedanimal the mule. After covering adistance of some ninety to one hundred mileswestward, the traveller reaches the town ofHonda, which lies on the Magdalena River.Here steam-boats are to be found, stern-wheeled,shallow-bottomed, drawing no more than from2½ to 3 feet, in which, within four or five days,he makes the journey down to the sea-coast.
The map of the country would seem to showthat the easiest way from the capital to theocean would be towards the Pacific, and as thecrow flies such is the case; but between Bogotáand the Pacific Ocean the Andes, at someperiod of their youth, must have frolicked andgambolled amongst themselves and lost theirway home, so that they now form the mostrugged country imaginable. Geographers,with that thirst for classification that afflicts—orshould I rather say animates?—men of science,speak of two or three chains of mountains.The average man, however, who has to travel12over that country, conceives his task as correspondingto a start made from one end of a hugecomb, following the developments of it from theroot to the point of each tooth until Providenceand Nature take pity on him, and land him, soto speak, on the sea-shore.
Bogotá is no thoroughfare. When you getthere, there you are, and if you go there, it isbecause you were bent on it; it is not likeother towns that may be on the road to somewhereelse, so that travellers may chance tofind themselves there.
The plateau of Bogotá proper was formerly—noone knows how many centuries or thousandsof years ago—a lake of about eighty squaremiles encased between the surrounding mountains.The waters of the lake broke throughthe barrier of mountains towards the south,draining it, and leaving the plateau dry, savefor some small lakes that dot it here and there,and a few rivers of no great importance. Icould not help thinking that this immenselake thus held aloft upon that mighty pedestalat such an altitude formed a sort of giganticgoblet such as is rarely seen under the sun.The river that marks the course through which13the waters are supposed to have been draineddrags its sluggish waves meandering in manyturns and twists from north to south along theplain, and gives a sudden leap of 750 feetthrough the open gap on the mountain-side,forming those magnificent waterfalls called theTequendama. The river plunges headlong, asif to make up for its previous semi-stagnantcondition; it disappears between two mightywalls of stone, polished as if chiselled by thehand of man; it roars with a deafening sound;its waters appear, as they curl over the abyss,white as the wool of a lamb, and their consistencyconveys the impression of wool ratherthan that of snow. The morning sun playsupon the mass of waters, and crowns it with ahalo of rainbows varying in size. On theborders of the river, at the place where thecataract springs, are to be seen evergreens andpine-trees, and other such plants belonging tothe temperate or cold zones; down below,where the water falls, and the river reappearslike a dying stream following its course in thelower valley, palm-trees and tropical vegetationare to be seen, and birds of variegated plumage,parrots, cockatoos, parroquets and others, fly14like living arrows from the sunlight, and plungeinto the mist with piercing shrieks amidst thedeafening roar of the cataract.
As we journeyed on in the cool night air, itseemed to me that the whole country—north,south, east and west—lay at my feet, and to themind’s eye it appeared with its vast interminableplains to the east crossed by numberless rivers,the mountain region to the north on the westernside of the Magdalena Valley, the broad plainsin the Lower Magdalena, and the ruggedmountainous district of Antioquia on thewestern side of the river, and then mountainsand more mountains towards the Pacific Ocean.
Surely, if a journey in these days presentssuch difficulties, the first journey undertaken bythe conquerors who discovered the plateauof Bogotá, may be held for a feat worthy ofthose men who, whatever their faults, werebrave among the bravest.
Towards the east of the Magdalena River, onthe coast of the Atlantic, the city of SantaMarta had been founded somewhere in 1530.News of the vast empire alleged to exist in theinterior of the country had reached the foundersof the town, and they soon decided to conquer15that region about which such marvels were told.In the month of August, 1536, an expeditionof 700 soldiers, infantry, and 80 horse leftSanta Marta to penetrate into the heart of thecontinent, confident in their courage, andlusting for gold and adventure. This part ofthe expedition marched by land, and 200 moremen journeyed in boats along the riverMagdalena.
A full narrative of their adventures would belong. They met foes large and small, frompoisonous reptiles and the numerous insectswhich made life a burden, to tigers andalligators: add to these fevers and illnessesabsolutely unknown to them. It is said thatone man, whilst sleeping in camp with all hiscompanions, was snatched from his hammockby a famished tiger. At times the rank andfile seemed ripe for mutiny, but the captain wasa man of iron. His name was Gonzalo Jiménezde Quesada. Though himself sore smitten bysome disease peculiar to the locality, he kept thelead, and dragged the rest in his train. Praiseis likewise due to the chaplain of the expedition,Domingo de las Casas, who stoutly supportedthe commander. This friar was a kinsman of16that other friar Bartolomé de las Casas, whoseunwearying efforts in behalf of the native raceswon for him the well-deserved name of ‘Protectorof the Indians.’
After a while the boats and the shores of thegreat river were abandoned, and the men foundthemselves in a mountainous country where thetemperature became more tolerable and pleasantas they climbed higher. Finally, their eyesbeheld the Empire of the Chibchas. What ajoy—after toil and suffering which had lastedover seventeen months, when only 160 of theoriginal expedition were left—to gaze upon aland where cultivated fields were seen in alldirections, and the hearth-smoke rising fromthe houses to heaven! This was the land ofthe Chibchas, who formed an empire secondonly to that of the Incas of Peru and theAztecs of Mexico. They had a religion—byno means a bad one as religions went amongstthe American aborigines—they had their codeof laws, their division of time, their rulesand codes in all matters appertaining tofamily life and administration of government;they tilled the soil, they believed in the immortalityof the soul, they reverenced their17dead, and practised barter according to well-definedlaws.
The thousands and thousands of soldierswhich the Zipa or King of the Chibchas couldbring against the Spaniards were overawedrather than overcome by force. The greatersagacity of the Spaniards, coupled with theircourage, soon made them masters of the land.Jiménez de Quesada founded the city of Bogotáin 1537. He chose a spot on the plains whichsuited him—where the city now stands—and,clad in full armour, surrounded by his companionsand by a large crowd of Indians,plucked some grass from the ground, and,unsheathing his sword, declared that he tookpossession of the land for the greater glory ofGod as the property of his King and master,Charles V. of Spain. Then turning, with afierce glance, to those who surrounded him, hechallenged one and all to single combat shouldthey dare to dispute his action. Naturally, nodispute arose, and so the title was acquired.They had their own peculiar ways, those oldSpanish conquerors! A similar method wasfollowed by Nuñez de Balboa, when, in thename of his King and master, he took possession18of the Pacific Ocean with whatever landsand islands might border on it, stepping intothe waters clad in full armour, holding the flagof Spain in his left hand, and his trusty Toledoblade—la de Juanes—in his right.
To speak of this conquest of the ChibchaEmpire recalls the fact that the land of Bogotáwas really the land of El Dorado.El Doradoin Spanish means the gilt one, the man coveredwith gold, and all chroniclers and historians ofthe early period are agreed as to the origin ofthe tradition.
The King of the Chibchas, amongst whompower and property passed by law of inheritancefrom uncle to nephew, was called theZipa. His power as a monarch was absolute,but to attain the dignity of what we shouldnowadays call Crown Prince, and to becomein due course King, it was not enough to be anephew, or even to be the right nephew. Theprospective heir to the throne had to qualifyhimself by passing through an ordeal whichPrinces of other nations and other times wouldcertainly find most obnoxious. He had to livein a cave for six years, fasting the whole time,with limited rations, barely enough to sustain19life. No meat or salt were to be eaten duringthe whole time. He must see no one, with theexception of his male servants, nor was he evenallowed to gaze upon the sun. Only after sunsetand before sunrise might he issue from hiscave. After this ordeal he was qualified, butshould he have so much as cast his eyes upona woman during that period, his rights tothe throne were lost. The consecration, so tospeak, of the Zipa took the form of a mostelaborate ceremony. The prospective Zipawould betake himself—being carried upon aspecial sort of frame so arranged that twentymen standing under it could lift it upon theirshoulders—to one of the five sacred lakes thatstill exist in the plateau, generally to the lakeof Guatavita. There, stripped naked, his bodywas smeared with a resinous substance, uponwhich gold-dust was sprinkled in large quantities.Naturally, after this process the manappeared like unto a very statue of gold. Twoother high dignitaries or chiefs, called Caciques,as nude as the Zipa, would go with him upon araft of twisted reeds and slowly paddle into thecentre of the lake. All round the shore was adense crowd, burning a species of aromatic herb20which produced clouds of smoke. On everyhand was heard the sound of music, or, rather,of noises representing the music customaryat all ceremonies. On the raft, at the feet ofthe Zipa, lay a huge pile of gold and emeralds.Each of his companions, too, had gold andemeralds, wherewith to propitiate the god inwhose honour the ceremony was performed.One of the chiefs in the raft would raise awhite flag and wave it. The noise on theshores became deafening, whilst the gildedZipa threw into the lake all the gold and allthe emeralds; then his companions wouldfollow his example. When all the gold andemeralds on the raft had been cast into thelake, the people ashore also made their offeringsof gold. Thus, after six years’ fasting, theZipa was (so to put it) anointed or qualified forkingship. On reaching the land the period ofabstinence came to an end, and now that theZipa was full-fledged Crown Prince, or Zipa(if his predecessor should have chanced to die),his first act was to get gloriously drunk.
From the early days of the conquest, effortswere made to drain the five lakes, from whichnumerous samples of gold idols and roughly-worked21gold have been recovered. Even recentlya company was formed in England forthat purpose. The tradition in this case beingso universal, it seems rational to assume thatvast treasures must lie at the bottom of theselakes, because the Chibchas were an ancientrace, and their ceremonies must have beenrepeated during centuries. The country alsois rich in emeralds and in gold—hence thebelief in the large amount of treasure to beobtained from those lakes whose waters look soplacid.
Some years ago in Bogotá an enthusiast,who sought to form a company for the purposeof draining one of the lakes, carried about withhim a few samples of gold, idols and suchlike,which, so he said, had been brought to lightby a man whom he named, a good diver, whoplunged five times into the lake, and aftereach plunge brought up one of the specimensexhibited. He argued thus: The bottom ofthe lake must be practically studded with gold,since Mr. X. succeeded each time. There aremillions in the lake, and all that is needed is alittle money to drain it.
The argument seemed so strong, and the22gold gleamed so bright in his hands, that heobtained numerous subscribers, until he had themisfortune to come across one of those scepticsimpervious to reason, who, after listening tohim, replied: ‘Yes, I have no doubt that theremust be millions in the lake, since X. at eachplunge brought out a bit of gold like those youshow me; but what I cannot for the life of meunderstand is why he is not still plunging—itseems so easy!’ The tale went round thetown, and the lake was not drained, nor hasit been up to the present.
This gilding of the man is the germ of thelegend of El Dorado, which has cost somuch blood, and in search of which somany thousands and thousands of men havewandered during past centuries in all possibledirections on their bootless quest.
Returning to the lake, and now gathering theinformation furnished by geology, whose silentannals are so carefully and truthfully recorded(being as they are beyond reach of man’slittle contentions and petty adjustments), wefind that the original lake covered an area ofabout seventy-five square miles, and attainedgreat depths. Its placid waters, beating possiblyfor centuries against the environing rocks, haveleft their marks, from which it may be seenthat in some places the depth was 120 feet, andin others 180.
We cannot fix the date of the break in themountains which allowed the drain to occur.So far man has not succeeded in grasping withinvariable accuracy the chronology of the admirablegeological archives to which we havereferred, and in matters of this kind a discrepancyof a few hundred years more or less is24accepted as a trifle scarcely worth mentioning.And possibly this may be right. For man’spassage through life is so short that his conceptionof time cannot be applied to Nature,whose evolutions, though apparently protractedand very slow to see, in truth are sure todevelop themselves harmoniously in every way,as to time inclusive.
But no matter how far back the draining ofthe great lake may have taken place, it hadleft its memory and impression, not only onthe mountains and the rocks, but also in theminds of men. The legend ran thus: At onetime there came among the Chibchas a mandiffering in aspect from the inhabitants of theplateau, a man from the East, the land wherethe sun rises, and from the low plains wherethe mighty rivers speed to the ocean. He hadtaught them the arts of peace, the cultivationof the soil, the division of time; he had establishedtheir laws, the precepts by which theirlife was to be guided, their form of government;in one word, he had been their apostleand legislator. His name was Bochica orZuhe. He resembled in aspect the Europeanswho invaded the country under Quesada.
It is asserted by a pious Spanish Bishop, whoin the middle of the seventeenth century wrotethe history of the discovery and conquest ofthe Chibcha kingdom, that the said Bochica wasnone other than the Apostle St. Bartholomew,as to whose final work and preachings there is(not to overstate the case) some obscurity. Thegood old Bishop states that, as the Christianfaith, according to the Divine decree, was tobe preached in every corner of the earth, itmust have also been preached amongst theChibchas, and that, as nothing was known withcertainty about the final whereabouts of theApostle Bartholomew, and he was not unlikethe description made of Bochica by the Chibchas(which, by-the-by, was such that it mighthave fitted any white man with a long blondebeard), it is evident that the saint must havevisited those Andine regions. Furthermore,he adds, there is a stone on one of the mountains,situated between the plateau of Bogotáand the eastern plains, which bears the footprintsof the saint. This, to many people, isdecisive, and I, for my part, am not goingto gainsay it, since it serves two importantends. It explains the saint’s whereabouts in26a most creditable and appropriate fashion, andit puts a definite end to all doubts concerningBochica’s identity. We cannot be too gratefulto those who thus afford pleasant explanationsof matters which would otherwise be intricate anddifficult, perhaps even impossible, of solution.
The legend went on to say that the god ofthe Chibchas (Chibchacum), becoming irate attheir excesses and vices, flooded the plain wherethey lived, by turning into it several neighbouringrivers. The inhabitants, or such ofthem as were not drowned, took refuge on theneighbouring mountain-tops, where, animatedby that fervour and love of the Deity whichtakes possession of every true believer whenhe finds himself thoroughly cornered, theyprayed abundantly to the Bochica, whose preceptsthey had utterly forgotten. He, of course,took pity on them, and, appearing amidst themon the mountain-top one afternoon in all theglory of the setting sun, which covered himas with a sort of royal mantle, he dashed hisgolden sceptre against the mighty granite wallof the nearest mountain, which opened at theblow into the gap through which the waterspoured, draining the lake, and leaving as a27memorial of his power and his love for his chosenpeople those waterfalls whose thunder goes uplike a perennial hymn to heaven high abovethe trees that crown the mountain-tops, andwhose sprays are as incense for ever, wreathingon high at the foot of a stupendous altar.
The cataract takes two leaps, first strikinga protruding ledge at a distance of about75 feet from the starting-point, a sort ofspring-board from which the other mightyleap is taken. Close to the shore, at adistance of about 6 feet, on the very brimof the abyss, there is a rock about 10 feetsquare, which, when the waters are low, breaksthe river, and appears like a sinking island inthe mass of foaming waters. The rock isslippery, being covered with moss, which thewaters and the mists keep constantly wet.Bolivar, the soldier to whose tenacity andgenius Colombia and four other South Americanrepublics owe their political independence, oncevisited the cataracts, and stood on the veryedge of the abyss; glancing fitfully at thesmall round island of stone that stood in thevery centre of the waters, fascinated by thedanger, he jumped, booted and spurred as he28was, upon the stone, thus standing in thevery vortex of the boiling current. After remainingthere for a few minutes he jumpedback. The tale is interesting, for few menindeed have the courage and nerve required,once upon the rock, not to fall from it anddisappear in a shroud fit for any man, howevergreat.
After the little scene of the foundation ofBogotá, in what later on became the publicsquare of the city, Quesada devoted himselfto establishing a government. I cannot helpthinking that challenges like that which heflung down for the purpose of establishingthe right of property are, to say the least,peculiar. True it is that no one contradicted,and, according to the old proverb, silence givesconsent. A comfortable little tag this, especiallywhen you can gag the other side! Anda most serviceable maxim to burglars, conquerors,and, in fact, all such as practise theart of invading somebody else’s premises, andtaking violent possession of the premises andall that may be found on them. What I cannotfor the life of me understand is, how it is that,the process being identical in essence, so many29worthy men and so many worthy nations punishthe misunderstood burglar, and bestow honours,praise, and, so far as it lies in their power,glory, upon the conqueror. It seems a pity thatthe gentle moralists who act in this puzzlingfashion have not found time to indicate thepoint, in the process of acquiring somebodyelse’s property by violence and bloodshed, whenthe vastness of the undertaking transfigurescrime into virtue. The average man wouldhold it for a boon if those competent to doit were to fix the limit, just as in chemistrya freezing or a boiling point is marked by acertain number of degrees of heat. What ablessing it would be for the rest of us poormortals, who find ourselves beset by manydoubts, and who through ignorance are proneto fall into grave errors! but as these hopesare certainly beyond fulfilment, and are possiblyout of place, it is better to drop them.
Quesada, after vanquishing the Chibchas andbecoming lord of the land, did not have it allhis own way. The fame of El Dorado existedall over the continent. Though peopled bynumerous tribes, mostly hostile to each other,some knowledge of the power of the Chibcha30Empire, covering over 5,000 square miles andincluding a population estimated at over amillion and a half of inhabitants, had in thecourse of centuries slowly permeated to veryremote parts of what is now known as SouthAmerica. In the land of Quito, situated belowthe equator, it is said that the conquerors whohad invaded it heard from an Indian of thewonderful El Dorado. The Indian’s tale musthave been enhanced with all the charms inventedby a vivid imagination, playing safelyat a distance. This set many of the conquerorson the road to Bogotá. Don Sebastian deBelalcázar, who had entered the continent bythe Pacific, led his troops—not over 200in number at the end of the journey—to theBogotá plateau, thus making a march ofseveral hundred leagues across forest andmountains, attracted by the renown of the landof El Dorado. Another expedition which hadentered the continent by the north-east coastof the Atlantic, and had wandered along theOrinoco Valley for over two years, eventuallyfound itself near the plateau, and entered it,so that, shortly after his arrival into the countryand his conquest of it, Quesada found himself31confronted with two powerful rivals. For themoment there was great danger that theconquerors might come to blows amongstthemselves, but Quesada’s political abilitymatched his military gifts, and arrangementswere soon made by which the three expeditionswere merged into one, gold and emeraldsdistributed amongst the soldiers, numerousoffices created, taxes established, the Indiansand their belongings distributed amongst theChristian conquerors, and the reign of civilizationestablished to the greater glory of God,and that of his beloved monarch, the King ofall the Spains.
One detail deserves mention as an instanceof tenacious though unpretending heroism.The men who had come along the Orinocohad wandered for many weary months, and attimes had been on the point of starvation,so that all their leather equipment had beendevoured. With the expedition marched afriar who carried with him a fine Spanish cockand four hens. During that long journey,which cost the lives of so many men, themurderous attempts made against this featheredfamily were past counting; yet the useful birds32were saved, and formed the basis of an innumerableprogeny in the land of Colombia.The incident seems trivial, but, if well weighed,the friar’s sustained effort against others, anddoubtless against himself, to save the preciousgerm, deserves the highest praise.
After months of hunger, when the plentyfound on the plateau had restored equanimityto the hearts of the conquerors, they must havefelt how much they owed to the good friar,who, even if his sermons—about which I knownothing—may not have been of the best, hadleft behind him the hens to lay the egg so dearto civilized man, and the chanticleer to sing thepraises of the Almighty and to remind everyonein this instance of the humble beings who serveHim and their fellow-creatures in such a practicalway.
It is not at all strange that the Spanishconquerors swallowed the wonderful tales ofincalculable treasure to be found in differentparts of the continent which they had justdiscovered. Columbus himself, in his secondvoyage, landed at Veraguas on the mainland,and reaped a most bountiful harvest of gold.Never before in the history of Spanish wars33had such booty fallen to the lot of the commonsoldier as in that instance. Other expeditionsin various parts of the continent were equallyfortunate, so that they supported the belief thatgold was inexhaustible. The ostensible objectof the conquest was the conversion of theinfidels to the true faith; officially the Governmentof the Metropolis proclaimed first andforemost its intense desire to save the soulsof so many million men who groped in thedarkness of heathenism. Doubtless many ofthe conquerors really thought that they weredoing the work of God, but the great majorityof them were certainly moved by more worldlyends and attractions.
The Indians, on their side, not only inColombia but everywhere else, received theSpaniards in a friendly and hospitable way.Some warlike tribes there were, but it doesnot appear that their hostilities against theSpaniards began before these had shown theircruel greed and insatiable thirst for gold. Theprecious metals and jewels that had been accumulatedamongst the tribes in the course ofmany generations were given freely to theSpaniards, who, believing that greater treasures34were kept back from them, did not hesitateto recur to the cruellest methods of extortion,burning, pillaging, killing, and destroying everythingin their way.
After a struggle which did not last long, theIndians—even those of riper civilization andbetter organized—were completely subdued,and the sway of the Spaniard established allover the land, whose former lords became theslaves of the conquerors.
Those who know the Indian of to-day incertain parts of the South American continentcan hardly understand how at one time thatsame race possessed the qualities indispensableto the civilization which it had attained at thetime of the Spanish conquest. Boiling thewhole thing down to hard facts, we find thatthe Spaniards discovered a land wherein theyfound a people with civilization inferior to thatof the old world; that this people, divided andsubdivided in many tribes, received the conquerorshospitably, treated them generously,and in their ignorance considered them assuperior beings; that they gave over to theSpaniards all the gold and treasures which thelatter coveted, and that it would have been35feasible for those superior beings to establishthe civilization and the religion which theylonged to propagate amongst the infidels, bymethods worthy of the Christian faith whichthey professed. Instead of this, violence andbloodshed were the only methods employed,not to civilize, but to despoil the natives; andthe right of force, brutal and sanguinary, wasthe law of the land. To this and its accompanimentsthe poets lifted up pæans of praise,the Church gave its blessing, history its acceptance,and, barring a handful of the just, no onegave a thought to the oppressed and helplessIndians whose sole crime was they were weakerthan their aggressors.
Let us be thankful for what we have.Quintana, the great Spanish lyrical poet, ponderingon these misdeeds and crimes, exclaimsthat they were crimes of the epoch, not ofSpain. Fortunately it is, as we like to think,our privilege to live in an epoch when suchthings are impossible, when the mere thirstfor gold, or its equivalent, cannot impel powerfulnations to forget right and justice and to proclaimhypocritically that in so doing they arefulfilling the law of Him who said, ‘Love ye36one another,’ and proclaimed charity amongstmen as the supreme rule of life. Nowadayssuch wrongs as those perpetrated by the Spanishconquerors could not happen. Wars we have,and violence and destruction, and malcontentscomplain of them, saying that the same oldburglarious spirit of brutal greed is the realcause of those wars; but those malcontentsshould not be (and, in fact, are not) listenedto. I myself do not understand or pretend toexplain where the justice of many wars comesin, but certainly they must be waged for goodand honest ends, because the great and thepowerful say that the ends are good andhonest, that civilization and Christianity areserved thereby; and it must be so since theysay it, for they, like Brutus, are ‘honourablemen.’ Let us be thankful, then, that we livein an age of justice and universal fairnessamongst men!
But let us go back to our subject.
All this time we journeyed on. The starshad kept their watch above our heads, andthe moon, as if passing in review the variousquarters of heaven, had been moving from westto east, and was very high on the horizon.We were chilled through after the night’s ride,longing to arrive at some wayside inn orventawhere we might get something warm. Thedawn was heralded in the far east by a broadstreak of light, which grew rapidly, coveringthat side of the horizon like a fan, and soonbursting into glorious daylight. In equatorialregions there is hardly any dawn ortwilight; in those latitudes there is no preludeof semi-obscurity that either waxes into dayor wanes slowly into the dark, like the noteof the lute, falling into silence so faintly and38softly that none can tell the exact momentwhen it dies. At evening the sun sinks tothe verge of the horizon, and disappears likea luminous orb dropped into empty space, anddarkness sets in almost immediately. In themountainous lands his last rays crown thehighest peaks with a halo of glory, whendarkness has settled over the valleys andmountain flanks. The moment the sun setsthe stars assert their empire, and they aremore numerous to the eye than anywhereelse in the world. As for the moon, I havealready spoken of its brilliancy. Anotherphenomenon connected with it is worthy ofnotice in our special case. During the variousmonths of the trip which I am now describing,it seems to me that we had a full moon everynight. I know that this is not quite in accordancewith the established rules, or what inmodern parlance is sometimes called theschedule of time for lunar service, but I amnarrating my impressions, and, according tothem, such is the fact. I should suggest that,as everything in Spanish lands is more or lesstopsy-turvy at times, the rules applicable to themoon in well-regulated countries do not hold39good there, but I remember just in time thatthese irregularities apply solely to things humanthat happen ‘tiles downwards,’ as the Spaniardssay, and cannot, therefore, affect the phenomenaof Nature. As an explanation must be foundfor my permanent moon, an acceptable compromisewould be that the ordinary moon didduty on its appointed nights, leaving the others—duringwhich we wandered over mountain,through valley and forest, and on the waters ofthe silent rivers—to be illuminated for our ownspecial benefit by some deputy moon, forwhose services we were then, and still are,most grateful.
As to the topsy-turviness of things Spanishand Spanish-American, the story is told thatSantiago, the patron saint of Spain, beingadmitted into the presence of God, asked andobtained for the land of Spain and for its peopleall sorts of blessings: marvellous fertility for thesoil, natural wealth of all kinds in the mountainsand the forests, abundance of fish in the riversand of birds in the air; courage, sobriety, andall the manly virtues for men; beauty, grace,loveliness, for the women. All this was granted,but, on the point of leaving, the saint, it is said,40asked from God that he would also grant Spaina good government. The request was denied,as then, it is said, the Lord remarked, theangels would abandon heaven and flock toSpain. The story has lost none of its pointeven at the present day.
With the morning we reached the longed-forventa, a square, thatch-roofed hut, which stoodby the roadside quite close to the mountain-rangewhich we had reached after crossing thewhole breadth of the plateau. Outside stoodseveral pack-horses and mules, tied to thecolumns and waiting for their loads. Underthe roof the space was divided into threerooms, one of them provided with a counterand shelves running along the sides of thewalls, whereon bottles of various sizes andcontents were exhibited, and wherechicha, thenational drink, was served to thirsty travellers.The middle room was what might be calledthe sitting, waiting, sleeping, and dining roomall in one, and the other was the kitchen. Thefire was built on the ground, several logsburning brightly in the open air, filling theroom with smoke and heat, On three stones—thetraditional stones of the first hearth—a41saucepan was seen in full boil. In the parlourwe saw severalpeones, or labourers, from thehighlands on their way to the coffee estates tohelp in the harvest. Behind the counter, theventera, barmaid and landlady all in one,buxom and wreathed in smiles, was alreadyfilling either thetotuma, a large bowl cutfrom a gourd, containing about a quart ofchicha, or the small glass of native whisky(aguardiente).
We jumped from our horses and entered theso-called sitting-room, envying the men whoslept deep and strong as virtue on the bareground. In a few minutes Fermin had broughtfrom our saddle-bags the copper kettle usedfor making chocolate, and the paste for thepreparation of that delicious drink. Withintwenty minutes of our arrival we had beforeus the steaming cups of chocolate which hadbeen boiled three times, in accordance with theorthodox principle which lays it down that thismust be done if it is to be rightly done; itwas well beaten and covered with that foampeculiar to chocolate brewed in hot water, whichlooks at you with its thousand eyes or bubblesthat burst as the liquor is imbibed. Never42was a cup of chocolate more welcome. Thenight seemed to have been interminable nowthat it lay behind. We would fain havestretched ourselves on the ground with thelabourers, but to reach our destination that dayit was necessary to lose no time; so after anhour’s rest, during which our horses had hadtheirpienso of fodder, we started again, nowover more broken country, leaving the plainbehind us, climbing and descending the roadwhich was still available for carts and wheeledvehicles of all sorts.
And thus we advanced, seeing the sunrisedarting its slanting rays, which were quitepleasant to feel in the early morning, until theybecame perpendicular, hot, and almost unbearablein the dusty road.
The horses, after the long journey, slackenedtheir pace, and we looked upon surroundingNature with weary eyes and that emptiness offeeling in the brain, that consciousness of avoid somewhere, which always follow nightspassed absolutely without sleep.
Towards four in the afternoon, after seventeenhours’ steady ride, interrupted only by theshort stay at the roadsideventa, we reached43thehacienda of Gambita, where one of ourcompanions, Raoul, who had started ahead toprepare everything for the longer journey,was waiting for us. He came up quite brisklyalong the road, joyful at our arrival, full ofspirits, and most anxious that the journeyshould be continued. He might well feel thus,as he had not passed a sleepless night onhorseback like a knight-errant over field andmoor. The desire for sleep and rest wasoverpowering—all else lacked interest for us;so that, alighting from our horses, we walkedinto the house, and, finding convenient sofas,stretched ourselves and slept. Like Danteafter listening to the sorrowful tale of Francesca,we fell as a dead body falls, which goesto prove that identical effects may arise fromtotally different causes. Towards ten at nightRaoul waked us. The supper waiting for uswas quickly despatched, and our mules weresaddled and ready.
As I have said before, mules are far preferableto horses when travelling on the mountain-paths,which are called roads in the Andes.The old Shakespearian query, ‘What’s in aname?’ and the answer that a rose would44smell as sweet even if called by another name,demonstrates the elasticity of words. To theaverage Englishman a road is a well-definedmeans of communication with or without rails,but offering all sorts of advantages for comfortablelocomotion. Roads in the Andes attimes are such as to invite the formation oflegends. It is said that an American diplomatist,visiting a South American republic,alighted from the river steamer which hadborne him far inland by the respective river,and was shown the mountain-road which he hadto follow to reach the capital—a yellowish orreddish streak like a gash in the mountain,lying on its side like a rope carelessly thrownfrom the summit towards the base, followingthe sinuosities of the ground—and straightwayremarked, ‘I’m off home; this road is only fitfor birds.’
On such roads the mule is the best friend ofman. Had Richard III. found himself in theplight we all know of in some such locality,the generous offer of bartering his kingdom(which, by-the-by, at that moment was aminus quantity to him) would have made fora mule instead of for a horse, and although the45phrase—‘A mule! a mule! my kingdom fora mule!’—sounds comical (for these are questionsof habit), probably the stock phrase wouldbring down the house with laughter. If thecamel is called the ship of the desert, themule deserves the title of the balloon of themountains.
A friend of mine, knowing of my intendedtrip, had sent me his favourite mule, and welldid the animal deserve the praises that itsowner bestowed upon it; patient, sure-footed,collected, it carried me by precipice, ravine,ascended paths only fit for ants as lightly andcarefully as if no weight were on its back. Atthe mud ditches which intersected the roads,and at times reached the proportions of miniaturelakes, often treacherously deep, it wouldhalt, looking at the waters with its big, ball-shaped,moist eyes, and no hint of mine,whether given with spur or whip, could disturbits equanimity. At the right moment, heedlessof my meddling, it would jump or ford or slideas circumstances required. At the beginningof our companionship, during those long days,I began by endeavouring to have a mind ofmy own as to the part of the road to be selected.46I soon saw that my efforts were useless, forthat wisdom of the mule which men callstubbornness was invincible. And, frankly,it was lucky that I soon gained this conviction,as certainly the mule knew far better than Iwhat should be done.
How strange all this sounds in this land ofrailroads, automobiles, omnibuses, and wheeledconveyances of every sort! yet there is moregenuine travelling, more real travelling, ingoing from one place to another on the backof a mule than in being cooped for hours ordays in a railway compartment whirled alongat lightning speed. What does one learn aboutthe country, what does one see of its beautyor of its peculiarities, in this latter case? Itmay be transportation, it may be locomotion,but it is not travelling.
If I were a man of ample means, I wouldcertainly endow that splendid beast whichcarried me during so many days, or provide apension for it, so that it might spend theremainder of its life in the enjoyment ofmeadows ever green, luscious with rich grassand sweet with the waters of rippling streams.
From Gambita on, our cavalcade had something47of the aspect of a caravan. There wereAlex, Raoul, and myself, besides our servantFermin, four muleteers, and ten or twelve mulesladen with our luggage, tents, provisions, arms,and so forth. This mob of travellers was sounusual that the simple folks in the villagesthrough which we passed said that his lordshipthe Archbishop was no doubt on a tour. Onhearing this, and finding that the people beganto kneel by the roadside, rather than shattertheir illusion, I—knowing that I was the mostepiscopal-looking of our crowd—decided togive my blessing, which I did with due unctionto the kneeling maidens and matrons along theroadside.
From Gambita we shaped our course eastward.It was our intention to reach theAtlantic through the Orinoco River. We wereseeking one of the many affluents of the riverMeta, which is itself one of the largest tributariesof the Orinoco. The affluents of the Metastart on the eastern slope of the mountainswhich form the plateau of Bogotá.
After three days’ ride from Gambita, wereached the estate of a friend near the townof Miraflores, where we had to prepare ourselves48for the last stage of the land journeywhich would carry us through the dense forestsbordering the lower eastern slope of theCordilleras, and constituting a sort of fringearound the endless plains that extend forthousands of miles from the foot of the Cordillerasto the ocean. Across these plains flowthe mighty rivers, their numerous affluents, andthe countlesscaños, or natural canals connectingthe rivers amongst themselves, and thus forminga perfect network of natural waterways.
At Miraflores we stopped for twenty-fourhours to recruit our forces and prepare everything,not only for the last stage of the landjourney, but for the long canoe voyage that laybefore us.
From Miraflores on, the descent was continuous.Before penetrating into the forest, we skirtedthe mountain for a good many miles. Theroad, barely 4 or 5 feet in width, had been cutout of the rock, like the cornice of a temple.On the one side we had the bluff of themountain, and on the other a precipice ofhundreds, and even thousands, of feet in depth.The inclination at times was so steep that ata distance the line of the road on the mountainseemed almost vertical, and the file of muleswith riders or with loads on their backsappeared like so many flies on a wall.
Up to the time that we reached Miraflores,we had followed what in Colombia are called,according to the loyal tradition still living onthe lips, if not in the hearts, of the people,‘royal roads,’ orcaminos reales. These royal50roads are paths along the mountain slopes, saidto follow the old Indian trails, and the Indianshad a peculiar way of selecting their paths ortrails. They seem to have been impervious tofatigue, and Franklin’s adage, now acceptedthe world over, that time is money, did notobtain with them, for they had no money andabundant time. When an Indian wanted tocross a range of mountains, instead of selectingthe lowest summit, he fixed his eye on thehighest peak, and over it would wend his way.The explanation given is that thus he accomplishedtwo ends—crossing the range andplacing himself in a position to see the widestpossible horizon. Be that as it may, theSpaniards who settled in the colonies acceptedthe precedent, and the result is a mostwearisome and unpleasant one in the presentday.
But if as far as Miraflores we had the so-called‘royal roads,’ from thence on in aneasterly direction towards the plain we lackedeven these apologies for roads. From Miraflorestowards thellanos, along the slope of theCordilleras, extends an intricate forest in itsprimeval state. We had to fight our way51through the under-brush amongst the trunksof the huge trees, and at times really battlingfor each foot that we advanced. However, ourguides, who were expert cattle-drivers—largequantities of cattle being driven through theseforests from the plains to the uplands—knewthe forest so well that the obstacles werereduced to their minimum.
We rode in Indian file, the chief of theguides ahead of the line cutting with his cutlass,ormachete, the branches and overhangingboughs, thorns, reeds, creepers, and the like,that might strike us in the face as we rodeunder them. Next to him followed twopeones,who cleared the ground, if necessary, fromfallen branches or stones against which ourmules might stumble. At first this slow modeof travel was most interesting. The lightscarcely filtered through the dense mass ofleaves, so that we felt as if we stood constantlybehind some cathedral stained-glass window.The air was full of the peculiar fragrance oftropical flowers and plants; the orchids swunghigh above our heads like lamps from the vaultsof a temple, and the huge trunks of the trees,covered with creepers studded with multi-coloured52flowers, appeared like the festoonedcolumns of a temple on a feast-day.
However, there were certain drawbacks: theground was so wet and spongy that the feet ofthe animals sank into it, and progress wasaccordingly very slow. Now and then wewould come to a halt, owing to a huge boulderof rock or large trunk of a tree barring thepassage absolutely. It was then necessary forthe guides to seek the best way of overcomingthe obstacle. Frequently we had to alightfrom our mules, as it was dangerous to ridethem in many places. The guides and themuleteers walked on the uneven ground—nowstony, and now slippery—with the agility ofdeer, sure-footed and unconscious of the difficulty.I had to invent a means of advancing:I placed myself between two of the guides,hooking one arm to a guide’s on each side, andthus, though frequently stumbling, I never fell,but it may be readily understood that this modeof progression was neither comfortable norrapid.
Another inconvenience was found in thethorny bushes, prickly plants, and trees whichit was dangerous to approach, such as thepalo53santo, so called because it is frequented by akind of ant of that name, whose bite is mostpainful and induces a slight fever.
On the second day the guide who was aheadfired his gun, and, on our asking him for thecause, said:
‘Only a rattle-snake!’
As a matter of fact, he had killed a largespecimen, said to be seven years old, as shownby the seven rattles that were taken from itstail. These things did not help to make theride through the intricate forest more pleasant.We longed to see the open sky, which we couldonly discern through the veil or network ofleaves and branches, and, by a phenomenon ofsympathy between the lungs and the eyes, itseemed to us that we lacked air to breathe.Now and then we would come to a clearing,but we soon plunged again into the thick of it,and felt like wanderers gone astray in an interminablelabyrinth or maze of tall trees, moistfoliage, and tepid atmosphere.
The guides told us from the start that itwould take from four to five days to reach theend of the forest. On the fifth day, towardsnoon, almost suddenly we came upon the open54plain. Our hearts leaped for very joy, and wehailed the vast green motionless solitude, thatextended far into the horizon before our eyeslike a frozen sea, with a shout of joy. Thetrees of the forest stood as in battle-line in frontof the endless plain; the sun darted its rays,which shimmered in the countless ribbons,some broader than others, of the silver streamssluggishly dragging their waves along thebosom of the unending prairie. Copses ofmoriches, an exceptionally graceful species ofpalm, dotted the plains in all directions. Theyseemed as though planted by the hand of manto hide behind them a castle, or some old feudalstructure, which our imagination reared complete,full-fledged, with its walls, its roof, itsturrets, and its legends. The site looked as ifprepared for a large city about to be built, andwaiting only for the arrival of its architects andinhabitants, even as the white page tarries forhim that is to inscribe upon it a living andimmortal thought.
To continue our journey on thellanos, theassistance of the guides was even more necessarythan in the thick of the forest. Toattempt travelling on thellanos without expert55guides would be like seeking to cross the seawithout a compass.
Once in thellanos, we came within a fewhours to the hamlet of San Pedro, a cattle-tradingstation consisting of a few thatch-roofedhouses, almost deserted except duringthe various weeks of the year specially fixedfor traders and breeders to meet. Here wewere at last at the end of the first stage of ourjourney. It was New Year’s Day. Behindus lay the maze of forest, the meandering trailsand paths, the sheer mountains, the cold fertileplateau, the native city, and the dead year.Before us we had the unlimited plain, thewandering rivers, and there, beyond all, like apromise, tossing, heaving, roaring, the sea,vast, immeasurable, the open roadway to theshores of other lands, some of them free, someof them perhaps hospitable, all girdled by theever-beating waves which now die moaning onthe sands, now dash their fury into foam on therocks of the shore.
Before parting from our friends the mules, itmay not be amiss to speak of the equipmentfor man and beast which obtains in ColombianAndine regions. The saddle used—sometimesnative, sometimes European—offers nothingstriking in its composition, only that it isprovided with a crupper which must be verystrong—strong as a braced strap—since in thesteep ascents or descents the girth alone wouldbe insufficient. The men wear leggings orzamorros, which, in fact, are rather seatlesstrousers than leggings, 2 feet wide, held togetherby a strap across the loins, the outsideconsisting of tanned hide with the hair on it,and the inside of soft leather. They have theadvantage of being very easily put on andslipped off when the rider alights. Thestirrups are a large shoe wherein the whole57foot is encased, made of copper or brass. Atfirst those unfamiliar with the roads find themawkward, bulky, and heavy, but one soonlearns that they are an indispensable protection,a sort of armour or shield against thestones, trees, and sundry other obstacles whichthe rider’s foot is bound to strike. Theponcho,which is a rectangular piece of woven cottoncloth about 5 to 6 feet long by 3 to 3½ feetbroad, with a slit in the centre, is worn byall riders, and a similar piece of india-rubbercloth, only somewhat larger, is carried strappedto the back of the saddle to be used when raincomes on. The real native accoutrement, inwhich the saddle differs, having a pommel andbeing high-seated in the back, is not completewithout the lasso, made of twisted raw hide, keptsoft and pliable by the frequent use of tallow,which is rubbed into it. The expert herdsmancan throw the lasso a long distance, either acrossthe neck of the horses or right over the hornsof the cattle; their aim is unerring. Theyfasten the lasso to the pommel of the saddle,and turn their horses backwards so that theymay better withstand the pull of the lassoedanimal. Spurs in Colombia are frequently58worn, especially when you ride somebody else’shired mule or horse. The spurs are moreformidable in appearance than harmful inreality; the rollocks, instead of being smallwith little pinlike pricks as in Europe, arehuge in size, about 3 inches in diameter, andeach prick about 1½ inches; they make a greatrattle on the slightest provocation, but are lesspainful to the animal than the little Europeanspurs. Apropos of this, I remember the caseof an individual who, finding the Colombianspurs too heavy, only wore one, arguing that ifhe managed to make one side of his mule getalong, the other side would be sure to follow,and hence only one spur was needed.
On arriving at the waysideventa, or inn—andHeaven only knows how elastic a man’sconscience must be to bestow the name of innupon many of theseventas—the first care ofan experienced traveller is to see to the welfareof his mules and horses. If available, Indiancorn, brown sugar of the species calledpanela,which is uncrystallized solidified molasses, andthe best grass that can be got in the neighbourhood,are given to the animals. If therehappens to be an enclosure, the mules and59horses are let loose in it, so that they may restmore comfortably; but these enclosures arevery frequently a delusion and a snare, as inexperiencedtravellers find when, on risingearly in the morning the next day, they aretold that the animals have jumped over thefence or broken through, or in some other waydisappeared, whereupon the muleteers, with theboys and men available in the locality pressedinto the service for the occasion, scour themountains and the neighbouring forests insearch of the missing animals, the searchlasting at times four and five hours, duringwhich the traveller frets, foams, and possibly,if he be quite natural and unspoiled by convention,swears.
But notwithstanding these drawbacks, thereis a special charm about this mode of travelling.In the morning about four the traveller arisesfrom his not too soft couch. The first breakfastis at once prepared, and whilst it is beingcooked themañanas, or morning greeting, isindulged in, consisting of a little whisky,brandy,aguardiente, rum, or whatever spiritshappen to be available. The hour, even inthe hot lands, is cool. The stars still shine60brightly in the heavens, and, were it not for thetestimony of one’s watch, one would believeone’s self still in the middle of the night. Themules are brought forward, given their morningrations, the luggage is strapped on the ‘cargo’mules, as they are called, and the others aresaddled, and if all goes well, towards five orhalf-past, the journey begins.
There is a characteristic odour in the temperateand low lands of the tropics at thatspecial hour of morning, and the dawn isannounced by a hum in the ear, which, whilstit is still dark, is not of birds, but of thethousand insects that inhabit the forest. Finally,when the sun bursts forth in all his glory, a hymnseems to start in all directions, and the mountainsvibrate with echoes of universal animationfrom the grass and the bushes, the runningstreams, and the nests in the branches of thetrees laden with life. In the cool air of themorning the mind is quite alert, and the climbingand descending, the fording of rivers, thecrossing of ravines and precipices, the slowascent of the sun in the horizon, the freshstirring of the breeze in the leaves, the reverberationof the light on the drops of fresh dew61still hanging from the boughs and dotting themany-coloured flowers—all these things inducesuch a feeling of communion with Nature thatone feels one’s self an integral part of the large,immense, palpitating life that throbs in everydirection, and the conception of immortalityseems to crystallize, so to speak, in the mindof the traveller; but, of course, familiarity breedscontempt, and things beautiful, though they area joy for ever, might tire Keats himself throughrepetition, so that at times travelling in thiswise often seems slow, and one longs for someother means of locomotion. Yet I cannot helpthinking with regret of the days when one willask for a ticket—railway, ‘tube,’ balloon, orwhatever it may be—from any place on earthto any other place. When that day arrives,men will be transported more rapidly from oneplace to another, but the real traveller will havedisappeared, as the knight-errant disappeared,as the gentleman is being driven out from theworld in these days when all things are boughtand sold, and kindness and generosity arebecoming empty words or obsolete relics ofa past that very few understand, and fewerstill care to imitate.
On the very outskirts of the forest, withinhalf an hour’s ride from the long file of trees,we came upon a group of thatch-roofed structureswhich form the so-called town or hamletof San Pedro del Tua, a meeting-place, as Ihave said before, for herdsmen and dealers,deserted at the present season; the only personswho had remained were those whose poverty—heavierthan any anchor—had kept them onthe spot away from the Christmas and NewYear’s festivities that were being celebrated inall the towns and villages of the neighbouringregion. Our first care was to find a roof underwhich to pass the night. We inquired for theman in power, namely, thecorrejidor, a sort ofjustice of the peace, mayor, sheriff, all in one,an official to be found in hamlets or villageslike that which we had just reached. It wasnot hard to find him, since there were onlyfifteen persons in the place. We had a letterof introduction to him, which made thingseasier. He immediately took us to the besthouse in the place, which happened to belongto him. He asked us what good winds hadwafted us thither, and whither we went. Aswe did not care, until having felt our ground63a little more, to state frankly that we wantedto cross into the neighbouring republic of Venezuela,one of us—the most audacious if not thebest liar of the lot—calmly stated that we hadcome to thellanos for the purpose of selectingand purchasing some land, as we intended togo into the cattle-breeding business, and possiblyinto some agricultural pursuit or other.Thecorrejidor said nothing, but an ironicalsmile seemed to flit across his lips. When wehad become more familiar with things andcustoms in the plains, we understood why hehad not replied, and the cause of his almostimperceptible smile. To purchase land in thellanos would be tantamount to buying salt waterin the midst of the ocean! People ‘squat’wherever they like in those endless plains thatbelong to him who exploits them. The cattle,horses, sheep, are the elements of value to whichownership is attached, but the grazing landsbelong to one and all, and as matters standnow, given the scarcity of population and itsslow increase, such will be the condition ofaffairs for many a long year to come.
Once inside the house that thecorrejidor hadplaced at our disposal, and feeling more at ease64with him, we told him of our intention to go toVenezuela, and asked for his assistance. Hisname was Leal, which means loyal; its soundhad in it the clink of a good omen, and laterevents proved that he deserved it. He told usthat our undertaking was by no means an easyone, nor one that could be accomplished withoutthe assistance of expert and intelligentguides. He added that he knew the variousways to penetrate from Colombia into Venezuela,and that if we would accept his serviceshe would accompany us. I need not state thatthe offer was accepted with alacrity.
In the short journey from the skirt of theforest to the hamlet of San Pedro del Tuaacross thellano itself, we had time to remarkthat its aspect, once in contact with it, wasquite different from the beautiful velvety greenwaving in the sunlight, soft and thick, that wehad seen from a distance. The ground wascovered with a coarse grass varying in heightand colour, we were told, according to theseason of the year. A great many small pathwaysseemed to cross it in all directions, formedby the cropping of the grass and the animalsthat moved to and fro on the plains. We65crossed variouscaños, which are natural canals,uniting the larger rivers. As we were at thebeginning of the dry season, these canals werelow, and we forded them without any difficulty,but in winter—that is to say, in the rainy season—theyattain the dimension of large rivers, andtravelling in thellanos on horseback thenbecomes most difficult. We came frequentlyupon copses of themoriche palms alreadydescribed. In the centre of these copses onealways finds a cool natural basin of water,which is preferred by the natives as being thehealthiest and the sweetest of the locality—aguade morichal. There must be somethingin it, for the cattle also prefer this water to thatof the rivers andcaños.
To our inexperienced eye thellanos bore nolandmark which might serve as a guide to ourmovements. After a copse ofmoriche palmscame another one, and then another one, andno sooner was onecaño crossed than anothertook its place, so that without guides it wouldhave been impossible for us to know whetherwe were moving in the right direction.
Leal advised us to lose no time, as thejourney we had before us was a long one.66Now that we were close to the beginning ofour canoe journey on the rivers, we at once setto counting the belongings we had brought atsuch great expense and trouble from the highplateau of Bogotá, which seemed ever so faraway when with the mind’s eye we beheld itperched like an eagle’s nest high up on thesummit of those mountains that it had takenus about eighteen days to descend. As everyinch of ground that we had left behind hadbeen, so to say, felt by us, the distance appearedenormous, and the old city and the plateauseemed more like the remembrance of a dreamthan of a reality. We drew up our inventory,and found that we were the happy possessorsof about eight cases, 50 pounds in weighteach, containing preserved meats, vegetables,and food of all kinds in boxes, jars, tins, andso forth. Next came about six large jugs ordemijohns of native fire-water, oraguardiente,a most useful and indispensable beverage inthose latitudes, and about half a ton of salt,a most precious article in that region. Wewere going across the plains where there areneither salt-water fountains nor salt-bearingrock deposits, and we knew that as an article67of barter, salt went far beyond anything elsethat we might possess, hence the large quantitywhich we carried. Our arsenal consisted offour fowling-pieces, six Remington and twoSpencer rifles, plenty of ammunition, cartridges,gunpowder, one dozen cutlasses, ormachetes,and four revolvers. We also had a box withbooks, our trunks with clothing, rugs, mosquito-nets,waterproof sheets, a medicine-chest, andtwo guitars of the native Colombian type; butwhat rendered us most important and steadyservice during the whole of that journey wasa certain wicker basket, 1 yard long, ¾ of ayard wide, and 10 inches in height, whichcontained a complete assortment of cookingutensils and table-ware for six persons—plates,corkscrews, can-openers, frying-pans, and allthat one could wish to prepare as sumptuousa meal as mortal man could desire in those vastsolitudes. The saucepans, six in number, fittedone inside of the other, nest-wise; they werecopper-bottomed, and proved of inestimablevalue. The tumblers and cups were alsonested—pewter ware with porcelain inside.Everything was complete, compact, and sosolid that, after the long journey with its vicissitudes,68the wicker basket and its contents,though looking somewhat the worse for wear,were perfectly serviceable.
Leal, a man of simple habits, who had neverbeen in a town of more than 4,000 or 5,000inhabitants, on looking at that display of superfluousarticles, argued that we were altogethertoo rich, and that our movements would begreatly facilitated were we to dispense with,say, two-thirds of what lay before him on theground. We pleaded that since the worst hadbeen accomplished, namely, the transportationacross land, roads, and mountain trails, wemight as well keep what we had, and onlyabandon it when forced to do so. Leal noddedhis head, as one who sees that it is uselessto argue, and nothing more was said on thesubject.
Everything was prepared on that New Year’sDay to start on the next day for the neighbouringcattle-farm of Santa Rosa del Tua,situated on the river Tua, one of the affluentsof the Meta, which itself is one of the mostimportant tributaries of the mighty Orinoco.These arrangements and decisions once arrivedat, it was deemed prudent to celebrate our69arrival into the place, and the arrival on thescene of life of the New Year, by a banquetworthy of the double occasion.
A heifer was slaughtered. Leal brought uponthe scene, in front of the house where we werestopping, the whole side of the animal trimmedand prepared for roasting; he had passedthrough it, skewer-wise, a long thin pole ofsome special wood hard and difficult to burn.A huge bonfire was lit on the ground, andLeal fixed the lower end of the skewer quiteclose to the fire, holding the side of the heifernow right over the flame, now at a certaindistance, turning and twisting it with consummateskill. The air was soon scented with thatodour of roast meat which so deliciously ticklesthe nostrils of him who has an empty stomach.Looking at Leal doing the roasting, I realizedBrillat-Savarin’s dictum:On devient cuisinier,on naît rotisseur. Leal, if not a born poet, wasa born roaster. Soon the meat was ready; ourplates, forks, and knives not being sufficientfor the crowd, we preferred not to bring themforth. Large leaves, green, fresh, and shiny,cut from the neighbouring banana and plantaintrees, were laid on the ground both as a cover70and as dishes. Leal unsheathed from his belta long, thin shining knife as sharp as a razor,and with wonderful dexterity cut the hugejoint, separating the ribs, so that everyonecould have a bone with a large portion of hot,steaming, newly-broiled meat. Bread was notforthcoming, but there was an abundance ofbaked and roasted green plantains, crisp andmealy, which did service for the best bread;at least, so we thought. As for meat, neverin my life do I remember having enjoyed sucha delicious morsel: so the banquet consistedof meat and roasted plantainsà discretion. Abottle of rum which belonged to our stock, andwhich I had forgotten in the inventory givenabove, went round the guests of that primitiveboard, warming our hearts into conviviality andgood-humour. Finally came the big bowls ofcoffee, prepared according to the local fashion,which deserves to be described. The coffee isroasted and ground in the usual way, but theseoperations are only carried out just before theliquor is brewed. In a large saucepan coldwater, sweetened to the taste with black sugar,is placed over the fire, and the necessary amountof ground coffee is thrown into it before it gets71warm. The heating should not be too rapid;when the first bubbles indicate that the boiling-pointis about to be reached, the saucepan iswithdrawn from the fire, and a spoonful of coldwater dashed upon the surface of the hotliquor almost in ebullition. This precipitatesthe roasted coffee to the bottom, and gives amost delicious beverage, which, though not asstrong as the coffee distilled according to othermethods, retains all the aroma and flavour ofthe grain. The method is a very good one inlocalities where delicate coffee-machines cannotbe easily procured, and it is in truth nothingmore or less than the method of preparingTurkish coffee, with less fuss than is requiredfor the Oriental variety.
We had soon grown, in that very first day ofour encounter with him, to like Leal and towonder at his intimate knowledge of the plains,the forests, and the rivers of that vast region.He was not a Colombian; he had been bornon the shores of the river Gaurico, one of theaffluents of the Orinoco. From boyhood hehad thus come into daily contact with themighty rivers and the deep and mysteriousforests that cover their shores. His plan was72that we should first follow the river Tua downto the Meta. On arriving at this latter river,we should have to find larger canoes, whichwould enable us to reach the Orinoco. Onceon the Orinoco we would arrive at the settlementcalled Urbana, where we were sure toobtain larger craft in which to go as far asCaicara. Here we might wait for the steamersthat go to Ciudad Bolivar. As to the time requiredfor this journey, Leal said that, barringunforeseen obstacles, fifty days might sufficefor us to reach Ciudad Bolivar. The onlyinhabited places which we would come acrosswere first San Pedro del Arrastradero, thenOrocue, and finally San Rafael, the lastColombian settlements where troops werestationed, and on inquiry Leal stated that onthe river Meta it was necessary to follow theonly channel that existed, so that it would beindispensable for us to touch at the varioustowns he had named, as there was no lateralcaños by which we might avoid them, shouldwe want to do so, as was the case in otherparts of the plains, where one might eitherfollow the main stream or somecaño or tributary.If we wanted to take another river route,73we might, on reaching San Pedro del Arrastradero,walk a short distance of about a mileto thecaño called Caracarate, which would takeus to the river Muco, an affluent of the Vichada,almost as large as the Meta River, and flowinginto the Orinoco. But, said Leal, if we followthe Vichada instead of arriving on the Orinocobelow the rapids, we shall strike that riverabove the rapids, and these alone will entailmore trouble and difficulty and require moretime than any other part of the river. Forthe moment no decision was taken. The questionwas left open to be solved as might bemost convenient at an opportune moment.
Early next morning, January 2, we startedfrom the village, and, after a short ride acrossthe plain, reached the river Tua, at the houseof a small cattle-ranch called Santa Rosadel Tua.
The owner of the premises welcomed usmost hospitably, and, to our joy, placed at ourdisposal two small canoes. No others were tobe found there at the moment. However,they were large enough to carry us and ourbelongings, and accordingly we made ready foran early start next day.
The houses—or what serve for houses inthellanos—are built on the most primitivearchitectural principles. Poles, varying inthickness and in length, according to the proportionsof the desired structure, are sunk intothe ground at convenient distances, following75the lines either of a perfect square or of a rectangle.Cross-beams are nailed or tied to thevertical poles at the required height; in thelatter case the vertical poles are grooved, so asto give additional support. From the cross-beamson either side other beams are thrown,slanting so as to meet in the centre, thusforming the basis of the roof, which is againcovered with reeds, upon which are placedseveral layers of palm-leaves, fastened bymeans of thin ropes to the slanting beams andpoles; and thus the roof is completed. Thisfinishes the house for use during the dry season.
During the wet season the sides are coveredin the same fashion as the roof. The palm-leafmost used is that of themoriche, which aboundsin thellanos.
When lying in the hammock during the dryseason one feels the breath of the breeze as itblows across the plain, and may see the starstwinkling in the deep blue dome of heaven, likefar-off tapers. Thellaneros, or inhabitants ofthe plains, prefer to sleep in the open air, evenwithout palm-leaf roofing above their heads. Itis as though they felt imprisoned indoors, andpined for the ampler ether.
Here we had thus reached the last stageof our land journey. The real voyage wasabout to begin.
The reader who has followed me thus farwill have gathered that there were three of usin this expedition—Alex, Raoul, and myself.With us came our servant Fermin, whoadapted himself to the most urgent requirements,being now muleteer, now valet, nowcook. Leal had engaged the services of severalpeones to paddle the canoes when we reachedthe Tua River; these numbered seventeen, sothat, including Leal and ourselves, we formed agroup of twenty-two men. The canoes were sosmall that we were packed like herrings, but, asit was impossible to obtain others, we had tomake the best of them.
Raoul was a sportsman: more than oncehe had taken up arms against the harmlessducks that swarm at certain seasons of the yearin the lakes studding the plateau of Bogotá. Ihad no personal knowledge of his powers, but,with the modesty and truthfulness characteristicof all hunters and fishermen, he carefully impressedupon us that he was a dead shot, andthat when a bird, hare, or any furred or77feathered creature, came within range of his gunits doom was certain.
Immediately upon our arrival at the riverTua, the shores of which are covered with adense forest, he called our attention to thenumberless birds to be seen, and as soon as hecould manage it he left us, accompanied by oneof the men, and was speedily lost to sightamongst the trees. Shortly afterwards thereport of his gun reached us with such frequencythat one might think he was wastingpowder for mere love of smoke. By-and-byhe returned, bringing with him about sixteendifferent birds of various sizes and kinds,sufficient to feed the whole expedition for oneor two days. He was on the point of startingon another murderous excursion, when weremonstrated against the wanton destructionof animal life. Leal quietly observed that ifRaoul thus continued wasting powder and shothe would soon exhaust our store of those indispensablearticles, the lack of which might entailmost serious consequences later on. On hearingthis we held what might be called a council ofwar, at which it was decided that no more birdsor game were to be shot than were absolutely78indispensable. We were influenced not somuch by a feeling of humanity or love for thebirds as by the fact that a long journey laybefore us, that the loss of a canoe, the floodingof a river, or illness, or any accident that mightbefall us, would detain us for much longer thanwe had bargained. Raoul reluctantly listenedto all these reasons, but, acknowledging theirforce, agreed to comply with them.
Our descent of the river Tua began next day.The waters were very shallow, owing to thedry season, and, as our men could not use theirpaddles, they punted the canoes down-stream.We were often detained by palisades whichobstructed the current. These were formedby trunks uprooted from the shores by the riverin its flood, and then jettisoned in the bed ofthe stream. In the dry season they stood forthlike small islands, and gathered round them allthe floating débris of the river. These palisades,with which we met very often, gave us adeal of trouble. We often had to jump out ofthe canoes and either drag or push them, asthey would stick to the sandy bottom, andpunting failed to make them budge. We tookto this task cheerfully, and found it tolerable79sport, until one of our men was stung by apeculiar sort of fish, black and round, calledraya. This lies hidden in the sand, and, whentouched or trodden upon, stings, darting itsharpoon into the ankle or the calf, leavingits point in the wound, a most painful one,which continues to smart for several days.The man, who was stung in our presence,cried and moaned like a child, so intense wasthe pain. After this we were decidedly charyof lending a hand in dragging or pushing thecanoes, and—I must confess it to our shame—wewould wade booted to the shore and waittill they had been got afloat again, rather thantake the chances of being stung in our turn.
We had started at about six in the morning;towards five in the afternoon Leal began tocast his eyes about in search of a nice, dry,sandy beach upon which to pitch our camp forthe night. So far we had always found somehouse or hut to sleep in; now, for the firsttime, we were faced by the necessity of campingin the open air without any roof whateverabove our heads. We experienced a peculiarsensation of unwarranted fear—a dread arising,doubtless, from the force of habit in the civilized80man, naturally averse to imitating the birds andthe beasts, which sleep under God’s heavenand run all risks; but whatever our feelings,we were forced to accept the inevitable.
As soon as a satisfactory strip of beach wasfound, we jumped ashore. The canoes weredragged halfway out of the water, and tiedwith stout ropes to neighbouring trees to preventtheir being carried away in case of anunexpected flood—by no means an impossiblecontingency. The men took out the matsupon which we were to sleep, and as therewere swarms of the mosquitoes, sand-flies, andnumerous insects which make life a burden inthe early hours of the night on the shores ofthese rivers, the mosquito-bars, made of cottoncloth, were rigged up over the mats.
Fermin, who had been promoted to the rankof private cook for Alex, Raoul, and myself,prepared our supper, making use of the saucepansand sundry implements contained in ourtravelling basket. To prepare their meals, themen used a huge iron pot, which was soontilted over a large fire.
We were four days on the river Tua puntingor paddling, according to the depth of water.81When we reached the river Meta, we hadalready arranged the daily routine best suitedto our requirements, and I might as well, oncefor all, describe it.
Our acting chief, Leal, ever watchful andalert, wakened us at about three in the morning.Every man had his appointed task: two ofthem prepared the indispensable coffee in thefashion of the land; others folded up the mats,the mosquito-bars, and whatever else mighthave been landed. Alex, Raoul, and I wouldin the meantime stand on the river brink,whilst two of the men poured upon us smallcataracts of water drawn from the river in thecoyabras ortotumas cut from native gourds,which form an indispensable part of thedomestic arrangements in thellanos. It wouldhave been sheer madness to bathe in the river,with itsrayas, or water-snakes, or perhapssome shy, dissembling alligator in quest of atasty morsel.
Sandy beaches are the best places for campingon the shores of tropical rivers. They aredry, clean, soft, and perfectly free from snakes,scorpions, tarantulas, and all such obnoxiouscreatures, which are more likely to be found82amongst the high luxuriant grass and the leafytrees.
Between four and five, as soon as it wasready, every man drank a large goblet ofcoffee and a small glass of aniseedaguardiente,which is said to be a specific against malaria.The men’s faith in the virtue of the distilledspirit was astounding; they never failed totake it, and would even ask for more, lest thequantity given were not enough to protectthem from the dreaded illness. Though themerits of quinine are more universally acknowledged,it did not seem to be as acceptable, norto be coveted with equal greediness.
We generally started at about five in themorning, paddling steadily till about eleven,when we landed as soon as we found a suitablespot, if possible shaded with trees. Here wewould hang the hammocks, prepare the middayrepast, and wait until three, letting thehottest hours of the day pass by. At thistime the sun seemed to dart real rays of fireupon the burnished waters, whose reflectiondazzled and blinded our eyes.
About three in the afternoon we would startagain for two or three hours more, until a convenient83beach was found; once there, the campwas formed without delay, the canoes tiedup, the mats spread, and in a few minutestwo huge bonfires, made of driftwood, senttheir glad flames flickering in the night air.After supper we crept under the mosquito-bars,and waited for Leal to call us in themorning.
The seasons in the plains, as is well known,are sharply divided into dry and rainy. Thefirst lasts from May to November, and thesecond from November to May. During thewet season it rains from eighteen to twentyhours out of the twenty-four; showers are notfrequent during the dry season, but they fallnow and then.
The third or fourth night that we spent onthe banks of the Tua, I was awakened byfeeling a moist sheet over my face, and at oncerealized that the heavy rain had beaten downthe mosquito-bar. There was nothing for itbut to cover myself with the waterproofponcho, sitting up for greater convenience, anddisengaging myself from the fallen mosquito-net.There we all sat helpless under thedense cataract. The beach, slanting towards84the river, bore with it the waters from thehigher ground, and as my body made an indenturein the sand, I felt on either side arushing stream. Fortunately, the shower wassoon over, the bonfires were heaped withdriftwood and blazed forth joyously. Coffeewas specially prepared for the occasion, and wesat in the genial warmth of the flames until thesun burst forth on the horizon. That morningwe did not start as early as usual: the tentsand covers were spread in the sun, and after anhour or so were again dry and soft. Thenwe started on our journey, leaving behindus the discomforts of the night. The rainseemed to have gladdened the forest, andbrightened the trees and bushes into a liveliergreen. During the journey we underwent asimilar experience upon two or three otheroccasions.
As for food, we had a comfortable supply,and hardly a day passed without our havingeither some fine bird, or at times a larger pieceof game in the shape of a species of wild-boar,fairly plentiful in that locality, the flesh of whichis quite agreeable after one learns to eat it.Besides game, we also had plenty of fish. All85this without counting the salt meat and tinnedprovisions. The birds most abundant wereducks of various descriptions, wild turkeys, anda beautiful bird of fine dark-bluish plumage,similar to a wild turkey, calledpaujil by thenatives, the meat of which greatly resemblesthat of the pheasant.
At about this stage of the journey an incidenttook place which shows how even the humblesttasks in life require a certain degree of abilityand experience. One day on the river Tua,Raoul—who, as I have said, was a greathunter before the Lord, and had no moreesteem than most men for the milder arts—hadbrought down a beautiful duck of exceptionalsize, and of the kind known as ‘royal duck.’Not satisfied with his triumph as a Nimrod, hetook it into his head to cook the bird himselfand rival the achievements of Vattel or Carême.He invited me to help him in his undertaking.My culinary attainments being purely of atheoretical kind, I promised him my moralsupport and hearty co-operation in the shapeof advice. We invited Alex to share ourwonderful supper, to which he replied that,being aware of the perils most incident to the86efforts of inexperienced cooks, however enthusiasticthey might be, he preferred the men’ssupper, which, though humbler, was far moreto be depended on. Heedless of this taunt,Raoul went on with his work. A pot filledwith water was placed over the fire, and assoon as it was boiling the bird was plungedinto it. In due course Raoul began to pluckvaliantly; feathers black and bluish fell fromhis hand numerous as flakes of snow in a winterstorm. When he began to tire after a while,I took the bird in hand, and continued thetask, the feathers falling like dry leaves in theautumnal forest. After half an hour of steadywork, when the ground was literally coveredwith black feathers, that blessed bird seemeduntouched. We were beginning to feel anxiousand hungry, and the tempting whiffs from thelarge iron pot, where the men were stirringtheir stew, stung our nostrils in a tantalizingfashion. However, it was now a question ofpride and self-esteem, and we were bound tocook the bird at any cost. By-and-by Alex,holding a steaming plate in his hand, cameto us and invited us to eat. Raoul rejectedthe offer, and though I was most anxious to87accept it, I felt bound in loyalty to standby him. We told Alex that we wanted toreserve the fulness of our appetite for ourdelicious bird, to which Alex replied that bythe time that bird was ready we should certainlybe hungry enough to devour it, leaving thebones quite clean. Raoul and I took turns atplucking the duck, which at last seemed toyield, showing a few whitish specks here andthere devoid of all feathery covering. Seeingour plight, Fermin, who had stood by, notbeing called upon to help, seized the bird,declaring that we had allowed it to becomechilled, and that the perfect plucking of itwas well-nigh impossible. However, he undertookthe job most courageously, and finally,taking advantage of the shades of night, whichfacilitated a compromise, we dropped thatroyal duck into the boiling water and pretendedto enjoy our supper, such as it was,when ready. How much we ate is a questionas to which I need not go into detail here, butI must own that in lying down upon my matunder the mosquito-bar I felt famished. Fromthat day onwards both Raoul and I decidedto forego all interference in matters culinary,88beyond occasional advice. I have no doubt that,had Fermin or one of the men undertaken thetask, we should not only have had our suppermuch sooner, but a dish fit for any man’spalate.
On the fourth day, about two hours’ sail fromthe confluence of the Tua with the Meta River,we stopped at a large cattle-ranch called SantaBarbara. The owner invited us to a dinner—theinevitable dishes of thellano: meat roastedover a bonfire, plaintains and coffee.
The ranch consisted, we were told, of about10,000 head of cattle, and was typical of theranches to be found on thellanos of Colombiaand Venezuela.
Here, in the person of what might be calledthe sub-manager, whose name was Secundino,we came face to face with a real tiger-hunter.
After dinner I asked Secundino how menfleeted the time away in that lonely regionbeyond the din of civilized life. His statementscorroborated what I had heard before,that there is no ownership of land in the90llanos; the herds graze freely over the plains,the animals being practically wild, and kepttogether by the presence amongst them of afew tame cattle which, being accustomed tothe presence of man, will remain in the neighbourhoodof the houses orcaneyes. Anothergreat attraction to the cattle is the salt whichis strewn upon large slabs of stone or flatboards. By these two devices, thousands ofanimals are kept within a comparatively shortdistance of the ranch.
To enable each ranch-owner to brand thecattle belonging to him,rodeos or round-upsare held two or three times during the year.Theserodeos are gatherings of the herds. Themen ride out in all directions from the ranch,and drive the cattle towards thecorrales. Inthis task they are greatly helped by the presenceof the tame animals, which are easily led ordriven as required, and are always followed bythe others.
Once in thecorrales, the branding begins.A red-hot iron is used, shaped either to formone or two letters or some special sign whichconstitutes the trade or hall mark, so to speak,of the respective ranch. The animals are91forced to pass through a long, narrow enclosurebetween two fences, and are branded as theygo by; but with animals that give a great dealof trouble a different method is followed. Thisconsists in starting the bull, heifer, or cow, asthe case may be, on the run. A man on horsebackfollows, and when both the horse and thebull have attained sufficient impetus, the manseizes the bull by the tail, and with a suddentwist turns it over on its side, jumping at oncefrom his horse to pass the tail under the bull’sleg; this compresses certain muscles, preventsall motion, and leaves the fallen animal helpless.The branding is then done without anydifficulty, either on the fore or the hind quarters.
Secundino told us that this way of throwingthe cattle down was not confined to the brandingseason, but that it formed a frequent sportamongst herdsmen in the plains, as it requiredgreat skill to accomplish it. Another sport inwhich he and his friends indulged, and whichhe described with great zest, was riding wildbulls. The process consists first in throwingthe bull to the ground, whereupon a thick ropeis tied as a girdle, only that it is placed quiteclose to the withers and right under the forelegs92of the animal. All this time the bull hasbeen held on the ground, bellowing and pantingfor sheer rage; as soon as the rope is ready,the intending rider stands by the side of theanimal with his two hands stuck between therope and the skin, on either side of the spine,and the moment the bull is let loose and standson its feet the man leaps on its back. Thenfollows a wonderful struggle: the beast, unaccustomedto any burden, rears and plunges,springs backwards and forwards with greatviolence; the man, always spurred, increasesthe fury of the animal by pricking its sides.His two arms, like bars of iron, stand rigid,and man and bullock seem as though madeof one piece. At last the bull is exhausted, andsullenly acknowledges the superior force of therider; but it takes rare courage and strengthto accomplish this feat.
After describing these and other pastimes,Secundino quietly added:
‘Whenever my work leaves me time, I killtigers.’
He said this unpretentiously, yet with acertain air of self-consciousness that must havebrought the shadow of a doubting smile to my93lips. Secundino saw this, and, without appearingto take notice of it, invited us outside the house,and showed us, at a certain distance from it,lying on the ground, ten tigers’ skulls, someof which bore traces of having been recentlycleansed from skin and flesh.
‘You see,’ he added, ‘that I have some proofsof my tiger-killing!’
He told us that the tigers were the worstenemies of the cattle-farmer.
‘Other animals,’ he said, ‘will take justwhat they want, but the tiger is fierce, cruel,and kills for the sake of killing. If he shouldhappen to get into an enclosure containingtwenty or thirty young calves, he will kill themall, and take one away with him. We are atopen and constant warfare with the tigers,’ headded, ‘and there is no truce between us.’
Thellaneros usually kill tigers by spearingthem. Referring to this, Secundino said thatdoubtless it was more dangerous than shootingthe beast down at long range with a Winchesteror a Remington rifle; ‘but,’ he went on to say,‘powder and lead are expensive, cartridges aredifficult to obtain, and when once exhaustedyour weapon is no better than a broomstick.94The spear, however, is always ready, and neverfails you. When I go out tiger-hunting I takemy dogs, who follow the scent and guide me.I carry with me, besides the spears, a muzzle-loader,in case of emergency. The momentthe dogs see the tiger they give cry; the beastseeks higher ground, and the fight with thedogs begins at once. The tiger is afraid evenof a cur. The dogs that we have here arewell trained, and though at times they arekilled by the tiger, that seldom happens. Ifollow my dogs, keeping the animal well insight, with my spear ready, and at the rightmoment dash forward and plunge it into hisbreast. If the blow is a good one, that endsit. Now and then it is necessary to fire therifle into him; but this is a great pity, owingto the waste of lead and gunpowder.’
I am trying to repeat here word by wordSecundino’s quiet statement. It sounds fancifuland exaggerated, but all those who havetravelled over the plains of either Venezuela orColombia will have heard that such is thecommonest mode of tiger-killing amongst thellaneros. The tiger of these latitudes, however,is not the same as the tiger of India and other95parts of Asia. It is smaller, but not lessferocious; it is spotted, and not striped. Thespear used is very long, made of very hardwood, and has a most murderous appearance.
Secundino, after telling me of his short waywith tigers, asked me to handle the weapon,and generously gave me some instructions as tothe exact poise to be adopted for striking ablow, explaining to me how dangerous it mightbe were I to forget the rules which he couldrecommend from experience. To begin with, Icould hardly lift the spear, and, then, there waspractically no chance of my ever going to seeka tiger in his lair. Secundino, however, wasprofoundly in earnest, and, rather than disabusehim or hurt his feelings, I solemnly promisedhim that I would never kill tigers otherwisethan in strict conformity with his advice, andthat at the first opportunity I would practisethrowing the spear and poising my body, so asto make sure.
Towards evening, as we were about leaving,when I was already seated in the canoe, whilstLeal was still ashore, I overheard these wordspassing between him and Secundino:
‘How far are you going, Friend Leal?’
‘Down to the Orinoco, to accompany thesegentlemen.’
‘How are you coming back, by land or bywater?’
‘I do not know yet—that depends.’
‘Well, all right; if you come this way, Ishould like you to tackle a horse that we havehere, which no one seems able to ride, andwhich I dare not tackle myself.’
‘Never you mind,’ answered Leal; ‘I will seeto it when I return.’
Here was a revelation. Leal’s prowess grewin our estimation. This guide of ours was calledupon to break in a horse which Secundino, thetiger-hunter, whose title to the name, if devoidof diplomas or academic signatures, was vouchedfor by the ten tiger-skulls which we had seen,would not dare to ride himself!
On we went towards the Meta River, leavingour friends on the shore shouting to us messagesof good speed. We soon noticed that our canoe,being lighter in draft, had left the other farbehind it.
It darkened much earlier than we expected,and to our great regret we saw that the secondcanoe could not catch us up, which was annoying,97as supper, beds, and everything else, with theexception of a demijohn of aniseedaguardiente,were in it. We landed at the first beach thatwe struck, hoping against hope that thestragglers might overtake us.
Time had passed so agreeably at SantaBarbara, listening to Secundino’s tales, thatwe had not noticed how late it was. It seemedto us, furthermore, that darkness had set inearlier than usual. On hearing some remarkto that effect, Fermin observed that the sun hadset for us that day earlier than usual. He laidstress upon the words ‘for us,’ and, on beingasked what he meant thereby, said that thedarkness had been caused by a cloud whichhad interposed itself between us and the settingsun, thus bringing night earlier than usual.
‘What nonsense are you talking about?’ saidRaoul. ‘There is no cloud in the matter; wewent on talking and talking, and forgot the time.’
‘No, sir,’ Fermin said, without moving amuscle; ‘I know what I am talking about.The cloud was formed by the feathers of thatbird which we tried to pluck yesterday; theyare so many that they darken the light ofthe sun!’
Up to this day I cannot say what happened.I do not know if we mistook the hour of theday and were overtaken by night, or if, intruth, as Fermin asserted, the wrathful ghostof the mishandled duck spread its black feathersabove our heads, thus forming a mantle like themantle of arrows which the Spartan warriorsasked the Persian invaders to fire at them, sothat they might fight in the shade. This problem,which contains historical, astronomicaland atmospherical elements, will remain forever as dark and mysterious as the feathers ofthe dead bird.
Night soon asserted her sway. The blue vaultof heaven, alive with innumerable stars, was clearand diaphanous; no cloud was to be seen. Theevening noises died away, and the dead silencewas only broken now and then by a vaguerumour wafted mysteriously through space—thewash of waters on the shore, or possiblythe lisp of forests by the river. We gave upall hope of the other canoe arriving that night,and faced the inevitable—no supper, no beds.As in our own canoe we carried a demijohnofaguardiente, one or two generous draughtswere our only supper. We were not hamperedby excess of riches or of comforts; as to theselection of our beds, the whole extent of thebeach was equally sandy and soft; but, havingslept for many nights on the shores of the Tua,and knowing that we were at its confluence100with the Meta, for the sake of a change—adistinction without a difference—we stretchedourselves full length on the side of the beachlooking to the Meta River.
The water-course, practically unknown tocivilization, appeared to me as I lay there likea wandering giant lost amidst the forests andthe plains of an unknown continent. Thesurface of the waters sparkled in the starlightlike hammered steel. My thoughts followedthe luminous ripples until they were lost tosight in the darkness of the opposite shore,or, wandering onwards with the flow, meltedinto the horizon. Whither went those waters?Whence came they? What were their evolutions,changes, and transformations? Idle questions!Flow of life or flow of wave, who butHe that creates all things can know its sourceand its finality? Idle cavillings indeed!
Suddenly, as drowsiness had begun to seizeme, a wonderful phenomenon took place. Therefrom the midst of the waters arose an indistinctyet mighty figure; high it stood amidst thewaters which parted, forming a sort of royalmantle upon its shoulders; it gazed upon mewith the sublime placidity of the still seas,101the high mountains, the unending plains, theprimeval forests, and all the manifestations ofNature, great and serene in their power andmajesty. And the figure spoke:
‘Listen to me, O pilgrim, lost in these vastsolitudes; listen to the voice of the wanderingstreams! We rivers bring life to forest andvalley; we are children of the mountains, heraldsof continents, benefactors of man. My current,powerful and mighty though it seems, is buta tiny thread of the many streams that, mingledand interwoven, so to say, go to form the mainartery of whirling, heaving water called theOrinoco. From north and south, from eastand west, we all flow along the bosom of theplains, after having gathered unto ourselves theplayful streamlets, the murmuring brooks thatswell into torrents and dash down the mountain-sides,filling the hills and the intervening valleyswith life and joy. They come from the highestslopes—nay, from the topmost peaks crownedwith everlasting snow, the sources of our life;down they rush, and after innumerable turnsand twists, after forming now cataracts, nowplacid lakes, reach the plain, and in their coursethey broaden the large streams which in turn102merge with others in the huge basin, and formthe vast artery that drains the surface of a greatpart of the continent, and bears its tribute tothe Atlantic Ocean. Yea, verily indeed, werivers are as twin brothers of Time; the hourspass and pass, ceaseless as our waves; theyflow into Eternity, we into the bosom of thegreat deep. This land, the land of your birthand of mine, to-day an unknown quantity inthe history of the world, is a destined site ofa mighty empire. The whole continent of SouthAmerica is the reserve store for the futuregenerations of millions of men yet unborn.Hither they will come from all parts of theworld: on the surface of the globe no morefavourable spot exists for the home of mankind.Along the coast of the Pacific Ocean runs themighty backbone of the Cordillera like a bulwark,high, immense, stately; above it, like the towersand turrets in the walls of a fortified city, risethe hundred snow-capped peaks that look eastand west, now on the ocean, now on the ever-spreadingundulating plains, and south and northto the line of mountains extending for thousandsof miles.
‘In the very heart of the tropical zone, where103the equatorial sun darts his burning rays, arethe plateaus of the Andes, hundreds of squaremiles in extent, with all the climates and themultitudinous products of the temperate zone.In the heart and bowels of the mountains arethe precious metals coveted by man’s avariceand vanity, those forming the supreme goalof his endeavours; and the useful—indeed, thetruly precious—metals, coal, iron, copper, lead,and all others that are known to man, exist ina profusion well-nigh illimitable. The trade-winds,whose wings have swept across the wholewidth of the Atlantic Ocean, laden with moisture,do not stop their flight when the sea of movingwaters ceases and the sea of waving grass begins.Across the plains, over the tree-tops of theprimeval forests, shaking the plumage of thepalm-trees, ascending the slopes of the hills,higher, still higher, into the mountains, andfinally up to the loftiest peaks, those windsspeed their course, and there the last drops ofmoisture are wrung from them by that immeasurablebarrier raised by the hand of God;their force seems to be spent, and, like birdsthat have reached their native forest, they foldtheir wings and are still. The moisture thus104gathered and thus deposited forms the thousandcurrents of water that descend from the heightsat the easternmost end of the continent, andconvert themselves into the largest and mostimposing water systems in the world. Thusis formed the Orinoco system, which irrigatesthe vast plains of Colombia and Venezuela.Further south, created by a similar concurrenceof circumstances and conditions, the Amazonsystem drags the volume of its wandering seaacross long, interminable leagues of Brazilianforest and plain. Its many streams start intheir pilgrimage from the interior of Colombia,of Ecuador, of Peru, and of Bolivia, and thesetwo systems of water-ways, which intersect suchan immense extent of land thousands of milesfrom the mouth of the main artery that plungesinto the sea, are connected by a natural canal,the Casiquiare River, so that the traveller mightenter either river, follow its course deep intothe heart of the continent, cross by water tothe other, and then reappear on the ocean,always in the same boat.
‘If the wealth of the mountains is boundlessand virgin, if on the slopes and on the plateausand the neighbouring valleys all the agricultural105products useful to man may be grown—andthe forests teem with wealth that belongsto him who first takes it—if the rocks likewisecover or bear immense deposits of all themetals and minerals useful to man, the lowlandsand the plains offer grazing-ground foruntold herds of cattle and horses, and furtherto the south beyond the Amazon, runningsouthward, not eastward like the Orinoco andthe Amazon, the Parana unrolls its waves,which, after leaving the tropic, enter thesouthern temperate zone, irrigating for untoldmiles the endless pampas of Argentina andUruguay. In very truth, this continent is thePromised Land.
‘In your pilgrimage along the waters of theOrinoco, you will see all the wonders of tropicalNature. Now the forests will stand on eitherbank close along the shores in serried file, andmoving mirrors of the waters will reflect themurmuring tops of the trees, noisy and full oflife as the winds sweep by in their flight, orelse the frowning rock, bare and rugged, willstand forth from the current like the wall of amedieval castle. Now the trees will open agap through which, as from under a triumphal106arch, the current of a river, a wanderer fromthe mysterious and unknown depths of theneighbouring forests, pours forth into the mainstream and mingles with the passing waters,joining his fate to theirs, even as the HighPriest of some unknown creed might issuefrom the temple and mingle with the passingcrowd. Some rivers that reach the main arteryhave had but a short pilgrimage, the junctionof their many waters having taken place at nogreat distance from the main stream; othershave had a long wandering, sometimes placidand serene, sometimes amidst rocks andboulders, with an ever frenzied and agitatedcourse like the lives of men striving andstruggling till the last great trumpet sounds.The course of the river will be studded withislands large enough for the foundation ofempires, and before reaching the sea the riverwill extend and spread its current into athousand streams, as if loth to part from theMother Earth it sought to embrace more firmlyin its grasp, and our waters will flow into theunplumbed deep, there to mingle with those ofall the rivers, whether their course has beenthrough lands alive with civilization, swarming107with multitudes of men on their shores, ladenwith the memories of centuries and famous inhistory, or whether they, like us, have wanderedthrough vast solitudes where Nature is stillsupreme in her primeval pride, as yet unpollutedby the hand of man. There we allmeet, and to us what men call time and itsdivisions exist not, for all the transformationsthat affect mankind are as naught to us whoform part and parcel of Nature itself, who onlyfeel time after the lapse of æons which to themind of man are practically incomprehensible.Seek to learn the lesson of humility, to acknowledgethe power of the Creator, who gave toman what we rivers and all other materialthings can never hope for—a future beyondthis earth, higher, brighter, infinite, eternal.’
The figure seemed to sink slowly under themantle of waters that had covered its shoulders;the sun was rising in the eastern horizon, therumour of awakening Nature filled the airwith its thousand echoes, and drifting rapidlytowards us we saw Leal with the canoe thathad remained behind the night before.
On telling Alex, Raoul, and Fermin myexperience, and asking in good faith what they108had thought of the visitation, they lookedaskance at me. It seems that sleep had overpoweredthem; they had not seen the river-godof the Meta, and irreverently set down thewhole occurrence to the quality of my supperthe preceding night. It is ever thus withunbelievers; they will seek some material orvulgar explanation for that which they cannotunderstand and have not seen.
That very morning, after the necessaryarrangements and the usual morning coffee,we started down the Meta River. If we mighthave called the navigation on the Tua somewhatamphibious, navigation on the Meta,specially for such small craft as we possessed,seemed to us as on the open sea. Our firstcare was to seek larger canoes. Leal guidedus through one of the neighbouringcaños toa cattle-ranch, where he expected to suit ourrequirements. Thiscaño chanced to be famousfor its snakes, principally of the kind calledmacaurel, a dark brownish species, varyingfrom 2 to 4 and 5 feet in length, and from¼ inch to 2 inches in diameter. When in reposethey coil themselves around the branchesof the trees, and their bite, if not cured immediately,109is fatal. Leal shot one of thehorrible reptiles in the body; the linking ofthe rings that take the place of vertebræ beingthus unloosened, the coils became wider, theanimal lost its grip and fell into the water,staining it with a blue-greenish reflection of ametallic hue. It seems that one shot of thesmallest size is sufficient to kill these snakes,provided it breaks one of the rings abovementioned. I shuddered as we passed underthe trees, knowing that many of these dreadedreptiles must be above our heads. Thecañoin some parts was so narrow and the forest sodense that it was impossible to avoid the overhangingbranches, and when I thought that weshould have to go over the same route nextday, disgust and a feeling of dread took possessionof me. By the time we reached ourdestination, after a journey of eight or tenmiles, over twenty of these creatures had beenbrought down. We obtained two large canoes,which seemed to us like veritable ships orfloating palaces compared to the little craft wehad used for so many days. We turned to theriver Meta, and did not feel safe until we hadleft thecaño behind, and could breathe once110more in the open air on the bosom of the largeriver, with only heaven above our heads.
The Meta River, which flows entirely uponColombian territory, describes large windingcurves in its course eastward towards theOrinoco. Its banks are high and well defined,its channel fairly steadfast even in the dryseason. This is not common, most of theserivers often shifting their course, to the despairof pilots and navigators. Both sides of theMeta we knew were occupied, or, rather, frequentlyvisited, by various wild tribes. Nowand then Leal would point out a part of theshore, stating that it belonged to some ranch,but how he could know was a mystery to us,as no visible difference existed.
The temperature, though quite hot in themiddle of the day, was agreeable, and evencool, in the early morning and a greater partof the night. The trade-wind, which blowssteadily every day during the dry season, attimes gathered such force that we were compelled,going against it as we did, to wait longhours for it to subside. Our canoes were notso arranged as to enable us to hoist sail andtack against the wind.
On the river Meta we observed a largespecies of fish, which, had we been at sea, weshould have identified at once as porpoises.The men told us that they were calledbufeos,and in reality came from the sea, havingascended the waters of the Orinoco forthousands of miles, and branched off into theMeta River. One of the men, illiterate like allhis fellows, but versed in forest, mountain andplain lore, stated that thosebufeos were thefriends of man; that they loved music and song;that they would follow a boat or canoe whencethe echoes of singing or of some musical instrumentcould be heard for miles and miles at a time;that when they were present in the water thealligators and all the other enemies of mankept away, or were driven away by thebufeos;and that whenever by chance the fishermencaught one of these, he would at once releaseit in remembrance of their friendship for mankind.These were, therefore, our old-timefriends the porpoises.
The simple tale of the man, one of ourpaddlers, who had never been in a city inhis life nor seen any of the wonders of ourtimes, to whose mind such words as civilization,112Fatherland, and religion, as well as many othersthat form the glib vocabulary of modern man,were mere empty sounds or air, could not butset me a-thinking—first, as to the value of thosewords. Fatherland, our country, his and mine,yet how different the conception, and howthose consecrated, holy words are abused bythe tricksters, great and small, who controland exploit mankind for their own benefit!Patriotism should consist in justice and equalityof rights and tolerance to all, whereas, in fact,it is but a mask for the greed and avariceof the strong. My countryman is he whoseideals are identical with mine. What makesanother being my fellow-man and my brotheris an identity of ideals, not a concurrence ofgeographical conditions of birth. If he whois born ten thousand miles away in an unknownclimate and in a different latitude shares withme the love of justice and of freedom, and willstruggle for them even as I would, why shouldwe be separated by conventional distinctionswhich benefit neither him nor me nor justicenor freedom as ideals?
I thought, are these lands and this vastcontinent still virgin in the sense that humanity113has not exploited them? are they to be the lastscene of the stale criminal imposture now calledcivilization? Are men to come by thousandsand by millions to these plains and these mountains,and settle on the shores of these rivers,bringing with them their old prejudices, theirold tyrannical conventionalities, the hatreds thathave stained history with blood for hundredsand for thousands of years, rearing on thesenew lands the old iniquities, calling themfatherlands, baptizing their crimes with holywords, and murdering in the name ofpatriotism? If such is to be the future ofthese lands, far better were it that the mightyrivers should overflow their course and convertinto one immense lake, twin brother of theneighbouring sea, the vast plains, the endlessmysterious forest; and that the immensebulwark of the Andes, aflame with a thousandvolcanoes, should make the region inhospitableand uninhabitable to man: for ofiniquity there is enough, and no more shouldbe created under God’s heaven.
But the tale set me also a-thinking of thepower of tradition and the beauty of song. Ifmy memory plays me no trick, Arion, homeward-bound114from the Court of Corinth, andladen with gifts of a King who worshippedsong, was seized and thrown into the sea bythe crew, but the listening dolphins or porpoises,grateful for the heavenly message thusdelivered by him, bore him ashore and savedhis life. So, more or less, runs the classicaltale; and here in the wilds of America, fromthe lips of an unlettered woodman, the samebeautiful conceit, clothed in simple words, hadrung in my ears. The power of song, thebeauty of the legend, had filtered itself throughhundreds of generations from the days of ourmother Greece, the mother of art and of beauty,across the mountains and the years and the seasand the continents, and the legend and theallegory were alive in their pristine and essentialcharacteristics in the forests of tropicalAmerica. This gave me hope. If the powerof things ideal, of things that have in them thedivine charm of undying force, overcomes timeand distance, why should not the ideal ofrighteousness, of liberty, and of justice prevail?And the vast continent of South America, whyshould it not be the predestined home of ahappy and regenerate humanity? The trade-winds115which come from the old world andacross the ocean are purified on the heightsof the Cordilleras. Even so humanity in thatpilgrimage that is bound to take place erelong, as the ancient world begins to overflow,may regenerate itself and establish liberty andjustice in that new world. If these be dreams,awakening were bitter.
We soon heard that it was easy to reach oneof the affluents of the Vichada by crossing theplains for about a mile overland, and, all thingsconsidered, decided to abandon the Meta River,even though the journey might be longer thanwe had at first intended. Thus, on the fourthday of navigation down the Meta we stopped,and at a place known as San Pedro del Arrastradero,where we found quite a large settlement,about 150 people, we left the Metabehind us and at once made ready for ourjourney through the Vichada, as large as theMeta, we were told, and inhabited by numeroussavage tribes. This gave additional interest tothe journey, and we looked forward to it withpleasure.
The settlement of San Pedro del Arrastradero—orof Arimena, as it is also called—lies on theright shore of the River Meta about 150miles from its confluence with the Orinoco.Within a very short distance of the Meta atthat point, less than a mile to the south, thecaño of Caracarate branches towards the MucoRiver, which, flowing to the south-east, joins theVichada; the latter, of about the same volumeas the Meta, flows south-east till it strikes theOrinoco above the rapids. The Meta and theVichada and the Orinoco form a triangle, ofwhich the last named is the base. The Vichadaenters the main stream some fifty miles above,and the Meta about 200 miles below, theseries of rapids which divide the river intothe Lower and the Upper Orinoco.
Scattered far and wide at long distances117apart on the plain which borders the Meta arenumerous cattle-ranches, and on its very shoresare settlements testifying to the effort of civilizedman. But the new region that we wereabout to enter, irrigated by the Muco, theVichada, and their affluents, is absolutely wild,and has seldom been crossed by white menother than stray missionaries, or adventuroustraders in search of cheap rubber, resinoussubstances, tonga beans, hammocks, etc. Thesethe Indians exchange for trifles, or implementswhich they prize very highly: to the wildinhabitants an axe, a cutlass, a knife, areveritable treasures, distinguishing their owneramong his fellows.
The tribes along the shores of the Meta Riverwere known to be mostly hostile and aggressive.Travellers on that river always, if possible,pitch their camps on islets in mid-stream forfear of night attacks, and even then they needto keep strict watch and have their arms besidethem. It is dangerous for small expeditions tocross the part of the river below San Pedro delArrastradero.
But the tribes along the region that we wereabout to cross, though no less primitive than118the others, are mild and easily amenable tocivilization. They are numerous, and undergood guidance might be advantageously employedin useful work, might be taught togather the natural products abounding in theforests, and cultivate the soil systematically.Their present notions of agriculture areelementary; they only practise it on a verysmall scale, relying principally on what theycan hunt and fish.
At San Pedro we found an individual whofor over thirty years had been in the habit oftravelling on the Muco and the Vichada, oftengoing as far as Ciudad Bolivar, near the mouthof the Orinoco. He had amassed a littlefortune by trading with the Indians. He spoketheir dialect, and practised polygamy in accordancewith their unsophisticated rites andcustoms. It was said that he had a greatnumber of children along the shores of theriver; he could therefore recommend us to hisfamily, so to speak. His name was Gondelles.He had often accompanied the missionarieswho had attempted to preach the Gospel amongthe savages, and, unless Rumour was a lyingjade, he had himself strenuously endeavoured119to observe that Divine precept which refers toincreasing and multiplying the human species!
The Indians of this region are speciallyexpert in weaving beautiful hammocks fromfibres of the various kinds ofmaguey oragaveplants, or else extracted from the leaves of themoriche. The most prized, however, are thosemade of fibre of thecumare palm, soft andpliant as silk. A large and comfortablehammock woven of this fibre will take up thesmallest possible space and last longer than anyother. These Indians are also skilled in canoe-making;with their primitive stone instruments,aided by fire, they will make admirable canoesof one piece, hewn from the trunk of a tree.These canoes at times are so large that theywill seat from twenty to twenty-five men comfortably,but most of them are small crafteasily handled, holding six or eight personsat most.
Some of the men who had accompanied usthus far now refused to continue the journey.We were informed that it would be comparativelyeasy to replace them with Indianswho would accompany us for four or five daysat a trifling wage. The tribes being numerous,120it would not be difficult to find new hands ateach stage.
The wage of our new canoe men was alwayspaid in kind: a handkerchief, a pound ofsalt, an empty bottle, a strip of gaudy silk—wehad still some London cravats—were themost coveted articles. The idea of equity andwork done for value received does not existamongst the Indians. We soon found thatit was folly to give them the article agreedupon until the work was done; for once themen had received what they coveted, they wouldabandon us, stealthily leaving the camp in thedusk at the first landing, and sometimes evenrushing into the jungle in broad daylight.
So now with a full crew, now crippled, wemanaged to continue the journey, first for sixdays on the Muco, and then on the Vichada,the navigation of which proved to be muchlonger than we had expected.
The general aspect of Nature on these tworivers differed very little from what we hadseen on the Meta. The shores of the Mucoare generally covered with mangroves thatpush far into the current their submerged networkof roots and branches, of which one must121steer clear, as they are hiding-places for snakes,and are apt, if struck unexpectedly, to capsizethe canoes. These beautiful clear waters, soharmless, so placid, in appearance, are in truthfull of danger. Apart from alligators and watersnakes, they abound in a species of small fishcalledcaribe, which attack men and animals,especially if they find a sore spot in the skin.They swarm in such quantities and are sovoracious that a bull or a horse crossing theriver, if attacked by these fish, may lose a leg,or receive such a deep wound in the body thatdeath is inevitable. No less perilous is theelectric eel, which, on being touched, givesa shock so strong that the man or animal receivingit generally falls into the stream. Eventigers are known to have been struck by thesepeculiar fish, and it is said that some have beendrowned, being unable to recover themselvesin time.
During the month of January the turtlesbegin to lay their eggs. Our attention wascalled to a specially bright star in the horizon,which the men asserted only appeared in thatmonth of the year. It was called the star oftheterecayes. Theterecay is a small species of122turtle, and much prized, and with reason, onaccount of its exquisite flesh. On more thanone occasion, quite unexpectedly, the canoeswould be steered ashore, the men would jumpon the sand and run as if guided by some well-knownlandmark. After a few yards they wouldstop, and, digging in the sand with their hands,would extract a nest full ofterecay eggs, thecontents varying from fifty to over a hundred.Their experienced eyes had seen the tracks oftheterecay on the sand. These turtles, like allothers, lay their eggs once a year on the sand,and cover them up carefully, leaving the caresof motherhood to the forces of Nature. Oncehatched in this fashion, the young turtles mustshift for themselves, and their instinct tellsthem that their numerous enemies lie in watchfor their awakening to active life. The momentthey break the shell they make as quickly asthey can for the neighbouring waters, wherethey are comparatively safe.
If the inhabitants of those regions lack book-learningand knowledge of things in whichtheir more civilized fellow-creatures are versed,Nature and the life which they lead have giventhem a keenness of sight, of hearing, and of123touch far beyond the average citizen of townand village. I often noticed of an evening, asthe canoes were being tied and hoisted halfwayout of the water, that the men walking alongthe beach would mutter to themselves, or callthe attention of their fellows to the sand, whichto me seemed smooth and uniform. Pointingto the ground, they would say, duck, turtle,tapir, alligator, wild-boar, deer, tiger, and soforth. The tracks which they saw were, so tospeak, the visiting-cards of animals which hadspent the day on the beach where our campwas pitched at night.
When we first came in contact with a realwild Indian I experienced a feeling very difficultto describe.
Here was a being whose appearance wasidentical with our own, save for details of colourof skin and other trivial distinctions whichcould not affect the essential organic elements;yet he awakened within us a curiosity akin tothat with which we gaze at a wild animal insome zoological garden. What a deep gulfyawned between that forlorn brother and ourselves!The work of generations, the treasuresheaped up by man for man during centuries of124struggle and endeavour, hopes and fears, disappointments,traditions, ideals, conventionalities,all that constitutes civilization; the higherbelief in a Supreme Being, the evolution ofhabits, the respect for established laws andregulations, the reverence for sacred things—allthat world essential to us was as naught,absolutely non-existent, for that naked fellow-creaturewho stood before us, unprotected, lostamid the forest in a climate unfavourable toman. There was no one to help him, or makeany effort to improve the natural forces withinhim, none to lift his soul into a higher andbetter world. Curiosity gave way to pity.The labour of the missionary—of the idealmissionary—became holier and greater in myeyes. Here was a field of promising harvestfor a real worker.
One clear and fragrant night, when all thecamp slept, the bonfires half out, the river a fewfeet off, as I lay awake thinking of the world towhich we belonged, so different from our presentsurroundings, so distant that it seemed a far-offcloud in the sky, something that had gone by,and which could never be reached again, Isuddenly remembered the words uttered by one125of our men when we landed that afternoon uponthe beach. He had clearly enumerated a longlist of animals whose tracks were upon the verysand covered by my body. Logic took possessionof my brain with overpowering rapidity.The alligator, the tiger, and their numerouscompanions have visited this beach; they mayagain visit it during the night. What is tohinder them from doing so; and in that case,what is to protect me from their attack? Littledid I care for the wild-boar, the tapir, or thedeer—I knew they would be as scared of me asI was of the other animals; and so, after thisattack of fright, my imagination worked till thesweat began to run clammy on my forehead.It seemed to me that from the neighbouringforest a veritable Noah’s-ark of living, rushing,roaring, famished beasts, multiplied by myfancy, and numerous as the progeny ofGondelles, came upon us. I almost felt thehot breath and saw the glistening eyes of thetiger outside the thin partition of cotton of mymosquito-bar, heard the awkward shamble ofthe alligator’s body, and felt the unpleasant,musky odour of the huge lizard an instantbefore it crushed my bones between its jaws.126Unable to master myself, I sat upright, andwould have yelled from dread but for thespectacle that met my eyes in the moonlight,flooding the surrounding scene. There to rightand left of me snored all my companions; theriver shone brilliantly, the breeze blew softly,no one stirred. This absence of fear on thepart of those who were perfectly familiar withall the dangers of the region reassured mecompletely. Oh blessed snores and valiantsnorers! My peace of mind returned, and,lying back upon my sandy couch, I lustilyjoined the tuneful choir.
Community of danger constitutes the mostacceptable guarantee; no man ever thinks ofascertaining who drives the locomotive that isto whirl him and hundreds of his fellow-creaturesat lightning speed through glade andforest, over bridge and under tunnel; no manquestions the capability of the captain responsiblefor the steamship and for the lives ofthousands of his fellow-men; the most distrustfulof us never gives a thought to thesepoints. Why? Because we know that thedriver or the captain, as the case may be,stakes his own life. Each humble boatman127who listened to Cæsar’s proud assurance thatthe skiff could not sink because it carried himand all his fortunes equalled Cæsar in self-esteem,for the lives of those poor mariners wereas dear to them as Cæsar’s life could be to him.The truth of my assertion that community ofdanger constitutes the acceptability of a givenguarantee is demonstrated when, for instance,a traveller entrusting his life on a railway or aship to the agent of a company advances orlends money to the same company. Thencomes the hour of discrimination. All theappliances invented by that most wonderfulengine of human ingenuity, the law of commerce,which in its numerous forms rules theworld paramount and supreme, are brought tobear. No one’s word is accepted as sufficient;documents, signatures, seals, formalities,numerous and complicated, are employed as adelicate proof of the trust that the man of theworld ever places in the good faith of hisbrother before God. This suspicion is responsiblefor an enormous amount of expense andtrouble which, were good faith more abundantor were belief in its existence general, mightbe applied to relieve misery and sorrow. If128the action of humanity all the world over inthis dreary endeavour to protect man from therascality of man be justified, we are, indeed,not very far removed in truth and in essencefrom the savages of the forest, who seize whatthey need and prey upon each other accordingto the dictates of nature. If beauty be butskin-deep, civilization is not more profoundlyingrained, and the smallest rub reveals theprimitive ravening beast. Yet I may be mistaken;perhaps it is not distrust which begetsall those precautions, but something so noblethat I dare not presume to divine, much lessto understand, it.
Though several years have elapsed since myjourney across those wild vast regions, theremembrance of them is most vivid and clearin my mind. It seems to me that everythingin that period of my life, landscape and humanbeings, forest and plain, stream and cloud,mountains and breezes, all, all are still alive;they form part of the panorama or scene whereinmy memory keeps them immortal, abiding forever as I saw them, though unattainable to me.What was, is; what was, must be; so I imagine.Memory is in this respect like the artist. Thesculptor or the painter seizes one moment oflife, fashions and records it in marble or inbronze, in line or colour, and there it remainsdefying time, unchanging and unchangeable.The gallery of the mind, the vast storehouseof the past, is infinite. It keeps in its inmost130inexhaustible recesses the living record of ourlife, the tremulous shadowy hues of early nightdeepening into the dark, the glory of therising sun casting its veil of light upon thewaves, the sensation of the breeze as it fansour heated brow after an anxious night, thethunder of the ocean or the deafening tumultof frenzied crowds in hours of national misfortuneor universal anger, the last parting wordor look of those who are gone before, the blithegreeting of him who comes back to us afteryears of absence and of sorrow: all thesemanifestations of life, the ebb and flow of joyand happiness, of pain and grief, stand individualized,so to speak, in the memory, andnothing, save the loss of memory itself, canchange them. Nothing so dear to the heartas those treasures; against them time and thevicissitudes of life are powerless—even as thelovers and the dancers and the singers andthe enchanted leafy forest in Keats’ ‘GrecianUrn.’ That love will know no disappointment.Sweet as songs heard may be, far sweeter arethose unheard of human ear; beautiful as arethe green boughs of the forest, far lovelierare those whose verdure is imperishable, whose131leaves will know no autumn; and sweeter thanall melody, the unheard melody of those flutes,dumb and mute in the infinite harmony whichman can imagine, but not create. Our ownmind keeps that record of the past; hallowedand sacred should it be, for therein our sorrowmay find relief, and our joy purity and newstrength.
Beautiful indeed were our days. Glidingsoftly over the waters, we would read, andthere, in forced and intimate communion withNature, would seek our old-time friends thehistorians, the poets, the humbler singers thathad charmed, or instructed, or taught us howto live. The lessons of history seemed clearerand more intelligible, the puissant and sonorousvoice of poetry sounded fitly under that bluesky in the midst of those forests, even as thenotes of the organ seem to vibrate and echoas in their very home, under the fretted vaultof some Gothic temple. The majesty of surroundingNature lent an additional charm to thevoice of the great ones who had delivered amessage of consolation and of hope to mankind.We lived now in Rome, now in Greece, nowin modern Europe, and frequently the songs132of our own poets filled our minds with joy, asthe twitter of native birds when the sun roseand the morning sparkled, bedewed with jewelsthat night had left on leaves and flowers.
One day, when we had grown expert inbargaining with the Indians, shortly beforesunset a solitary Indian paddled towards ourcamp. He had been attracted by the novelsight. We had learnt that within the memoryof living man no such large convoy as ours hadpassed through those waters; groups of eightor ten men in one canoe were the largest everseen—at least, the largest groups of strangers.Here was a small army, with two large canoesand great abundance of strange and wonderfulequipment—boxes, trunks, weapons, cookingutensils, many men with white faces andmarvellous strange array; indeed, enough toattract the attention and curiosity of any childof the forest. The canoe upon which theIndian stood was barely six feet in length—sonarrow and shallow that at a distance he seemedto stand on the very mirror of the waters. Hecarried a large paddle, shaped like a huge rose-leafsomewhat blunted at the end, and with avery long stem. He plunged this gracefully in133the water on either side, seeming hardly tobend or to make any effort, and in featheringthere appeared a convex mirror of liquid glass,upon which the sunlight fell in prismatic hueseach time that his paddle left the water. Hedrew near, and stood before us like a bronzestatue. He was stark naked, save for a cloutround his loins. On his brow was a crown oftiger-claws surmounted by two eagle feathers.Across his neck, hung by a string, was a smallbag of woven fibre containing a piece of salt,some hooks made of bone and small harpoonswhich could be set on arrows, and two hollowreeds about an eighth of an inch in diameterand four or five inches long. By means ofthese reeds the Indians inhale through theirnostrils an intoxicating powder, in which theydelight. The man was young, powerfully built,about five feet ten in height, and well proportioned;his teeth glistening and regular; hiseyes black and large, gleaming like live coals;he was a perfect incarnation of the primitiverace, and the hardships and exposure of hispast life had left no more trace on him than theflowing waters of the river on the swan’s-down.
Guided by our civilized instinct, which in134these utilitarian days prompts man to seek inwhatever meets his eye, first and foremost, notits beauty or the symbol which it may represent,or the tendency towards something higherwhich it may indicate, but its utility, followingthis delightful system of our latest Christiancivilization, I, in common with my companions,at once decided to exploit that simple spirit andpress him into our service. Being unable tobargain ourselves—which was lucky for him,for in our enlightened way we should havedriven a harder bargain than our men—weentrusted the task to Leal.
The Indian, also true to his instinct, immediatelyindicated—first by signs, and thenby word of mouth, when he saw he was understood—thathe craved a part of the innumerableriches before his eyes. He really did not askfor much; he wanted some salt, a knife, a pieceof glass like a small mirror that he saw glitteringin the hands of one of our men, and whateverelse we might be willing to give. He wastold that he could have all that he asked andmore. He smiled broadly, and a light of joycame over his face. These were signs trulyhuman, not yet trained into the hypocritical135conventions of well-bred society. As hestretched forth his hand, he was told that thegift was conditional—that he must earn thearticles he coveted, that we expected him tosit beside the other paddlers and help to carryus for two or three days, whereupon he wouldreceive these rich gifts from our prodigalbounty.
This statement seemed to our Indian interlocutorabsurd, just as something utterly incongruousand ludicrous in business wouldstrike the mind of a London banker. In hisprimitive mental organism the idea that oneman should work for another was somethingthat found no place. Those forests, rivers, andplains were his home; he roved free and fearlessthrough them, alone or in the company ofothers, each one of whom provided for himself.A bargain—that basis of civilization, of culture,that great agent of progress and of humandevelopment—was something which he couldnot understand. The essence of the fact, andthe fact itself, were beyond him. We could seethe struggle between his greed and his love offreedom. The riches that we offered himtempted him far more than glittering diamonds136on the counter of a jeweller tempt a vainwoman or a burglar at bay. Yet he overcamethe temptation. The glad smile vanished; hisface darkened with a look that we could interpretas reproach, and possibly contempt; he silentlylifted his paddle, and with two strokes sped hiscanoe into mid-stream. Without glancing backwards,giving now and then a tremendousstroke, he disappeared in the distance. Therays of the sinking sun reddened the watersof the river and the surrounding horizon; theIndian, upright in his canoe, seemed as if cladin a sheet of flame, and finally vanished asthough consumed in the crimson glow. Thesun itself in the western horizon resembled ahuge ball of red-hot iron, as if the Cyclops andthe Titans, after playing, had left it behind onthe bosom of the endless plain, flat and still asthe sea in a calm.
The course of the rivers on thellanos is farfrom being as straight as the proverbial pathof righteousness. They meander, wind, andturn about, so that when on a sharp curve oneoften sails almost directly against the maindirection of the waters. The Indians takeshort cuts overland which enable them totravel much faster than the canoes. Thus thenews of our coming preceded us by severaldays, and long before we reached the mouthof the Vichada all the tribes had heard that thelargest expedition known in their history wason the way.
For reasons which he explained to us afterwards,Leal had, without consulting us, informedthe first Indians whom we met that ours wasa party of missionaries. I do not suppose thathe went into any further details. In the mind138of the Indians the remembrance of missionariesseems to have lingered from the days whenJesuit missions were established on nearly allthe principal rivers of the Orinoco watershed.From the time of the Independence there havebeen no regular missions following a consistentplan and belonging to a special organization.Now and then desultory attempts have beenmade without any appreciable results. But theIndians respect the missionary; possibly theyalso fear him, and, as we could observe later onfrom our own experience, they expect from himgifts not only of a spiritual, but of a materialkind.
The result of all this is that a missionary ismore likely to be welcomed and assisted thanany other traveller. This was what guidedLeal in what he considered a harmless assertion—apious fraud, in which the fraud is moreobvious than the piety.
Be it remarked, however, that neither mycompanions nor I had the least responsibilityfor Leal’s action. When travelling along themule-tracks leading to the plains, public opinion,or what under the existing circumstances tookits place, had assigned to our expedition an139episcopal character. This assimilation to theChurch seemed to have been our fate. Hereagain we were incorporated in its fold in anofficial capacity, so to speak, without the leastintention or effort on our part. When we learntwhat Leal had done, it was too late to withdraw,and we resigned ourselves to our new ecclesiasticalhonours with proper humility.
It is said that men may be great, some becausethey are born great, others because they achievegreatness, and others yet again because greatnessis thrust upon them. In the presentinstance the clerical character was thrust uponus. We—at least, I can answer for myself—triedto live up to the new dignity, not onlyinwardly, but outwardly, assuming, as far ascircumstances would permit, the sedate andreverent, contemplative demeanour which sowell suits him who devotes his life to thewelfare of others, seeking to guide them toheaven by an easy path, no matter at whatcost of personal sacrifice or discomfort to himself.
Strange, however, that this self-sacrificingmood adopted in imitation of true priests, whodespise the comforts and joys of life, should140have been assumed in our own spurious casefor the special purpose of increasing thoseworldly comforts and material joys!
We soon discovered, to our amazement, thatour new position was far from being a sinecure.
One day we were waiting for the noon-dayheat to pass, having halted on apoyata, thename given to small beaches that seem tostretch like a tongue of sand from under thevery roots of the forest into the river; we hadfled for shelter to the coolness of the highvaulting trees, from whose trunks the hammocksswung invitingly. The blue heaven appearedlike an enamelled background beyond the lace-workof the intertwined leaves and branches.The fires burned brightly and cheerily, theirflames pale and discoloured in the bright glareof the sun; the pots simmered, and soon temptingwhiffs were wafted by the lazy breeze thathardly stirred, welcome heralds of good thingsto come. The stomach reigns supreme justbefore and after a meal, which, if it be assuredto a hungry mortal, constitutes for him themost satisfactory event in the immediate future,calming his anxieties or blunting the edge ofcare; and after it has been eaten, the process141of digestion, which for the moment monopolizesthe principal energies of the organism, seemsto cast a veil over the unpleasant aspects oflife, and to soften the thorns that beset ourpath.
Some General of the Confederate Army inthe United States, who had retired to his landsafter the final collapse of the South, used toremark that one of the saddest things for anold man who had been very active in formeryears was to receive the frequent news of thedeath of former comrades and companions.‘Whenever such news reaches me,’ he wenton to say, ‘I always order two pigeons for mydinner; they are so soothing!’
In the midst of our pleasant expectations wefound ourselves suddenly invaded by a swarmof Indians, male and female of all ages, whocame either from the forest or in canoes. Theypounced on us so swiftly that we were practicallyswamped by them in an instant. They at oncebegan to beg for presents, to touch and smellany of the articles belonging to us that theycould, and they certainly would have takeneverything had it been possible.
The men were all in the primitive attire of142the proud Indian whom we had been unableto press into our service a few days before.The women wore tunics made either from coarsecotton stuffs obtained from the traders, or froma sort of bark, pliant and fairly soft, calledmarimba. Some of the women were accompaniedby two or three children.
With the tribe—for it was a whole tribe thathad fallen upon us—came a man dressed introusers—the regulation article such as youmay see in any civilized capital—and a woollenshirt of a deep red hue. He was the chief ofthe tribe, and had donned that garb in ourhonour.
The captain told Leal that the variousmothers who had brought their children wereanxious to have them baptized. Leal repliedthat the matter would be attended to on ourreturn trip, arguing furthermore that the threereverend missionaries should not be disturbedas they lay in their hammocks, for though, hadthey been ordinary men, they might be thoughtto be asleep, yet being persons of eminent pietyit was more probable that they were entrancedin meditation. Leal backed his plea with agift, a most wonderful argument which carries143conviction to wild Indians almost as quickly asto civilized men. The chief did not insist, andfor the moment we were left to our pseudo-religiousand silent contemplations.
Shortly after, however, an Indian mother,with one child in her arms and two in herwake, proved obdurate and relentless. Herthirst for the baptismal waters—at least, onbehalf of her children if not of herself—must beslaked at all costs. All Leal’s efforts provingfruitless, he ended by telling her that I was thechief missionary. Once recognised as a pillarof the Church, I was prepared for any sacrificeof self, so that on the Indian woman approachingme I got ready to perform whateverceremony she might want to the best of myability. She was not only prudent and cautious,but distrustful. She pulled my hat off, and ranher fingers swiftly through my hair. On seeingthat I had no tonsure—her mimic was as clearas speech—she flung my hat violently on theground, gesticulated and shouted, attractingthe attention of all her companions.
Here was a complication for which we hadnot bargained. If there were great advantagesin our being taken for missionaries, there was144also great danger in being exposed as shammissionaries. Something must be done toremedy the evil. Leal at once bethoughthimself of an expedient; he took the Indianwoman towards the hammock where Alexslept in sweet oblivion, unconscious of whatwas going on around him. She at oncedragged off his hat, and on finding a head brilliantlybald almost fell prostrate. Hierarchy,or what in her savage mind stood for it,evidently grew higher with the size of thetonsure, and here the tonsure was immense.Had she known the various dignities into whichthe Catholic priesthood is divided, she mighthave taken Alex for the Pope. Be that as itmay, she was satisfied. Alex, on being informed,swallowed the pill gracefully, andprepared to do his duty.
The woman brought forward her smallestchild. Here again new difficulties ensued.We held a council of consultation as to themodus operandi. Opinions differed widely, andwere supported vehemently, as is sure to bethe case when all those discussing a givensubject happen to be equally ignorant. Finallysome sort of plan was adopted, and the child145was baptized in accordance with a rite evolvedfrom our own dim recollections, with suchmodifications as seemed most fit.
There under the blue heaven, with the broadwinding river at our feet, close by the dense,darkening forest that lay behind us, its branchesoverhead forming a panoply of green, studdedwith the gold and yellow and blue flowers ofthe numerous creepers, we performed theceremony of baptism, initiating the youngsavage into the Church of Christ our Lordwith a feeling of deep reverence, intensified byour own sense of ignorance. Let us hope thatthe solemnity of the act, which flashed beforeus like an unexpected revelation, compensatedfor any involuntary informality.
But after the water had been poured on thebabe’s head, and the ceremony had, as wethought, come to an end, the mother would nottake her child back. She had evidently seenother baptisms, and our christening was not upto her standard. She made us understand that onformer occasions ‘book reading’ had taken place:such was Leal’s interpretation of her words.
We had come to look upon this Indianwoman as an expert critic. Through unpardonable146neglect, which to this day I cannotexplain satisfactorily, we had neither a breviarynor a prayer-book with us, so we laid hands onthe next best thing, bearing in mind what astickler for detail this Indian woman had provedto be. A book of poems, an anthology ofSpanish poets, gilt-edged and finely bound,stood us in good service. Alex opened it atrandom, and read a short poem with due andcareful elocution for the edification of the newlittle Christian.
The ceremony had to be performed eight orten times. After the third child we gave themonly one stanza apiece, as our ardour was somewhatchilled.
When all the children had been christened,the chief claimed the ‘usual’ gifts. He soonexplained to us that it was customary for themissionaries to make presents to the parents ofthe children newly baptized. I had begun toadmire the zeal of these mothers in quest of ahigher religion for their children; this demandshowed that their fervour was accompanied bygreed, being thus of the same nature as thatspecies of ‘charity with claws’—the Spanishcaridad con uñas. Trifles were distributed147amongst the mothers, and the tribe disappeared,rejoicing in their possessions, for tothese folk the things were no trifles, and, let ushope, exultant in the acquisition of eight or tenbuds destined to bloom into Christian flowers.
History doth indeed repeat itself, andhumanity imitates humanity heedless of timeand space. If I remember rightly, Clovis,justly anxious for the conversion of his legionsto Christianity, presented each dripping warriorafter baptism with a tunic—a most valuablearticle in those days, when Manchester loomsdid not exist and all weaving was done byhand. Those pious paladins, it is said, werelike our Indian friends of the Vichada, alwaysready to be rechristened on the same terms asbefore—that is to say, in exchange for a newtunic. Yet, for all their sameness, things dosomehow change with time. In these twoinstances we have the Church as a donor, andthe new proselyte as a receiver of presentsmore or less valuable. Once the conversionfully assured, what a change in the parts withina few generations! The Church gives naught;at least, it gives nothing that is of this world.On the contrary, it takes all it can; the people148are led to heaven, the poorer the easier, for inthe kind and capacious bosom of MotherChurch they are to deposit all worldly goodswhich might hamper their flight to higherregions. A beautiful and wonderful evolution,and we had not far to go to see it in full playand force. The savages of the Colombianplains are still in that primitive pitiful statewhen they have to be bribed, so to say, intothe fold of the Church; many of the civilizedpeople in the towns and cities obey and respectthat Church which holds sway supreme overthem in life and in death, guiding, controlling,saving them. Happy the nations where thechosen and appointed servants of the MostHigh, disciplined into some sort of priesthoodor other, undertake the pleasing task of savingtheir reluctant fellow-men at the latter’s expense,but with the sure and certain faith ofthose who know that they are working forjustice and for the happiness of their fellows,though these may choose to deny it. Happy,thrice happy, lands where the invasion ofdiabolical modern ideas has been baffled, andthe good old doctrine of abject submission stillrules!
Whenever we started afresh in the morning, orafter any temporary halt, the man at the prowof the canoe would call out, ‘Vaya con Dios,’and the man on the stern, who steered with apaddle far larger than the others, would reply,‘y con la Virgen’ (‘God go with us,’ ‘and theVirgin,’ respectively). The fair Queen ofHeaven, being thus commemorated, piety waswedded to chivalry.
The days followed each other in seeminglyendless succession, like the windings of theriver. Familiarity with the ever-varyingaspects of Nature begot a sense of monotonyand weariness. The forests and the prairies,dawn and sunset, the whole marvellous landscape,passed unheeded. We longed to reachthe main artery; the Orinoco was our Mecca,apparently unattainable. Fishing and hunting150had lost zest, and become simple drudgery,indispensable to renew our provender, as inthe long journey nearly all our stores wereexhausted.
Raoul and Leal frequently shot at the alligators,which, singly, in couples, or in shoals,basked in the sun in a sort of gluttonouslethargy, with hanging tongues and half-closedeyes. The huge saurians, when hit, would turnover and make for the water, except on rareoccasions when the bullet entered below theshoulder-blade, this being a mortal wound.
We would sit listening to the even stroke ofthe paddles on the sides of the canoe and thedrowsy sing-song of the men.
Frequently, towards sundown, we heard thedeep note of tigers in the forest, and always theconfused uproar of a thousand animals, frogs,crickets, birds, ushering in the night.
Besides alligators and wild-boar, the onlyother large animals which we frequently sawwere the harmless tapirs.
Snakes are not abundant on the Vichada, yetit was on the shores of that river that we cameto quite close quarters with a water-snake ofthe boa constrictor species. The reptile was151found coiled not far from our halting-place.Raoul at once fired his fowling-piece at shortrange, blinding and wounding it. He thendischarged the five bullets of his revolver intothe snake, and the men completed the work,beating it with their paddles. When stretchedout, it measured some 16 feet in length, and wasof corresponding thickness.
These snakes, though not poisonous, aredangerous if hungry. They lurk at thedrinking-places, and when a young calf, deer,or any other small animal comes within reach,they coil themselves round it and strangle it.They devour their prey slowly, and then fallinto a sleep, which is said to last for several days.
In all probability, the snake we had killedmust have been at the end of one of theseperiods. Much to our astonishment, notwithstandingbullets and blows, the snake began tomove in the direction of our hammocks. Hadthis not been seen in time, it might possiblyhave coiled itself around some unwary sleeper.More blows were administered, and this timethe animal seemed quite dead. However, itmanaged to roll into the river, and on strikingthe water appeared to revive.
This was our only meeting face to face witha denizen of these forests and rivers, andI can truly say we longed for no closer acquaintancewith them.
For obvious reasons of prudence, we soonmade up our minds never to pitch our nightcamp on beaches easy of access to the Indianssettled along the shores, but during the day wewould frequently halt at their settlements, andthis enabled us to see a good deal of their modeof life and peculiarities.
We found the tribes docile and friendly,rather inclined to be industrious in their waythan otherwise.
The Indians of the Vichada basin are thebakers, if I may so call them, of that greatregion. The bread which they prepare is madefrom themañoc, oryuca, root, which grows inplenty along the banks of rivers and streams.There are two kinds ofmañoc, one sweet andharmless, the other bitter and poisonous, yet itis from this latter kind that thecasabe is prepared.The root, varying in length from2 to 3 feet, with a thickness of from 1 to 3inches, is grated on specially-prepared boardsof very hard wood. Thus a whitish pulp153is obtained, which is then compressed in amost primitive manner. A hollow cylinder,made of matting of coarse and pliant straw,varying in length from 4 to 6, and sometimes8, feet, and in diameter from 5 inches upwards,is filled with the pulp, sausage-wise.The cylinder is then hung from the branch ofa tree, or a beam conveniently upraised on aframe; it is then stretched and twisted frombelow. The juice of the pulp flows through themesh of the matting. When all the juice hasbeen extracted, the pulp is emptied into largewooden basins, and is soaked in water, which isrun off, the operation being repeated severaltimes. The poisonous element, soluble inwater, is thus eliminated, and the pulp isready. It is then spread on a slab of stone,thin and perfectly even, calledbudare, whichstands over a fire. Thecasabe is soon baked,generally in round cakes from 12 to 18 inchesin diameter, and from half an inch to an inch inthickness. After baking it is stored in specialbaskets, calledmapires, where it can be kept formonths, as it stands all weathers and is imperviousto moisture. It has the taste and theconsistency of sawdust, and hunger must be154very keen for any novice to relish the food.Yet it is most nutritious, and after a whilereplaces biscuit and bread, especially whenthese are not to be found! Not only theIndians, but even the white men, or thosewho call themselves civilized in that vastregion, usecasabe exclusively. Wheat flour issoon spoiled in that hot, damp atmosphere,where there are no facilities for protecting itagainst moisture and vermin, and though cornmight be abundantly produced, there are nomills to grind the meal. Population is soscarce, and the few inhabitants are so farapart, that it would not pay to set up thenecessary machinery. Nature seems to overwhelmman, who drifts back easily into primitiveconditions of being.
The Indians also preparemañoc flour. Themethod is the same as in the case ofcasabe,only that before baking the pulp is allowed toferment to a certain degree; after that it isbaked and reduced to powder. This powder,mixed with water, makes an acid, refreshingdrink. If sugar or molasses be available, theyare added.
As I have said before, the Vichada Indians155are expert weavers of hammocks, and carversor makers of canoes. They fell a large tree,and, after months of labour, produce very finecanoes. The canoes, the hammocks, and thecasabe andmañoc are sold to traders whorealize large profits. A pair of trousers anda hat to the captain of a tribe are deemed agood price for a small canoe. Such articles asa cutlass, or an axe, are most highly prized bythe Indians, and are paid for accordingly. Itis pitiful to learn how these poor savages arecheated, when not robbed outright, by thepseudo-Christians who come in contact withthem.
They also manufacture torches from resinoussubstances extracted from the forests. Someof these substances are excellent for caulkingpurposes, and, as they are found in great abundance,should constitute an important article oftrade. A torch made fromperaman about3 to 4 feet in length, lighted as night set in,would burn with a brilliant yellow flame, andthrow a strong glare over the camp in thesmall hours when the bonfires had beenreduced to embers.
We had been on the Vichada about twenty-five156days, when one of us developed symptomsof fever, and as these increased within the nexttwenty-four hours, we looked about for someconvenient spot where we might rest for a fewdays, lest the attack might become reallyserious. It was our intention to build upsome sort of hut—a comparatively easy matter,as some of our men were old hands at thatkind of work. Fortunately for us, however,we met coming from the mouth of the Vichadaa Venezuelanmañoc trader, who was sailing toone of the Vichada affluents, where he expectedto receive a load ofmañoc andcasabe. Theman’s name was Valiente. He had threecanoes and ten men with him. We weredelighted to meet him, as it had been impossiblefor us to gather correct information fromthe Indians.
He told us that we were still two or threedays’ journey from the Orinoco, advised us notto put up at any of the beaches, but to push onto within a few hours of the mouth of theVichada, where, on the left bank, we wouldfind an abandonedcaney that had been built bycattle-ranchers some years previously. He hadjust been there. It was possible, he added,157that we might find some Indians in possession,in which case we should enforce the right ofthe white man and drive them out. At anyrate, thecaney was on high ground, the forestsaround were clear, and we should find it farmore comfortable than anywhere else in thatneighbourhood.
Following his advice, we hurried on as fastas we could, promising to wait for him at SantaCatalina, that being the name of the place.Valiente thought that he would start back insix or eight days.
In due course we reached Santa Catalina.On the high bluff, about 300 yards from theshore, we saw the welcome outlines of acaney;it showed unmistakable signs of having beenbuilt by white men. We could see from theriver that it was inhabited. This was not sopleasant, but we had made up our minds thatwe would take possession of thecaney with orwithout the consent of its occupants. If softwords proved insufficient, we were bound toappeal to the last argument of Kings and ofmen at bay—force.
I really did not feel inclined to violence;peaceful means and diplomatic parleying seemed158to me preferable, but as we had no choice,following the practice sanctioned by experience,of preparing for war if you want to insurepeace, we decided to make a great display offorce, even as the Great Powers, with theirmilitary and naval manœuvres—a show of teethand claws to overawe the occupants of thecaney.
We moored on the bank near by. Notwithstandingmy appearance, which, as I havechronicled in these pages, had warranted thebelief in others that I belonged to the holiestof human professions, I was told off to ascertainwhether we should occupy the premises peacefullyor by force. I donned a red shirt,suspended from a broad leather belt a mostmurderous-looking cutlass and a six-shooter,cocked my hat sideways in a desperado fashion,and, full of ardour, advanced, flanked on eitherside by Leal and one of our men, each ofwhom carried a rifle and the inevitablemachete.Verily, we looked like a wandering arsenal!
Remembering that the actor’s success is saidto be greater the more he lives up to his part,I endeavoured to look as fierce as possible,and tried to call to mind scenes of dauntless159courage, assaults of fortresses, heroic deedsfrom my historical repertory. I must havesucceeded, for I felt uncommonly brave, particularlyas there seemed to be no dangerwarranting our preparations.
Unfortunately, I happen to be afflicted withmyopia, which at a certain distance blurs theoutline of objects large or small.
As we continued to advance I could distinguishthat someone was coming towards us.My courage evaporated; I felt sure that thismust be some hostile Indian intent on hinderingour access to the longed-forcaney. I wouldfain have turned tail, but vanity, which is thesource of nine-tenths of the displays of humancourage, pricked me on. My ears awaited thewild whoop of the advancing Indian, and myeyes were prepared to witness the onslaughtof his ferocious braves from the neighbouringbushes. Yet the die was cast, and forwardwe went.
Imagine my surprise when, from the approachingfigure, still indistinct and vague tomy short-sighted eyes, a greeting of the utmostcourtesy in the purest Castilian rang forth in theair of the clear afternoon. I shall never forget160it. Those words in my native tongue, utteredin the midst of that wilderness, 500 leaguesfrom the nearest town or civilized settlement,conjured up in one moment cherished memoriesof a distant world.
Greatly relieved, I put aside my weapons ofassault and destruction, which, to speak thetruth, were most inconvenient to walk in.
I knew before, and am more convinced thanever since that day, that I am not compoundedof the clay of heroes: in which I am like therest of the world. Peace and peaceful avocationsare much more in my line. I love heroes—militaryones especially—in books, in pictures,or in statues; as every-day companions, I believe—nothaving met any heroes in the flesh—thatthey must be unbearable. They really owe itto themselves to get killed or to die the momentthey have attained their honours. They aresure to be ruined if left to the vulgarizinginfluences of daily life, mixing with the rest ofhumanity in every-day toil and strife. Youcannot have your bust or portrait in Parliamentor Assembly, your niche in the cathedral orin public hall, and your equestrian statue withyour horse eternally lifting his fore-legs for the161edification of coming generations, and at thesame time insist on walking about the streets inthe guise of a commonplace mortal! If you livein bronze and marble, if your name fills half acolumn of the encyclopædia, and appears as anoble example in the books in which childrenare taught to consider brutal violence thehighest evolution of human intellect and action,you cannot ask your humble companions onearth to put up with you in their midst.Heroes should find their places, and stick tothem, for their own greater glory and thecomfort of their fellow-men.
The gentleman whom we met was namedAponte, and came from Caracas, the capital ofVenezuela. He had been appointed to thegovernorship of the Amazon Territory. Afterspending several years in its capital, San Carlos,he became afflicted with cataract. People toldhim that the Vichada Indians cured cataractwith the juice of certain herbs, which they keptsecret. He had arrived at Santa Catalinaabout ten days before us, accompanied by hissister and a young Corsican who had been inhis employ at San Carlos. An Indian womanfrom one of the tribes had taken him in charge,162and made daily applications of some milky juiceextracted from plants, and, strange to say, hefound relief. I have since heard that he iscompletely cured.
An occulist, who travelled through thoseregions two or three years later, investigatedthe truth of these alleged cures, and found themto be authentic. He could not, however, inducethe Indians to tell him what they use. Thisknowledge of the virtue of plants amongst theIndians is found in nearly all tropical lands.Quinine, to which humanity owes so much, wasalso an Indian secret, and was discovered bya well-known combination of circumstances.Towards the middle of the eighteenth century,in one of the Peruvian States, the Indians weretreated very cruelly by their masters. Thedaughter of the house won the love of theIndian slaves by her kindness and charity. Ithad been noticed that no Indians died frommalarial and other fevers, which proved fatal tothe white men, but what means they employedcould not be learned either by threats orentreaties.
The daughter of the cruel master was takenill. Her nurse, an Indian woman, gave her163some concoction which saved her life, but wouldnot reveal the secret for years. On her deathbedshe told her young mistress what plant itwas that the Indians employed against fever.Thus thecinchona, or Peruvian bark, was discovered.In the Choco regions in Colombia,which teem with snakes, the Indians know notonly the plants that cure the bite and counteractthe poison, but those which confer immunity.They also have a combination of substancesforming a sort of paste, which, when applied tothe wounds and ulcers of man or animal, howeversore they may be, exercise a healing andimmediate action.
I had an uncle, Dr. Triana, well known toEuropean botanists, and especially to collectorsof orchids, to several varieties of which hisname is linked (the numerous varieties ofCatleya trianensis are named after him). Helived for a long time in the Choco region, andbrought back large quantities of this paste,which he used with success in cases of woundsand ulcers, both in Europe and America, but hecould never persuade the Indians to tell him itsexact composition.
The young Corsican whom we found with164Mr. Aponte was a sort of globe-trotter, jack-of-all-trades,hail-fellow-well-met with everybody.He was an explorer, a dentist, could serve asbarber if required, had acted as clerk to Mr.Aponte, had with him a fairly well-stockedmedicine-chest, and proved to be a first-ratecook. He either knew something of medicineor made up for ignorance by his daring. Atany rate, he took our sick companion in hand,administered to him some of his drugs, and intwo or three days restored him to perfect health.This was a great blessing. Thus disappearedfrom our horizon the only ominous cloud whichdarkened it during those days of so much sunlightand freedom. Those who know not whattropical fevers are can form no idea of the dreadthat their presence inspires when one sees themstealthily gaining ground. At times they actslowly, and give one a chance of strugglingagainst them, but often they develop withlightning rapidity, and a man in full health andin the bloom of life is cut down suddenly in afew days or in a few hours.
Figarella was the name of the Corsican‘doctor’ who enlivened the few days we spentat Santa Catalina with his songs, his tales of165Corsica, the narrative of his adventures, trueand fanciful, in all parts of the world, and whomanaged to prepare sumptuous dinners withturtle eggs, wild-boar meat, fresh fish, andother ingredients, picked up the Lord onlyknows where. I often had qualms that hemust be drawing too freely on his medicine-chest,but the dishes proved palatable, and aswe survived from day to day we have nothingbut thanks and gratitude to the friend whomwe met in the midst of those wilds, with whomour lives came in contact for a few days, whothen remained behind to work out his owndestiny, as we ours, even as two ships thatsight each other for a moment in mid-oceanand then both disappear.
Friend Valiente turned up at Santa Catalina,his canoes laden withmañoc andcasabe, twodays after our arrival.
Though the ranch had been abandoned forsome time, stray cattle, more or less wild,roamed about the neighbourhood. Leal andValiente soon lassoed a fine heifer, which,slaughtered without delay, replenished ourcommissariat. We celebrated a banquet likethat held on New Year’s Day at San Pedrodel Tua. We still had a little coffee, but ofrum, which had then formed such an attraction,only the fragrant memory remained. Its placewas supplied with what was left of our lastdemijohn of aniseedaguardiente.
As Valiente intended following the sameroute, we decided to wait for him. He knewthat part of the Vichada and the Orinoco well.167There were several small rapids which it wasnot advisable to cross without a pilot.
Two days after leaving Santa Catalina westruck the Orinoco, with a feeling of boundlessjoy. It seemed to us as if we had reached theopen ocean, and the air itself appeared purer,more charged with invigorating oxygen.
After a short spin from the mouth of theVichada, we reached Maipures, where Venezuelanauthorities were stationed. Knowingthat Venezuelans, as a rule, are inclined to beless reverent and respectful towards the Churchand its servants than the average Colombian,we abandoned our ecclesiastical character, droppingit, as Elias dropped his mantle uponearth, on the waters of the Vichada, where ithad done us such good service.
It was indispensable that we should find apilot for the rapids. It seems that in formerdays the Venezuelan Government kept two orthree pilots at Maipures, but we found to oursorrow that they had disappeared long since.However, not far from Maipures we were toldthat we should find a man named Gatiño, oneof the best pilots on the river. We at oncestarted in quest of him, and found him in the168thick of the forest about a mile from the shore.He was gathering tonga beans, and had formeda little camp, accompanied by his family, whichconsisted of his wife, two children, a boy andgirl of fourteen and twelve respectively, andtwo smaller children of five and six. Heagreed to take us across the rapids, providedwe would wait at Maipures until he could packhis beans and gather some india-rubber extractedby himself. As there was no help forit, we agreed to wait. Maipures turned out tobe nothing but a group of some fifteen ortwenty tumble-down, rickety houses, inhabitedby about a score of people, amongst themthe prefect or political representative of theGovernment. He received us most cordially,and placed one of the buildings at ourservice. I believe both Valiente and Lealgave him to understand that we were high andmighty personages representing the ColombianGovernment on a tour of inspection throughthe lands awarded to Colombia by a recentdecision in a case of arbitration between thetwo republics, handed down by the Queen ofSpain. Maipures, where the functionary inquestion was supreme, came within the new169jurisdiction, and possibly the belief that wemight exercise some influence in maintaininghim in his important office may have had to dowith his courtesy and goodwill towards us. Itwas lucky, however, that such an impressionwas created. Shortly after our arrival he informedus that the Governor of the Amazonterritory had just communicated to him ordersto prevent all travellers on the river fromascending or descending the stream—in aword, to keep them as prisoners at Maipures.On reading the Governor’s note to us, heargued, ‘This cannot apply to you, for, beingColombians, you are outside the Governor’sjurisdiction.’ Here, again, as when conferringecclesiastical dignity upon us, Leal had actedwith prudence and foresight.
At Maipures we felt, as we never felt beforeor after during the journey, the presence ofthe numerous insects, and noticed that thesewinged creatures worked with method anddiscipline. Thepuyon sounded the chargeshortly after sunset, attacking without hasteand without rest during the whole night. Atdawn it would retire to camp, sated with ourgore. The post of honour was taken by the170sand-flies, which would remain on duty duringthe earlier part of the forenoon. In their turnthey were replaced by some other arm of theservice during the hot hours of the day, and soon till nightfall, when thepuyon, refreshed andeager, would again fall upon his prey. Thereis no greater regularity in the change of guardsat a fortress than is observed by these insects intheir war upon men and animals.
The mosquito-net was the only real protection.Some relief is obtained by filling theroom with smoke from smouldering horse orcattle manure, but the nauseous smell and theammonia fumes made the remedy worse thanthe evil. We also feared to share the fate ofherrings and other fish subject to the process,and preferred the seclusion of our mosquito-bars.
These, however, were all minor troubles,mentioned here as a matter of record. Fromour temporary abode we could hear the distantthunder of the rapids, as of batteries of cannonin a great artillery duel. The waters of theOrinoco, suddenly twisted into a narrow bed,wrestle with the boulders of granite scatteredin the channel, which they have frayed throughthe very heart of the huge basaltic mountains.
Life in those regions, from what we gathered,is as wild, as untamed, and irresponsible as therivers or forests, and as the animals that roamin them. Violence and force are the only law,greed is the sole guiding principle, amongstmen. The functionaries in most cases are onlyauthorized robbers and slayers. The Indians,being the most helpless victims, are plunderedand murdered, as best suits the fancy of those representativesof organized Governments, whosecrimes remain hidden behind the dense veil ofinterminable forests.
When news of any of these misdeeds doeschance to reach the official ear, the facts areso distorted on the one hand, and there is solittle desire to investigate on the other, that noredress is ever obtained.
Whilst at Maipures there came in a manfrom San Carlos, the capital of one of theAmazon territories. He told a gruesome story.The Governor of that province, whom he representedas a prototype of the official robbersjust mentioned, had exasperated his companionsby his all-absorbing greed. The Governorseized all the tonga beans and india-rubber extractedby the poor Indians, who were forced172to work without any pay, unfed, whip-driven.His companions, who expected a share in theplunder, conspired to murder him. He wasknown to be fearless and an admirable shot.One night, however, his house was surroundedby a score or so of his followers; a regularsiege ensued; the young Governor kept hisassailants at bay for several hours. He wasaccompanied by a young Spanish ballet-dancer,who had followed his fortunes undaunted bythe dangers of that wild land. She would reloadthe guns whilst he scanned the groundfrom the only window of the room. One ofthe assailants crept upon the roof of the houseand shot him from behind. He died in afew hours. The canoes laden with all kindsof produce despatched by him—not down theOrinoco, for he feared they might be seizedon the long journey through Venezuelanterritory, but through the Casiquiare to theAmazon—were said to be worth £40,000 or£50,000. Even if not accurate in all itsdetails, which I repeat from the statement ofthe new arrival at Maipures, this instance givesan idea of the conditions that prevail in thoselocalities.
True to his word, Gatiño turned up atMaipures on the third day, and we continuedour journey at once.
The rapids of the Orinoco break the opencurrent of the river for a distance of some fortyor fifty miles. The Maipures rapids are fromfive to six miles in length. The river thencontinues its quiet flow for about twenty ortwenty-five miles down to the rapids of Atures;thence it flows to the ocean without any furtherobstacle of importance.
Gatiño had his own canoe of a special type,much larger than ours, very deep, heavy,capacious, and comfortable. It was the realhome of his family.
I asked him why he did not settle somewhereon the banks of those rivers. He toldme that both on the Orinoco and on theaffluents there were numberless spots on highground, free from all floods, abundant in game,within easy reach of good fishing, healthy andcool, where he would fain settle. ‘But wepoor wretches,’ he added, ‘have no rights.When we least expect it, up turns a finegentleman sent by some Government or otherwith a few soldiers; they lift our cattle and174steal our chickens, destroy what they do nottake away, and compel us to accompany them,paddling their canoes or serving them as theymay want without any pay. Whenever I hear,’he went on to say, ‘that white men in authorityare coming along the river, I start immediatelyin my canoe through thecaños as far inland asI can. The wild Indians and the savages arekind and generous; it is the whites and thewhites in authority who are to be dreaded.’
Gatiño was himself a full-blooded Indian,but, having been brought up on some settlement,he considered himself a civilized man,and in truth it was strange to see how hepractised the highest virtues of an honest man.He loved his wife and family tenderly; heworked day and night for their welfare. Helonged for a better lot for his children, theeldest of whom ‘studied’ at the city of SanFernando de Atabapo, the only city which heknew of by personal experience. As it consistsof eighty or a hundred thatch-roofed houses,one may well imagine what the word ‘city’implied in his case; yet his thoughts wereconstantly centred on the learning which thatchild was storing to the greater honour and175happiness of his wandering family. Readingand writing formed the curriculum of thatuniversity, possibly because they marked thelimit of the teacher’s attainments; but let usbe ashamed of mocking the humble annals ofso good a man.
I cannot forbear mentioning an incident, aparallel to which it would be difficult to findamongst nominally civilized folk. One of ourmen who had accompanied us from San Pedrode Arimena, knowing our plight and ourdependence on Gatiño, took him aside, informinghim that we had plenty of gold, andthat as one of us was ill, and we desired toreach the open river as soon as possible, itwould be easy for him to name his price. Hesuggested that Gatiño should charge one or twothousand dollars for the job, which we would bebound to pay. Gatiño not only did not improvethat wonderful opportunity, but he forbore fromtelling us of the advice given to him. Hecharged us 100 dollars, a moderate price for thework, and it was only when on the other side ofthe rapids that Leal learned the incident fromthe other men.
Here was a test which not many men176brought up in the midst of civilized life couldhave withstood.
Gatiño and his family will ever remain in mymind as a bright, cheerful group. Alas forthem, lost in those solitudes amongst wildbeasts and wild Indians, and subject to thevoracity of the white men, who become moreferocious than the worst tiger when their unbridledgreed has no responsibility and nopunishment to dread!
We had three canoes (including Gatiño’s) totake down. We were obliged to empty themcompletely. The men carried everything ontheir backs along the shore, whilst the canoesshot the rapids.
When I saw Gatiño on the first rapids, Ibelieved him to be bent on suicide. At thatpoint the river, cut and divided by the rocks,left a narrow channel of about 300 feet inlength close in to the shore. Thus far thecanoes had been dragged by the current andheld by means of ropes. On reaching thechannel, Gatiño manned the canoe with fourmen at the prow, and sat at the stern. Thecanoe, still tied by the rope, which was held byfour men, was kept back as much as possible177from the current, which increased in speed atevery inch. At the end of the channel thewhole river poured its foaming volume into ahuge, cup-like basin, studded with rocks, wherethe water seethed as if boiling. From the basinthe river flowed on placidly for several miles.This was the end of the first rapids.
Halfway down the channel the men let gothe ropes, and the canoe, with its crew, seemedlike a huge black feather upon a sea of foam,and the whole length of the channel, white andfrothy, appeared like the arched neck of agigantic horse curved to drink from the watersbelow. The waters, before entering the basin,formed a small cataract shooting over the protrudingledge. The canoe fell into the basin,and seemed about to be dashed against a rockthat stood in its way. On again striking thewaters, Gatiño gave the word of command, andthe four men began to paddle steadily andwith great force, as if to increase the impetus.Gatiño remained quiet and motionless in hisplace, holding his paddle out of the water readyto strike. At a given moment he uplifted it,thrust it deeply into the waves, and moved itdexterously, so that the canoe turned as if on a178pivot, and quietly glided along the rock uponwhich it would have been dashed into a thousandpieces.
Gatiño explained to me that it was necessaryfor the men to paddle so as to give the canoeher own share in the impetus, and make it moreresponsive to his steering.
Though he assured me that there was nodanger, and though the journey along the shorewas tiresome and slow, I did not venture toaccompany him when shooting the other rapidsbefore reaching the open river.
The Orinoco has drilled an open passage-waythrough a spur of the mountains at Maipures.The struggle between the waters and the rocksmust have lasted centuries.
‘Here shalt thou halt,’ said the rock.
‘Further will I go,’ replied the river.
Like the spoils of battle on a stricken field,the shattered rocks stud the current, whichsweeps roaring and foaming around and overthem. They resemble the ruins in the breachof a battered bastion. The river is the victor,but, as will happen when two great forcescounteract each other, the result is a compromise,and the course of the stream is179deviated. The difference of level from thebeginning to the end of the rapids is in itselfnot sufficient to cause the violence with whichthe waters run. It arises from the suddencompression of the powerful volume of watersinto a narrow space. The waters rush throughthe openings made in the rock with a deafeningsound, torn by the remnants of pillars in the bedthrough which they pass. They fill the air withthe tumult of their advance; one would say anarmy was entering a conquered city, quiveringwith the rapture of triumph, lifting up thethunder of battle, Titanic bugle-calls, and thepæans of victory. After each one of thesenarrow breaches in the wall of granite the riverplunges into deep basins, where the foamingwaters soon sink into their former quiet flow.The soldiers have crossed the first entrenchments,and collect their forces before the nextassault. Soon the margins on either side beginto hem in, the waters stir more rapidly, andsoon again the mad rush, the desperate plunge,the wild, roaring, irresistible onslaught, andagain through the very heart of the mountaininto the next basin. Finally, after stormingthe last redoubt, the river, like a lion freed from180the toils which imprisoned him, leaps upon thebosom of the plain, bounding forward in solemnflow towards the ocean. The clear tropical sunreflects itself on its ever-moving bosom, even asthe clouds and the forests, the mountains andthe birds on wing. The wandering mirrorkeeps on its course, being, as Longfellow hasit, like unto the life of a good man ‘darkenedby shadows of earth, but reflecting an image ofheaven.’
We spent ten days in covering the distancefrom the upper to beyond the lower rapids,walking whenever it was impossible to use thecanoes, which were drifted by the current orshot over the rapids. The delay was duechiefly to the loading and unloading of thecanoes, and the necessarily slow transportationof packages, bundles, and sundry articles alongthe shore.
The banks of the river on either side alongthe whole length of the rapids are high androcky, sometimes extending for a mile or twoin flat, grass-covered, wavy meadows, and thenrising in small hills, abrupt and ragged on thevery edge of the water. This is specially thecase in the narrow part of the gorges. Thegrass in the small meadow-like plains is thesame as on the shores of the Meta, and the182whole aspect of the region, bare of large forests,is that of a field in a civilized country.
A few days after leaving Maipures wenoticed, to our joy, the absence of mosquitoesand other such tormentors. They seemed tohave been blown away by the wind, which hadfreer scope in the more open stretches alongthe main river.
We missed the soft couch of the sandbeaches to which we had become accustomed,the thin layer of sand or earth being powerlessto soften the bed-rock on which we now hadto stretch ourselves, but the flight of themosquitoes and their companions more thanmade up for this.
Our commissariat had dwindled to uttermeagreness; we had neither sugar nor coffee,andcasabe was our only bread. The last dropsofaguardiente had been drained at SantaCatalina. At Maipures we had obtained adrink which they called white rum—in truth,pure alcohol, which we had to drown in threetimes the quantity of water before we swallowedit. Our cigars, cigarettes and tobacco wereall gone; they were part and parcel of anenchanted past—smoke wafted heavenward183like so many of our hopes and illusions. Wehad obtained native tobacco, with which wemade cigars or rolled cigarettes out of newspaperclippings. Thus we consumed manya literary article or political effusion which itwould have been utterly impossible to utilizein any other way. Corn-cob pipes also camein handily.
Game, furred or feathered, was not to befound on the shores of the rapids; we had torely principally on fishing, which was mostabundant in the quieter pools and basins. Weate all sorts of fish, some of admirable quality,especially themorrocoto, far superior to theFrench sole or the American shad, blue fish,or Spanish mackerel. If Marguery could meetwith it, his immense renown would increasetenfold, as with this fish at his disposal hewould be certain to evolve what from aculinary point of view would amount to anepic poem of the most sublime order. Such,at least, was my opinion when eating thatfish, with my imagination duly fired by avoracious appetite and a lack of material condimentswhich gave rise to dreams worthy ofLucullus in exile.
Rice and salt we had in plenty; butter, oil,and lard were unknown quantities. Had webeen in Lent, necessity would have enabled usvery easily to observe the ordinance of theRoman Church with regard to abstinence frommeat. We thought of this, and although wewere not sure of our dates, we at once decidedto offer up our enforced diet in a truly Catholicspirit in atonement for some of our many sins!May our offering prove acceptable!
We did not go to sleep as readily on ournew hard beds as on the sand. The clearnessof the air and freedom from insects also contributedto long watches, which we spent inlistening to the far-off roar of the river pealingincessantly through the night air, whilst Gatiñowould tell us about the life of men and beastsin those territories. The voice of the riverseemed like the distant bass of a powerfulorchestra, all the high notes of which had beenlost in space.
Gatiño was familiar with the rivers that flowinto the Orinoco above its confluence with theVichada, and the numerouscaños which intersectthat region were so well known to himthat on one occasion, when flying from some185Governor on his way to the upper territorieswho was anxious to obtain his services as aguide, Gatiño had managed to lose himself insuch an intricate maze ofcaños and water-ways,and, finally, in a small lagoon, unknown to allexcept the wild Indians, that the Governorhad given up the chase in despair. Hehad travelled on the Casiquiare and the RioNegro, and had visited the Upper Amazon.According to him, the Upper Orinoco and itsaffluents are as abundant in india-rubber forestsas the Amazon and its tributaries, the Putumayo,the Napo and the Yarabi. The gum orindia-rubber is identical in quality with that ofthe best species of Para. In some places thetrees grow so closely that a man may extractfrom twenty to forty pounds of india-rubber aday. Besides large virgin areas rich in india-rubberforests, in other partspiazaba palmforests stretch for hundreds of acres at a time.Thispiazaba is used for matting, broom-making,and twisting of ropes and cables. It is perfectlyimpervious to moisture, and is even saidto improve instead of rotting in water. Notfar from where we were in one of thecaños,thepiazaba forest followed the water-course for186a distance of, Gatiño said, ‘twenty twists.’ Anodd system of measuring, but the only one athis command. ‘Twenty twists’ might be fiveor twenty miles, according to the size of thecurves. These forests further contained infiniteabundance of sarsaparilla, tonga bean,peramanandcaraña, the resinous substances used forcaulking and torch-making. Gatiño himselfexploited those sources of wealth as far ashis own personal means and limitations wouldallow him. He stated his willingness at anytime to guide us to the spots where rubber,tonga bean, and so forth, could be found,adding that he knew we would treat himwell, but that he would never consent to actas a guide to others, especially to the whitemen in official positions who now and thenappeared along the river. These he held inspecial abhorrence, and no doubt their doingsjustified his feelings.
Gatiño’s statements as to the wealth of theOrinoco were perfectly truthful. It seemsstrange that such vast sources of wealthshould remain practically unexploited. Therapids of the Orinoco act as a barrier, beforewhich traders and explorers have come to a187standstill. Some sixty or seventy years agocart-roads existed on the shores along therapids; these were built by the missionaries,and parts of them are still intact. Vegetationbeing weak on the hard soil of those banks, itwould be easy to re-establish them. Thegreat obstacle, however, is to be found inthe numerous affluents which fall into theOrinoco along the rapids. The missionarieshad large pontoon-like rafts on which theytransported their carts from one side to theother. Were this primitive service startedonce more, the flow of natural products extractedfrom the forests would soon establishitself from the Upper to the Lower Orinoco.
One day, having left our canoes behind, wearrived at the shores of the Cantaniapo, a clearstream flowing into the Orinoco between twostretches of rapids. No tree shaded us fromthe fierce glare of the sun. The watersmurmured most invitingly on the pebbles ofthe beach. On the other side was a sort ofshed, a vestige of former splendour. A smallcanoe was moored alongside, tied with apiazabarope to the trunk of a neighbouring tree. Sonear, and yet so far! We should have to wait,188perhaps, broiling in the sun for hours, till ourcanoes arrived. Whilst we discussed thearduous architectural problem of building atent with such articles as coats, india-rubberwaterproof sheets, and so on, a noise as of abody falling into the water drew our attentionto the river. Leal, holding hismachete betweenhis teeth, was swimmingllanero fashion—thatis to say, throwing each arm out of the waterin succession, and covering a distance equal tothe length of his body at every stroke. Theperil, potentially speaking, was extreme; onenever knows whether the alligators and otherinhabitants of those waters may or may not beat hand. Yet Leal did not seem to care.Fortunately, he soon landed on the oppositeshore, jumped into the canoe, cut the ropeand paddled back. On our remonstrating withhim, he argued that the danger was slight;alligators hate noise, and he had taken care tobe as noisy as possible.
‘Furthermore,’ he added, ‘I had mymachetewith me.’
We stopped that night under the shed.Gatiño came in due time. We particularlywished to bathe in the transparent waters of189that river, not as Leal had done, but in ourusual prudent way, standing on the shore farfrom all possible danger.
The next morning we saw the only livingtiger which met our eyes during that long trip.Early, before striking the camp, the shout wentforth—‘A tiger! A tiger!’ There, at a distanceof about 150 feet from us, on a smallprotruding ledge which plunged into the river,forming a sort of natural drinking-place, stooda beautiful specimen of the native tiger. Thewind, which, as Leal told us, blew from theland, carried the scent in the wrong direction,and this explained the tiger’s visit. On hearingthe shout, Leal sprang up and seized oneof the rifles. The tiger looked towards ourgroup and turned tail, bolting in the directionwhence he had come, behind a clump of bushes.Leal followed him. We soon heard a shot, andafter a few minutes Leal returned, disgusted.He had only wounded the animal. I arguedwith him that we were most thankful to thelord of the forest for his abrupt courtesy inleaving the field entirely to us, as, had he feltinclined to enter into closer relations, we mighthave found it awkward, to say the least.
Valiente had come with Gatiño. Our belongingsseemed to him, as they had previouslyseemed to Leal, an abnormal accumulation ofwealth. We had kept with us, not knowingwhether they might again be required, ourriding-saddles. My own was large, comfortable,and soft, a work of art in its way. Valienteseemed to admire it. The remarks which hemade deserve to be noted here.
‘This saddle is certainly very fine and comfortable;but how do you manage when crossinga river? Do you not find it very heavy onyour head?’
I could not understand what he meant, untilI remembered that thellaneros, when swimmingacross a river, generally carry their saddles ontheir heads to keep them dry. At first I thoughtValiente was ‘pulling my leg.’ A mere glanceat my person should suffice to persuade anyonethat not even the furious onslaught of a regimentof Cossacks would induce me in anycircumstances to plunge into a river wherethere was a chance of meeting alligators andsuch-like; I was still less likely to venture onsuch feats with the additional burden of a heavysaddle on my head. However, Valiente was191perfectly in earnest, and meant no harm; soI assured him with perfect calm that I hadnever noticed on any occasion, either in orout of the water, that the saddle was a heavyone.
‘Possibly,’ I added, ‘it is a question of habit.’
‘May be,’ he said, ‘but it would be a longtime before I got used to it. Look at mysaddle!’ he went on to say; ‘it only weighsa fourth of yours. Still, I should like to tryyours, not for real hard work—branding, lassoing,or rounding up cattle—but just to pranceround the town on a good horse and charm thegirls. That’s about what it’s fit for!’
That day, marked in the calendar of ourmemory as the ‘tiger day,’ our supper consistedof boiled rice andcasabe. Somehow orother there had been no fishing. Yet we didnot grumble; custom had taught us to be easilysatisfied. We learned from Gatiño that withintwelve miles from us the Atures ruins wereto be found. Behind the thick forest whichseparates it from the river stands a short rangeof high cliffs. They are the last spur of thechain through which the Orinoco has drilled itsway. At a height of 600 to 700 metres on the192vertical wall, so straight and smooth that itseems to have been polished all over by thehand of man, there appear, carved in the verysubstance of the rock, a huge alligator andtwo human figures, standing near its head andtail respectively. All are of colossal dimensions.According to the measurements of othertravellers provided with the required instruments,the length of the alligator exceeds500 feet, and the human figures are of proportionatesize. It is difficult to understandwhat sort of scaffolding was used to carry outthis work at such a height, no support ortraces of support of any kind in the rock beingapparent; what instruments were used for thecarving, and what purpose the whole workserved: all this is very perplexing.
Footprints of human endeavour, thoughts ofpast generations entirely lost to our minds, leftthere in the midst of the forest, marking thepassage of men who must have been powerfulat a period so remote that only these tracesremain. What more eloquent proof of thenothingness, the vanity, of our own ephemeralindividual life!
The mere magnitude of the work carried out193demonstrates that in those regions, totallydeserted to-day, where Nature has reassertedher absolute sway, and where the wanderer hasto fight for every inch of ground in the jungleand the thicket, there must once have beenmultitudes of men educated in certain arts—artswhich in their turn must have been linksin a chain of sequence indispensable to theirown existence, as isolated effort in one directionwould be incomprehensible. Nothing of thosemyriads of men survives beyond this dumbexpression of their thoughts and aspirations.
Were those figures carved on that huge wall,on the virgin rock of the mountains, hundredsor thousands of years ago? Who knows?Who can tell?
With the rapidity inherent to human thought,my mind sped to the pyramids of Egypt, theruins of Babylon and Nineveh, the buried citiesof Ceylon, the excavated temples and palacesin Yucatan and elsewhere, wherever vestigesof vanished generations are found.
That sculpture on the rock on the shores ofthe Orinoco brought to my mind the dying lioncut into the granite on the banks of the Lakeof Lucerne, as a symbol of respect and admiration194to the loyalty and steadfastness of thecompatriots of William Tell, who died for acause upon which judgment has been passedin the minds of men and in the pages of history.I could not help thinking that perhaps whenMacaulay’s famous New Zealander shall standupon the broken arches of London Bridge togaze at the ruins of St. Paul’s, when England andLondon shall have crumbled into potsherds, soin years to come some native of these Orinocoregions, then populous and civilized, may sailon the cool waters of Lucerne and interrogatethe mute rock, anxious to know the allegoryembodied in that dying lion holding in itsclaws the shield which bears the three secularlilies of old France. Even as the rock wasmute to us, so shall the rock again be mute tohim who thousands of years hence may questionThorwaldsen’s sculpture. The efforts ofman are powerless against time and oblivion,even though they choose the largest, the mostlasting manifestations of Nature for theirpedestal.
Time passes grimly on. The endeavours ofpride, of flattery, of gratitude, the emblemsof glory, all become dumb and meaningless.195Egyptian hieroglyphics, figures and signscarved in monoliths or pyramids or in the rockof the mountains, after the lapse of what, to theworld, is but an instant, all become confused,vague, and undefinable. The seeker and thestudent find all those attempts to perpetuate thememory or the aspirations of men, now on theburning sands of the desert, now decked in thefoliage and wealth of Nature, aggressively reassertingher empire, now in the naked summitsof the uplifted mountains—yea, the seeker findsthem all; but he knows not whether they beexpressions of human pride anxious to survivethe life of the body, or whether they be witnessesof servile flattery paying tribute to the mighty, orthe grateful offering of nations to their heroesand their benefactors, or the emblem of somedim forgotten religion, whose very rites are asunintelligible to living men as is the mysticpower which once gave them force.
With the accession of Gatiño and his familyand Valiente and his men, our numbers hadgradually increased, and the camp at night hadquite a lively aspect. The men would tell theiradventures, and conversation frequently turnedon local topics. We had gradually drifted intopractical indifference concerning the doings ofthat distant world to which we belonged, andtowards which we were moving. Newspapers,letters, telegrams, the multifarious scraps ofgossip, the bursts of curiosity which fill sogreat a part in the life of modern man, hadtotally disappeared as daily elements in ourown. To tell the truth, I did not missthem greatly. I have always thought that thedaily newspapers are thieves of time, and cannotbut approve the system of a certain friendof mine, an Englishman, who, residing in New197York, had no other source of information forthe world’s news than the weekly edition oftheTimes. He was dependent on it even forthe news of American life and politics.
He argued that the ups and downs of a givenevent were of little interest to him.
‘All that one need know,’ he said, ‘is theupshot, the crystallized fact, without wastingvaluable time in the slow developments which,at times, are pure inventions of the editor—“padding,”as it is called. I am a little behind-handat times,’ he remarked, ‘but at the end ofthe year I make it up, balance the account, andstart afresh.’
Certainly if all the attention given to localnews of no importance, or to descriptions of fires,crimes, and sundry topics which never changein essence and vary solely as regards namesand secondary details, were devoted to studyingsomething useful, the average mind of the greatnewspaper-reading nations would not have beendegraded to the depths revealed by a glance at acollection of the newspapers and reading matteron the bookstalls of any railway-station inFrance, England, or the United States, wherethe flood of trash and sensationalism swamps198and carries away with it public intelligence, orwhat stands for it.
Gautier used to complain of the curse of thedaily press.
‘Formerly,’ he said, ‘every human beingbrayed in his own original asinine way. Nowwe only get variations on the leaders in theirrespective newspapers!’
The great French writer expressed the simpletruth in a pointed way. The cheap press, likecheap liquor, is a public calamity.
Our men poured forth personal impressions ofNature. The world varies in size and in beautyin proportion to the eye and the mind that contemplateit. In Leal’s and Valiente’s conversationespecially there was something like thevoice of the forest and the murmuring waters.They had lived to some purpose in thosedeserts, and to them cities, railways, palaces,sea-going ships, and all the other methods ofmodern locomotion—material civilization, infact—were as wonderful as the beauties andsplendours of Eastern tales are to us.
Talking about tigers, Leal told us that theyroamed all over those plains, especially on thebanks of the Meta and the Orinoco, where the199forests intersect breeding and grazing plains.The cattle-ranchers must be ever on the watch,and from instinct and experience the cattleacquire a natural spirit of defence without whichthe losses would be far heavier than at present.
Whenever the cattle scent the approach ofthe tiger, they crowd together, the young calvesin the centre, the cows and young heifers coveringthem behind their bodies, and the bullspacing around and outside the group likesentinels before a tent. There is no exaggerationin this tale. Leal assured us that he hadhimself seen these preparations on more thanone occasion.
The tiger, whose daring and ferocity aremultiplied tenfold by hunger, frequently attacksthe group: then ensues a life and death struggle.The tiger tries to jump upon the bull sidewaysor from behind, whilst the bull strives to face thetiger constantly. As the latter is far more agileand can leap from a long distance, he frequentlylands upon the bull, sometimes breaking hisspine with the blow. If he misses, the bullgores him. Occasionally both animals die, thetiger in its death-struggle tearing the bull’sneck open with its claws.
‘More than once,’ said Leal, ‘have I foundthe two enemies dead in a pool of blood sideby side.’
The tigers also crouch in the bushes close tothe drinking-places, and jump upon the animalsas they lower their heads into the water. Theyrip open the necks of their victims, drag theminto the jungle, and there devour them.
The hunters know that a sated tiger is farless daring than a hungry one, and theyfrequently place a calf or some other easy preywithin his reach. After his meal he is hunteddown, but Leal added that this is not consideredfair play amongst thoroughbredllaneros; it is atrick unworthy of a real sportsman.
The tigers live exclusively upon other animals.They prefer cattle, and have a special predilectionfor donkeys and mules; they aregourmets. The choicest morsel to their tasteseems to be the fat neck of donkeys and mules;they have, too, a pretty taste in turtles. Theycan crush the back of the younger turtles notyet fully developed. These awkward amphibiansrush, if their ponderous movements canbe so described, into the water for fear of thetiger. There he is powerless to harm them.
The alligator rivals the tiger in voracity andfierceness. They are sworn enemies, andattack each other whenever they meet. Theodds are on the tiger’s side if the struggle be onland, and in favour of the alligator if the pairmeet in the water. The tiger seeks to turn thealligator over on his back, or to get at the bodytowards the stomach, where the softer skin canbe penetrated by the tiger’s claws, whichdisembowel his enemy. The alligator defendshimself by striking terrific blows with his tail,and seeks to scrunch the tiger between hisformidable jaws. Fights between them, Lealsaid, are frequently seen on the beaches, andare a fascinating though ghastly spectacle.
The tigers frequently cross rivers infestedwith alligators, and display a really marvellouscunning in avoiding their enemy in his ownelement. The tiger will stand on the beach ata given point of the river, and there roar withall his might for an hour or so on end.The alligators, in the hope of getting at him,congregate in the water at that particular point.When the members of the assembly thusconvened have, so far as the tiger can judge,met at the appointed place, he starts up-stream202along the banks as rapidly as possible, andcrosses two or three miles higher up. Thereare two details to be noted: first, the stratagemby which the tiger misleads his enemies; and,second, his choice of a crossing-place, so that thealligator would have to swim against the currentto get at him.
Both Leal and Valiente had the true cattle-breeder’slove for cattle, which to them areman’s best friends.
‘They give us milk and meat and cheese,’Leal would say; ‘they help us to cultivate theground, and their very presence drives awayfevers, mosquitoes, and miasmas. We and thecattle are allies against the boas, the tigers, thesnakes, and all the beasts without which theselands would be a real paradise.’
The tales of our friends sounded mostwonderful in Fermin’s ears. He was a townsman,accustomed to bricks and mortar; furthermore,he was naturally sceptical as to all thathe heard, and felt rather small at seeing ourmen’s familiarity with things and manifestationsof Nature which to him were so strangeand new.
Fermin came from the city of Medellin, where203he had spent most of his life. It is a typicalold Spanish town of the central tropical belt.It nestles amongst the hills, 100 miles fromthe left bank of the Magdalena River, at aheight of about 4,500 feet. The ground aroundis mountainous. The valley is small andbeautiful, with numberless streams coursingdown the hills, and luxuriant vegetation inperpetual bloom.
Prior to this journey, Fermin’s travels hadnever taken him beyond his own province.Like all Colombians, he had been a soldier atsome period of his life, a ‘volunteer’ of the typedescribed in a telegram (very well known inColombia) which a candid or witty—the distinctionis at times difficult—mayor sent to acolleague in a neighbouring town: ‘HerewithI send a hundred volunteers; kindly return theropes!’ Having joined the army in this wise,it is not strange that Fermin left it as soon ashe could. His military career was no longerand no more glorious than Coleridge’s.
Continental Europeans are wont to growamusingly solemn and censorious when theyhear of the system still obtaining in many partsof Spanish America for the formation of armies204which are chiefly engaged in the civil wars thatdevastate those countries from time to time;this system is nothing more nor less than thepress-gang method practised all over Europenot so long ago. But between this press-gang,which suddenly compels a man to join the ranksdestined to fight, and the conscription, whichforces him into the army whether he likes it ornot, I can only see a difference of detail, butnone in essence. Individual liberty is as muchviolated in the one case as in the other. Inboth cases the weak, the helpless, and thepoor are the prey of the more cunning and morepowerful, and as for the causes at stake, whateverthe name or pretext may be, if the wholequestion is sifted, greed and ambition masqueradingunder some conventional high-soundingname will be found to be the real andessential motors. Militarism is a form ofexploitation of mankind which adds humanblood to the ingredients productive of gold andpower to others; it is nothing but an engine ofplunder and of pride, the more disgusting onaccount of its sleek hypocrisy. Your money-lenderfrankly tells you that he will charge youthree, four, or five per cent. per month, and205despoil you of house and home if you cannotpay; this, though cruel, is frank and open andabove-board. But your advocate of militarismwill despoil you like the cosmopolite Jew,telling you that glory shall be yours, thatpatriotism and the holy traditions of religion,the dynasty, the empire, or the nation, as thecase may be, are at stake, and that it is necessaryfor you to risk your skin in consequence. Withsuch baubles and clownish maunderings menhave been led on, and are still being led on, tocut each other’s throats for the personal benefitand satisfaction of their leaders, who give thema bit of ribbon or stamped metal if they surviveand have luck. Meanwhile the exploiters sitsafe on their office chairs, pocket the shekels,and chuckle at the pack of fools, the smugmiddle-class flunkies, and the dirty, bamboozledmillions, the cannon fodder, fit only for bayonetand shrapnel.
After leaving the army, Fermin, who bytrade was a journeyman tailor, had joined theremnants of a wrecked theatrical company, agroup of strollers travelling through the townsand villages of his province, and giving performancesfrom the modern and the ancient206Spanish repertory, to the enjoyment and theedification of the natives.
He had been in my service for over a year,proving himself admirable as a valet, andcertainly very plastic, for during the journey hehad been by turns muleteer, amateur paddler,fisherman, hunter and cook.
The people of his province, a hardy mountaineerrace, so prolific that population doublesitself every twenty-eight years, are known allover Spanish America for their readiness atrepartee, the frequent metaphors that brightentheir daily speech, and a knack of humorousexaggeration.
Fermin, referring to one of the men whoseidleness he criticised, said, ‘That fellow is solazy that he cannot even carry a greeting!’ andtalking of the wonderful climbing ability ofa certain mule, he said that, if it could only findthe way, it would reach the gates of heaven andbray in the ears of St. Peter!
One evening, during a lull in the conversation,Fermin, who had quietly listened to talesof fierce tigers, chivalrous bulls, alligators, andmany other natives of forest or stream, burstforth, saying that he also knew of some wonderful207beasts; but I prefer to quote his words as nearlyas possible.
‘The truth is,’ said he, ‘that before startingon this trip I knew nothing about tigers, alligators,boas, and so forth, except from picture-books.I had even thought that people lied agreat deal about those animals, but sight hasnow convinced me of their existence. I haveno doubt they are to be found somewhere in mynative province, but it is not about them thatI am going to talk. I will tell you somethingwhich will show that we, too, have wonderfulanimals in our part of the country.
‘Some years ago I was the first lover ina theatrical company which, though modest inits pretensions, scored great success whereverit played. One night, in the mining region nearthe Cauca River, we were forced to sleep in thevery shed where we had performed the comicopera entitled “The Children of Captain Grant,”a most popular seafaring tale set to music.
‘Mosquitoes were as abundant and aggressiveas anywhere in the world, but they seemed tome to have far stronger lungs than those ofthese localities. Anyhow, there was a speciallysustained high-sounding ring in their little208trumpets, so that they formed a sort of orchestrabeneath the moon.
‘One of the lady artistes held the doctrinethat life was sacred in all its manifestations;that man has no right to kill any animal, howeversmall it may be, so she did not kill themosquitoes that swarmed around her, but triedto blow them away with her fan. However,as some of them alighted on her forehead andon her hands, she would take them carefullybetween thumb and forefinger and place themon the side of a basin half filled with water,moistening their wings so that they stuck andremained harmless for the time being.
‘The smokers amongst us—all the men, infact—after lighting their cigars or cigarettes,threw their wooden matches into the basin,a necessary precaution lest the thatch-roofedshed might catch fire.
‘In the earlier part of the night the mosquitoesmade sleep almost impossible, and therewe lay on the ground or upon canvas stretcherssnoozing and tossing about, waiting for the morning.As night advanced, with the arrival of awelcome breeze, they seemed to diminish innumbers. I began to doze, but was awakened209by one of my companions who called my attentionto the echo of distant music, sweet andlow, a harmony of lutes and soft recorders,whose sounds were wafted on the wings ofthe night air. We went out of the shed, andthe sounds ceased. On returning to it weheard the melody again. This was a mystery.Nearly all our companions were asleep. Wewere determined to ascertain whence the musiccame, and, on investigation, found that theblessed mosquitoes, placed by the charitableand humane artiste on the sides of the basin,had contrived to build a raft with the fag-endsof matches, on which, waiting for their wingsto dry completely, they were whiling the nightaway gaily singing the most popular ditty inour operetta, descriptive of the joys of life onthe ocean wave!
‘This will show you,’ Fermin added, ‘that,though we have neither tigers, nor boas, norturtles, nor fighting bulls, nor alligators, in ourprovince, our mosquitoes beat all yours in talentand ability!’
Not far from the Atures rapids, we stopped atPuerto Real, a short curve in the river wherethe waters penetrate into a sort of bay justifyingthe name of ‘port,’ but with no other title toit, for no human habitation, not even thehumblest hut, exists on either shore. Herethe canoes were laden permanently, as the riverflowed straight to the ocean, free from all rapidsexcept at a few narrow places where the currentis swifter. These, however, did not call for theprecautions of the past days.
Leal considered his task at an end. Wewere on the open Orinoco in the Republicof Venezuela, and in the hands of a guide ascareful and expert as Gatiño. This led Lealto return. In vain did we seek to persuadehim to accompany us, to enter Colombia by theMagdalena River, thence to Bogotá, and thenby the road we had followed to San Pedro del211Tua. He would not abandon his companions,and decided to go back by the identical routewe had followed. We deeply felt parting fromthat noble companion whose quiet, unobtrusivecourage, whose skilled prudence and readyintelligence, had not only contributed greatlyto our comfort during the ninety odd days thathe had been with us, but had doubtless savedour lives on more than one occasion.
As a proof of the extent and value of hisservices, I will quote a letter received manymonths after in Europe, when, in the midst ofmodern civilization, the events and occurrencesof my journey through the tropical regions ofSouth America seemed more like a dream thana reality. Alex, who had returned to Bogotá,wrote as follows:
‘I have just received a letter from Leal,dated from his home at San Pedro del Tua.You will remember that he left us with fourteenof our men, to return by the Vichada and theMeta. On the very day of their departure,whilst they were ascending the rapids, and weproceeded on our journey down-stream, onlya few hours after bidding us farewell, one of212the two canoes, carrying seven men, struck thetrunk of a tree lying under the water, andcapsized. The men were all good swimmers,and soon overtook the canoe, which was driftingwith the stream. After a good deal of trouble,they succeeded in turning it over. Whilst theywere getting back into it, they were attackedby two enormous alligators which sought tooverturn the canoe, striking it furiously withtheir tails. One of the sailors was struck onthe head and stunned, losing his grip, andbefore he could be pulled in the other alligatorcut his body in two, as if with a saw, crushinghim between its jaws, so that the man wasactually devoured in the very presence of hiscompanions.’
On reading these tragic details, I felt a coldshiver run through me, like a man who seeslightning strike an object close to him, or feelsa murderous bullet whizz past his head. Aretrospective fear seized upon me at the thoughtof the many nights spent on the lonely beaches,and the numberless times that our canoes hadstruck submerged rocks or trunks of trees.Surely a kind Providence had watched over us213during that long journey. ‘The child’s heartwithin the man’s’ revived in me, with the faithin God learnt from the lips of my mother, andmy soul went to her who, during those long,anxious days, had prayed night and day to Himabove for the safety of her absent son.
Greatly diminished in numbers, we continueddownwards, hoping to strike some camp oftonga-bean-gatherers, the harvest seasonhaving just begun.
If the Meta had seemed large and mightyto us, the Orinoco bore the aspect of an inlandsea. The breezes and the hurricanes blowupon its billows and dash them into surf onthe bank; the trade-winds—our old friends ofthe Meta—reappeared on the Orinoco, onlyfar stronger than before. One would say thatthey spend their force in the long journey, andare somewhat weary in the upper regions. Itis impossible to make any progress in theteeth of the trade-wind. With a stern or aside wind the canoes hoist their sails andtravel with the speed of birds on the wing.The great force of the wind is generally feltduring the middle hours of the day; it lulls inthe morning and afternoon.
Far more frequently than on the Meta wewere forced to wait for hours on the sandydesert beaches, or close in to the shore coveredwith jungle, waiting, waiting for the wind tosink. The worst feature of these breezes isthat they raise a great quantity of sand to aheight varying from 2 to 3 feet.
Cooking becomes impossible, as the windblows the fire out, scattering the embersand the logs, and unless rocks or trees beavailable on which to sit at a certain height,one is compelled to stand, as it is impossibleto breathe the air, which is impregnated withsand. At such times we were compelled tomake our meals ofcasabe dipped in water, anddrink more freely of the white rum which tookthe place of warmer food and drink. Once wewere kept thus imprisoned for nearly thirtyhours; our helplessness against the elementsexercised a most depressing influence.
The tonga bean, called in Spanishzarrapia,constitutes a most important article of trade, andis obtained in large quantities on the shore of theOrinoco and of many of its affluents below therapids. It is said to abound also in the UpperOrinoco, but there it is seldom gathered.
The tonga-tree is large and leafy, verysimilar to the mango-tree. The branches,which spread over an area of 20, 30, or 40 feet,are covered with thick foliage, and the yieldof fruit is enormous. The fruit resembles themango in shape and appearance. Under asweet pulp, quite palatable, is found an ovalnut, identical with that of the mango, andinside this nut, which has the consistency ofa walnut, is encased a small elongated bean ofa pink colour. It soon turns dark red whenexposed to air and sun. The trees shed thefruit in the months of February and March;the men gather it from the ground, clean offthe pulp, and break the nut with stones. Thismust be carefully done to avoid breaking thebean, which is then placed in the sun on dry,untanned hides, and after two or three dayspacked in bags ready for transportation.
The tonga bean is chiefly used in perfumery,and is a very good substitute for vanilla.
We were told that the exports averaged, at theprices then ranging, a yearly output of £100,000to £150,000.I understand that the pricehas fallen considerably of late years, but asthe gathering costs very little, and the transportation,216owing to the numerous waterways, ischeap, there must still be great profits in thebusiness.
Traders flock from the different parts of theriver to certain well-known camps, from whichthey branch off into the forests, bringing backthe bean for sale to the camps. Although theVenezuelan Government has more than oncegranted special privileges and monopolies toindividuals and companies for the exploitationof the tonga bean, its gathering is practicallyfree, as it would be next to impossible to watchover such vast uninhabited areas where mencan easily conceal themselves in the forests.
Our progress was far slower than before, aswe generally lost half a day waiting for thebreeze to fall. This was owing principally tothe size of our canoes, too small for navigationin a high wind.
In due time we came upon the first camp, amost welcome sight to our eyes; a whole villageof tents stood pitched on the bank of the river,and upwards of twenty or thirty canoes weremoored along the shore. Amongst them wesaw a small one-masted schooner, which raisedits graceful lines above the surrounding small217craft. We gazed upon it with covetous eyes,and decided to make every possible effort toacquire it, if it could be had for love or money.
We did not attract any attention at first;the people in the camp thought that we weretonga-bean-gatherers like themselves, comingfrom some point above; but they showed greatinterest and courtesy on hearing that we camenot only from beyond the rapids, but from theupper affluents of the Orinoco. We soonclosed a bargain for the schooner, into whichwe transferred our belongings, and the next daythe three small sails were let loose to the verybreeze that, during the past few days, hadnailed us to the shores.
Besides the schooner, we obtained a supplyof provisions, though not as much as wewished. The traders had only what theyneeded, and were loath to part with them,especially as we were going towards the centresof supply.
In the course of a day or two we stopped ata large flat island, some twelve miles in length,as we were told, and varying from two to fourmiles in breadth; this is known as the Beach ofLard (Playa de la Manteca). This island is218the laying-place of hundreds of thousands ofturtles, which come to it every year in the layingseason. The island belongs to the Government,who place a small detachment of soldiersto watch over it. The traders buy the right ofworking a given section of the ground. Theydig out the eggs, from which the oil is extracted.It is used for cooking, and is a substitute forlard and butter—hence the name of the beach.
The turtles swarm in myriads, and are forcedby those coming up behind them to go furtherinto the island. After laying their eggs theyseek the water, but are so numerous that itis necessary for the soldiers and traders to keepa pathway open, otherwise many of them couldnot get back to the river.
It is a marvel to see countless acres of groundcovered with turtles as thick as the stones of apavement; and the fact might be incredible ifit were not vouched for by so many travellers.
A turtle lays, according to its size and age,from fifty to three or four hundred eggs. Themen—traders or Government agents—are freeto take as many turtles as they like; the eggsare the only article of barter upon which a priceis set.
Some idea of the number of turtles layingeggs on the beach may be gathered from thereckoning of a French traveller who investigatedthe subject.
The oil extracted from the eggs is gatheredin demijohns holding on an average seven gallonseach, and the average yield of a good year isabout ten thousand demijohns. Each demijohnrequires from four to five thousand eggs; tenthousand demijohns represent from four to fivemillions, which means that there must be fromfour to five hundred thousand turtles. The taleseems extravagant.
It is needless to say that we took in as largea supply of turtles and of eggs as we couldcarry. The sailors of the schooner were delightedat the prospect of turtle meat and turtle eggsad libitum. The eggs are boiled in salt water,and keep for a practically indefinite period.
The capacity for eating these eggs shown bythe natives of those regions seems to be unlimited.I could not understand, looking at thesize of the men and at the young mountain ofturtle eggs before which they sat, and whichdisappeared after a period of sustained assimilation,how it was possible that they did not220swell outwardly or explode. Here was a casein which the envelope was, to all purposes andappearances, smaller than the contents assimilated—aproblem for some sapient naturalist toinvestigate whenever he may chance to strayinto those remote regions.
It is said that the turtle yields seven kindsof meat, and that in the hands of a good cookit is transfigured into calf’s head, veal, tenderloin steak, chicken, venison, pork, and (naturally)turtle meat. Be that as it may, notwithstandingthe uncouth and, to some, repulsive appearanceof the animal, it is evident that the various partsof its body are not only palatable, but may bedisguised to imitate the varieties mentioned, apeculiarity which in its turn works inversely, asin the well-known case of mock-turtle soup.
The turtles we bought were placed on theirbacks, which seems to be the universal methodof keeping them all the world over. There inthe bottom of our schooner the poor beasts hadample opportunity to watch the flight of cloudsby day and the grouping of the constellations bynight. I fear, however, that they did not improvetheir time with the study either of atmosphericalchanges or of astronomical wonders.
Fermin rapidly learnt how to cook and prepareturtles in the various native ways, to which headded devices of his own, reminiscent of thepreparation of other meats and dishes in hisnative province.
The change of diet was most welcome atfirst, but after the fourth or fifth day the veryname of turtle was revolting. Fermin was toldthat, if nothing else but turtle was to be found,we preferred to fall back on boiled rice andcasabe. Relying, however, on his ability andthe protean plasticity of turtle meat, he insistedon serving some of it as wild-boar flesh, andonly upon a formal threat of shooting, or beingleft tied to the trunk of a tree along the shore,like a new Andromache, did he cease his attemptsto deceive our palates. Thus, notwithstandingthe plentiful supply of turtles and turtle eggs,we drifted back to the diet ofcasabe, boiledfish and boiled rice.
We had hoped to strike some cattle-farm,but we scanned the horizon in vain. Theplains and the forests rolled before our eyes,an interminable blank for our purposes.
Finally, as everything happens at last, ourexpectation was gratified; near the confluence222of our old friend the Meta with the Orinoco,we came upon a cattle-ranch where we obtainedcorn, molasses, eggs, lard, cheese, coffee, andthe whole side of a recently slaughtered heifer.
I can readily understand that persons of adelicate taste, should they happen to read theseawkwardly penned lines, must feel disgustedat the recurrence of such vulgar and materialdetails. Their amazement will certainly begreat, for in all probability they will be surroundedby all the comforts and the luxury ofcivilized life. There is no harsher censor ofthe misdeeds or faults arising out of somebodyelse’s hunger than the drowsy philosopher whopasses judgment in a comfortable armchair aftera plentiful meal; his untempted rectitude makeshim the austerest critic of failings and weaknessesin others. However, the opinion of thoseimmaculate beings, with their hot-house virtue,safe from wind and wet behind glass panes,receives precisely the attention it deserves.
Still, I admit that, after having crossed thoseregions, it were better if I could describe whatI saw in a series of pen-pictures which wouldunroll before the reader in sequence or harmoniousgroups the numerous sublime aspects223of Nature; it were far better that, even as theessence retains the perfume of the flower, thewritten word should convey to other mindsthe deep impression left upon my own by themysterious murmuring forest, the invisible windwhose breath so often cooled my forehead, theconstant throb of the wandering waves pentwithin their narrow channels, the infinite azureof the sky, and the numberless sounds andrumours, now soft, now deafening, which fillthe air in that world still free from the burdenof civilization, living the life of untroddenNature, a link in the endless chain of existenceravening on death, with the great drama ofbeing made manifest in a thousand diverseshapes.
Happy were I could I seize one single notefrom that vast symphony, capture it, and fix itwith my words! Vain wishes!
We passed from those solitudes, leaving nomore trace behind us than the clouds in thesky, and although the impression of the greatnessand the majesty of Nature sank deeplyinto my heart, so that at times my soul, returningto the days of the past, loses itself in thedepths of the forests and the summits of the224mountains, follows the course of the rivers, orbathes itself in the pure atmosphere of the freeand boundless plain, whenever I seek to uttermy inmost feelings, so that others may feel andunderstand with me, only the faintest shadowof my thought falls on the blank page. Thegift of seeing and of feeling, and of creatingwhat we have felt and seen so that others intheir turn may feel a similar impression, hasbeen given by the Almighty only to those fewchosen artists and men of genius who throwupon the work which they create ‘the lightthat never was on land or sea.’ I must perforcelimit myself to the humble narrative of our dailylife. I have no higher ambition in writing thesepages, and I shall be fortunate if I meet withreaders who understand my motive.
The schooner took us down to La Urbana(a settlement with urban pretensions); it boastssomeadobe houses covered with tiles, and asmall church. Here we abandoned the schooner,and were obliged to take to a far smaller canoe—largeenough, however, for navigation on theOrinoco—in which we proceeded to Caicara,where we expected to meet the steamers plyingbetween Ciudad Bolivar and the Apure River.
The journey from La Urbana to Caicara passedoff without any incident. On jumping ashoreat this latter point we hoped that we wereleaving our canoes for good, and that the restof the journey to Ciudad Bolivar would takeplace by steam.
The people received us very kindly, and,though the town was far from modern or rich,we enjoyed some comforts that we had lackedduring the long journey which lay behind us.
Though eight weeks had passed since thenews of the death of the Governor of SanCarlos had reached Maipures, nothing wasknown about it at Caicara. This will give anidea of the abandonment in which those vastterritories are left by those under whose politicalauthority they live. Grave international complicationswith the neighbouring States might226arise from disturbances like that at San Carlos,and yet the news had only come down bymere chance, brought by travellers who hadno personal interest in it.
Finding that there was no certainty as tothe steamers likely to touch at Caicara, wereluctantly decided to take again to the slowand sure method of canoeing, rather than waitfor him who had not promised to come, andthus we proceeded on our journey in the samecanoes that we had imagined we were abandoningonce for all two days before. A feeling ofdiscontent began to possess us. It was not thatwe were dissatisfied with the kind of life, northat we had become over-sensitive to the privationsinherent to it, nor that we complained ofbeing plain squires compelled to adopt thepractices of knight-errants, such as not eatingoff linen, nor sleeping on comfortable couches,nor under roof of house or mansion; no, ourgreat longing arose at the thought of those faraway in the civilized world, to whom our longsilence must necessarily be a source of anxiety.For the rest, however, the life we were leadinghad become a sort of second nature, and wefound it by no means disagreeable. We ate227with healthy appetites, and when night came,stretched on our matting, we heedlessly let thewind fold its wings or shriek into madness,whilst the river either murmured gently alonglike a stream across the green meadow orlashed into fury like a lion.
We rowed or sailed as the river and thewind permitted, gaining ground without theloss of an available minute, with the tenacityof one who has a given task to accomplish,and wants to perform it with the least possibledelay. One night, shortly after halting, ashudder of delight ran through us on hearingone of the men exclaim, ‘Steamer coming!’We turned in the direction pointed out by him,but saw nothing. However, we had learnt bythat time to trust to the keener senses of thenatives. Shortly afterwards, with ear to ground,we heard, or thought we heard, a far-off indistinctvibration as of the paddles of a steamerstriking the water. The sound soon becameunmistakable. Here was an unexpected redemption.From sheer joy we ceased the preparationsfor our evening meal. To attract theattention of those on board the steamer thebonfires were piled up high, and, to leave no228possible loophole to adverse fate, Alex andfour of the men sailed into mid-stream, so as tobe quite close to the craft. Soon it loomedmajestic and welcome to our eyes. The pennantof whitish smoke rose in the still blue night,and floated as a signal of welcome. The boatadvanced steadily; we could see the people onboard. That rather undersized vessel was tous, for the moment, the great in fact, the only—steamerin the world. We fired our revolvers.Alex and his men bawled themselves hoarse.No sign of recognition came from the steameras she ploughed on swiftly, relentlessly, disdainfully,soon to be lost in the distance. Thiswas wanton cruelty, and, as we thought at thetime, a sin against human nature. Our feelingswere not such as might be commended to theattention and imitation of Sunday-school children!Our language was decidedly ‘unfit forpublication.’ According to the reckoning of ourmen, which events proved accurate, we shouldrequire twelve days more to reach CiudadBolivar, whilst the steamer, sailing day andnight as it could, even against the breeze,would cover the distance in forty-eight or sixtyhours. It is well that we possessed no magic229powers enabling us to destroy, as if with athunder-bolt, for in that case the steamer wouldnot have reached its destination. So it generallyhappens in life when the action of others foilsour little plans or obstructs our way. Lookingsolely to our own side of the question, we areapt to make no allowance, and attribute to utterperversity what from the standpoint of theother side may be perfectly reasonable. Asrevolutions are frequent in those latitudes, andas steamers had on several occasions beenseized by parties of men ambushed on theshore, the captain of the steamer probablythought that prudence and caution were hissafest guides. He may have believed that,besides the small group which he saw in thecanoe and on the shore, a formidable hostmight be lurking in the forest, and underthose circumstances his behaviour is perfectlyintelligible.
As we approached the end of our journey,our impatience and anxiety grew keener. Upto that time we had never lost our equanimity,and now, when we could reckon with a fairdegree of accuracy the date of our arrival atCiudad Bolivar, the smallest obstacle or detention230irritated us beyond measure. Yet allthings end. On April 20 we arrived at asmall outlying village three hours from CiudadBolivar.
Our approach to a civilized communityawakened slumbering feelings of vanity, andfor the first time during many months we bethoughtourselves of our appearance. I hadan authentic mane on my head; our beardswere thick and bushy as the jungle on thebanks of the river. Such clothes as we hadcould hardly have passed muster under theeyes of the most lenient critic. Most of thosethat we possessed at starting had been left behindamongst the Indians, in payment of work,and what little remained had not been improvedby the moisture of the climate. On takingstock, I soon found that my dress coat andtrousers—evolved by some London artist—werethe only decent clothes left to me; yet Icould not screw up courage to don them, as Ifeared that if, after several months’ journeythrough the wildest regions of South America,I jumped ashore at noonday on the banks ofthe Orinoco in a swallow-tail, the authoritieswould probably provide me with free board and231lodging in some cool lunatic asylum! We consoledourselves with the thought that we wereclean, and thus near to godliness, and that wecould soon replace our patched and tatteredclothes at Ciudad Bolivar.
I have forgotten to mention our visit to thecattle estates of General Crespo, at that timePresident of Venezuela, a typical son of thellanos. These estates had a frontage of twenty-fiveleagues along the river, and extend Heavenonly knows how far into the interior. Themanager, ormajor-domo, told us that the herdson those estates numbered upwards of 200,000head of cattle. The figure appears fantastic,but the fact that at that time 1,500 three-year-oldbullocks were exported monthly to the neighbouringWest India Island, principally Trinidad,may serve as a basis for calculation.
On that eventful 20th of April the breeze blewtantalizingly against us, yet we would not bedetained, and decided to advance in its veryteeth. The men jumped ashore and pulled thecanoes with ropes. The city, built as upona terrace, soon appeared in the distance, itswhite, red-roofed houses standing out underthe clear sky like dabs of paint upon a blue232canvas. Behind the town the hill continued torise, and opposite the city the river itself, encasedinto a narrow space, is only one-third ofa mile broad. It was a delight to look oncemore on houses, towers and churches, and othersigns of civilized life. The sight was an enchantmentafter the eternal panorama of forest,mountain, plain and river. We had a feelingakin to that of Columbus and his companionswhen the watch shouted ‘Land! land!’ Wecould echo those words in their full significance.The struggle was at an end; river, forest,rapids, fevers, wild beasts, poisonous snakes,savages, and all the obstacles that lay behindus, were over, leaving no further trace thanthe dust along the roads or the foam of thewaves on the sands. Thanks to the Divineprotection, we had reached the end of an adventurousjourney full of possibilities of mishapand of danger, and all that had taken place wassimply as a memory in our minds.
We attracted great attention on landing, andwere soon installed in one of the good hotelsof the towns. We stared with something likewonderment at mirrors, tables, sofas, as at somany good old friends from whom we had been233long separated. In us, primitive man had verysoon reasserted full sway, and we had to makesome effort to return to the habits and customsof civilized life. As soon as we could, weplaced ourselves in the hands of a barber inthe town. He had been told of our great storeof luggage, and, inquisitive as all men of hisprofession are, on hearing one of us hummingfor very joy under his razor and shears, asked(I know not whether in innocence or banter):‘How many of you are in the company, andwhat opera are you going to begin with?’To this I replied: ‘We are not an opera company,but a circus, and our performances willbegin shortly; we are on the look-out for aclown.’ He did not proceed with his cross-examination.
Ciudad Bolivar is famous in the annals ofVenezuelan and Colombian history. It bearsthe name of the emancipator of those regions.Formerly it was called Angostura, which means‘the Narrows.’ In 1819 one of the firstColombian Congresses was held at that city,and its deliberations, which soon crystallizedinto action, brought about the expulsion of theSpaniards after a daring and sanguinary series234of campaigns. The very men who sat atCiudad Bolivar, 300 miles from the shores ofthe Atlantic, ended their military campaign onthe plateau of Ayacucho in 1824, havingmarched thousands of leagues across plain andforests, snow-capped mountains, precipices,jungle, fighting for every inch of ground againstthe stubborn soldiers of Spain in one of themost heroic and tenacious struggles on bothsides that are to be found in the annals ofhistory.
The river, as I have stated before, narrowsafter its long pilgrimage, and, even as a regimentwhich closes its ranks, rolls its waves in denserarray opposite the city. No sooner does itreach the outside limits than it broadens again,and, after running through fertile plains andswampy valleys for a distance of 600 kilometres,reaches the sea. The normal depth oppositeCiudad Bolivar is 120 metres. During therainy season the level rises from 10 to 20metres.
Verily the Orinoco is a living, wandering seaof fresh water gathered from the northern plainsof South America, which forms the tribute ofthose lands to the Atlantic Ocean. We had235just followed it in its pilgrimage for a long partof its course. We had known it in tempest andin calm; we had watched the dawn gilding itsthrobbing waters or the twilight covering themwith flickering shadows; we had listened to thewhispering of the winds and the roar of thehurricane along its shores; we had seen themonsters which roam in its waters, admired theriver’s Titanic sport, dashing in the rapids, orits majestic quiet in the deep basins of granitewhere the current seems to rest before leapingin a wild onslaught through the cañons; andnow we saw it majestically unroll before oureyes in the august pageant of its last processionto the ocean. We could not but think that,if that great artery of palpitating life whichvibrates through the centre of the continent hadstood us in such good service, its possibilitiesfor the development of those vast unknownterritories, when once appreciated by humanity,were practically unlimited. To our mind’s eye,prophetic with desire, the vast solitudes we hadleft behind became resonant glad with thepresence of myriads of men; the forests werecleared, the plains tilled, and a happy andprosperous nation, the outcome of the present236struggling democracies that own those lands,increased by swarms of immigrants from distantovercrowded countries, reared its cities andtowns along the banks of the river which, in itsimmutable, defiant majesty and power, stillrolled to the sea, serving men, but remaining abond of union, a mighty link between theCordilleras and the ocean.
I have thus far sought to give an idea of mypersonal impressions during a journey mostmemorable to me; and I am aware that I bringno new or useful contribution from a scientificpoint of view. We had no instruments ofobservation, not even an ordinary every-daycompass, enabling us to fix the cardinal pointswith certainty. Furthermore, had we possessedmore complicated instruments, we were tooignorant to use them. Let these remarks beborne in mind should errors of appreciation benoticed, as certainly they exist, in this disjointednarrative.
We wandered on with the definite aim ofreaching the Atlantic Ocean. Beyond that wedid not venture to scrutinize too deeply themysterious and wonderful manifestations ofNature, but took them as they appeared to our238limited means of vision and understanding, andsought nothing beyond.
However, before closing these pages, assumingthat some kind reader’s patience may haveenabled him to accompany me thus far, it maynot be amiss to give some accurate data whichI take from the admirable monograph entitled‘South America: an Outline of its PhysicalGeography,’ published in theGeographicalJournal of April, 1901, by Colonel GeorgeEarl Church, a book which might be called‘South America in a Nutshell,’ wonderfullyaccurate and concise, and worthy of the highestpraise.
The total length of the Orinoco is about 1,500miles, but if measured by its Guaviari branchit is several hundred miles longer. It reachesits maximum height in August. To its point ofjunction with the Guaviare it takes a north-westcourse. Ninety miles before its union with thatstream it receives its principal eastern affluent,the Ventuario. From the Guaviare it runsnorth nearly as far as the Apure, where itsuddenly turns east. Between the Guaviareand the Meta the course of the river isobstructed by the Maipures Rapids, which239extend for a length of four miles, with a totalfall of about 40 feet. Below this the AturesRapids cover a distance of about six miles,falling about 30 feet. Navigation is thenfree for about 700 miles, as far as the rapids ofCariben, within six miles of the mouth of theMeta. The river at this point is about a milewide. Its course continues to the north, and atthe mouth of the Apure it is two miles wide in thedry season, and about seven when in flood. AtCariben it rises 32 feet; but at the Angostura, or‘Narrows,’ 372 miles from the sea, it has risento 60 feet. It enters the sea by its main trunk,the Boca Grande. About 100 miles above itsmouth it throws off a branch northward to theGulf of Paria, also 100 miles in length. Sixother considerable arms find their way to theocean across a vast delta about 7,000 squaremiles in area. The Boca Grande is the deepestand main navigable entrance at all seasons, themuddy bar usually maintaining a depth of16 feet. The basin of the Orinoco covers anarea of 364,500 square miles.
The principal affluents flowing from theAndean slopes are the Apure, the Arauca, theMeta, and the Guaviare.
The Apure is 695 miles long, of which 564are navigable. The Apure in its turn receivesnumerous tributaries, some of which are navigablefor short distances.
The Arauca, the Meta and the Guaviare, arealso navigable.
The Casiquiare Canal unites the upperOrinoco with the Rio Negro branch of theAmazon. It is about 300 miles long, with anaverage depth of 30 feet, and has a strongcurrent in the direction of the Negro. The listof affluents of the Orinoco and of its tributarieswould be a very long one, and would serve nouseful purpose here.
Evidently the Orinoco and the Orinocosystem, with their innumerable ramifications inall directions, form a basis for the easy exploitationof the vast sources of natural wealth whichexist in the immense territory through whichtheir waters flow.
That territory lies within the borders of theRepublics of Colombia and Venezuela. Upto the present neither nation has seriouslyattempted to utilize the valuable elements sobountifully offered by Nature. In the matterof navigation, ocean-going steamers sail frequently241as far as Ciudad Bolivar. From thislatter point river steamers ply once or twicea month up the Orinoco, turning into the Apureas far as San Fernando de Apure, and duringthe tonga-bean harvest follow the course of themain river generally as far as the Caura, wherethe harvesters established their central campsa good many years ago. An effort was madeto establish navigation on the Orinoco and itsaffluents above the rapids, and also to runsmall steamers in the navigable part betweenthe Atures and Maipures rapids; but the Frenchcompany, which held a charter practically placingthe whole region at its disposal, failed of itsobject, after spending a considerable amount ofmoney. During our journey, in several placeswe could see, rotting in the sun, the remnantsof broken-down steamers, which appeareduncanny objects in those surroundings. Therapids, acting as a barrier, have deterred tradersand explorers. The upper part of the Orinocois the most abundant in natural wealth. AsI have had occasion to note in these pages,india-rubber,piazaba, tonga bean, resinous andmedicinal plants, are found in practically unlimitedquantities along the shores of all the242rivers above the rapids, and the small proportionwhich is gathered is generally shippedthrough the Rio Negro by way of the Amazon,as traders prefer that long and tedious journeyto the difficulties of the Orinoco Rapids.
Yet to give life to the Orinoco, to establisha stream of natural products down its waters,and to facilitate the opening of the forests andmountains beyond the rapids, it would not benecessary to carry out work of a very stupendousnature, beyond the resources of the peoples andthe nations most interested in the work. Acursory glance at the elements of the problemreveals the possibility of carrying out a plan,the general outlines of which might be thefollowing:
A line of steamers should be establishedplying at least twice a month between CiudadBolivar and the highest accessible point fornavigation below the Atures Rapids.
The old road along the rapids, which extendedfrom that highest point of navigation to beyondMaipures where the river is again free andopen, should be reconstructed. A railway couldbe built along either shore, the ground beingmostly level and hard. It would not be necessary243to undertake great engineering works, andthe road-bed itself would require neither deepcuttings nor terracing, nor expensive culvertsand works of drainage, and the few bridgesrequired, being of short span, would not runinto high figures.
Steam navigation should also be establishedbeyond the rapids on the rivers forming theupper basin. This could be done at first bymeans of small steam-launches such as are usedin the affluents of the Amazon River, but theservice should be carried out faithfully andperiodically, even though at first freight andpassengers were lacking. People in SpanishAmerica are generally very sceptical as tothese enterprises, but once a feeling of confidencewas created, explorers would flockboth from Colombia and from Venezuela, asthey would know that they would have anoutlet for whatever products they mightgather.
The Indians on the Vichada, and even thoseon the Meta, would supply abundant labour,and the exports of natural products would soonfurnish all the freight that might be desired tomake the whole arrangement of steamers above244and below the rapids, and the railway along thesame, a paying concern.
A line of steamers should also follow thecourse of the Meta River as far as La Cruz,a port situated about ninety miles from Bogotá,thus tapping the import and export trade of themost thickly-populated region of Colombia, theinhabitants of which in the three provinces ofSantander, Boyacá, and Cundinamarca, are over1,500,000 in number.
Supposing four steamers to be needed fornavigation on the lower river and on the Meta,to be bought at Ciudad Bolivar at a cost of£10,000 each, £40,000 would be required underthis head. Taking the length of the railwayat 60 kilometres, including the bridges, at acost of £2,000 per kilometre, £120,000 wouldbe required for the railway; and supposing thatten small steam-launches of twenty to thirtytons burden were started for the rivers on theupper basin, £20,000 would be required—in all,£180,000 for the whole undertaking.
The preceding figures are not imaginative,and might, perhaps, be reduced in actualpractice. If it has been possible to raise thecapital required for the construction of a railway245of upwards of 200 kilometres in lengthalong the shores of the Congo, where climate,distance, and natives combine to establish farmore serious obstacles than exist on theOrinoco, should it not be possible to findthe capital for the establishment of modernmeans of transportation in a region whichoffers far brighter and surer prospects thanthe Congo? Let it be remembered that fromColombia and from Venezuela civilized white,coloured and Indian labour could be found inabundance, and that Europeans engaged in theundertaking, and provided with steamers, couldin two days, if on the Meta, reach the highand healthy plateaus of Bogotá and find themselvesin a civilized community where theywould lack none of the luxuries or comfortsof their own land; and that in the LowerOrinoco they would have Ciudad Bolivar, towhich the same remarks, barring the advantageof climate, may be applied. The two Governmentsof Colombia and Venezuela, equallyinterested in the development of the Orinocobasin, might unite their efforts and guaranteein a form satisfactory to European capitaliststhe paltry yearly amount required to pay the246service of interest and sinking fund on the£180,000. Taking the interest at 6, with asinking fund of 1 per cent., £12,600 yearlywould be required—that is to say, £6,300 foreach Government. I know that at the presentmoment such a task would be well-nigh impossible,but I also know that if a sincere effortwere made, notwithstanding the universal feelingof distrust, it would be possible to create securitiesspecially applicable to this purpose, whichwould satisfy the most exacting capitalist.
In the midst of the daily turmoil and agitationand sanguinary struggle which constitutes thelife of those democracies, these problems, urgentand vital as they are, pass unheeded; and themore the pity, for in their solution lies thebasis of a permanent peace. Prosperity begetsabhorrence of internal revolutions. The developmentof Mexico is a case in point, fromwhich Colombia and Venezuela might takeheed. Woe to them if they do not! Theworld begins to sicken at the very mentionof the constant strife which converts into apositive hell those regions where Nature hasshown herself prodigal beyond measure in allher gifts. Not only the valley of the Orinoco,247with its boundless prairies, its dense forests,and its innumerable affluents, but the uplandsof the Andine regions and the plains extendingin Venezuela towards the North Atlantic orCaribbean Sea, and in Colombia to the PacificOcean, are coveted by nations where humanityis overcrowded by races which would fainestablish colonies in those regions. Thedevelopment of humanity cannot be stayed;the human wave, even as the stream of watercontained by a dyke, will sooner or later breakthrough the walls that imprison it and flood thesurrounding country. It were well for menanimated by real patriotism in Colombia andin Venezuela to ponder over these possibilities,so that the two nations might themselves openthe flood-gates for immigration without delay,so that the new-comers would prove a freshsource of strength and power, helping to buildup on the basis of the now existing nationsfree and mighty commonwealths, rather thanas conquerors, who (whether they come fromthe North as wolves in sheep’s clothing undercover of the Monroe doctrine, or from acrossthe ocean, driven by necessity stronger than allpolitical conventionality) would come as masters.
Now is our accepted time. The momentsare counted during which the danger may beaverted and the inevitable turned to account;but, alas! feuds and errors deep-rooted inmedieval soil, luxuriant in this our twentiethcentury, darken the minds of men, influencetheir judgment, turn away their activity fromthe real aims that would lead their nations togreatness, and force them into barbarousstruggles which the world regards with amazementand brands as crimes against mankind.
After a week in Ciudad Bolivar, we bethoughtourselves of continuing the journey to thesea. Civilization had reclaimed us for her own,and rigged in European attire, such as befitsthe tropics, with all the social conventionalitiesonce again paramount in our mind, we set forthon that, the last stage of the journey. We hadbeen, not a nine days’ but a nine hours’ wonderin the historical town which rears its housesand churches alongside the narrows of themajestic stream. Early in the afternoon of adazzling tropical day, cloudless, blue and hazyfrom the very brilliancy of the air, we steppedinto the large steamboat that was to carryus to the neighbouring British island of Trinidad,once also a Spanish possession. Theusual events accompanying the departure ofall steamers from the shore repeated themselves:250clanging of chains, shouting of orders,groans of the huge structure, shrill whistles,and that trepidation, the dawn as it were ofmotion, something like a hesitation of thingsinert apparently unwilling to be set in motion,which is the life of matter inanimate; then thesteady throbbing of the machinery, the strokeof the paddles, splash, splash, until regularityand monotony are attained, and the ship,wheeled into midstream after describing a broadarc, set the prow eastward with the current tothe ocean.
We looked at the town as it dwindled indistinct,seeming to sink into the vast azure of thehorizon, swallowed in the scintillating folds ofthe blue distance. We sat on the deck as if ina trance. Shortly after starting, wild Naturereasserted her sway, and the small oasis builtby the hand of man in the heart of the untamedregion, seemed to us who knew howunmeasurable were those forests and thoseplains, like a tiny nest perched on the branchesof a lofty and over-spreadingceiba. A feelingof superiority over our fellow-passengers unconsciouslyfilled our breasts. For were wenot boon companions, fellow-travellers, tried251and trusted comrades of those rushing waters?Had we not shared their pilgrimage for daysand days, in calm and in storm, in sunshineand in darkness? Had we not slept on theirbosom or travelled upon it for countless hours,till the secret of their mystery and the joy oftheir wandering had penetrated into our verysoul? What knew they, the other travellersof a few hours, of the intimate life of thosewaters which we had watched, gathering theirstrength from all the points of the compass,swelling the current of the central stream,mingling their life with it, now as rivulets, nowas rivers, now placid in the embrace, nowplunging, foaming, as if loath to loose their identity?Yea, verily, we were comrades, fellow-pilgrims,with the splendid travelling sea, thereon its final march to the boundless deep.
Forest and plain, marsh, morass, jungle, succeededone another in interminable procession,and the setting sun now broke its ray on thelow-lying hills, now reverberated on the far-offmarshes on either side of the current, tingingthem with a crimson glow. Towards sunsetthe whistle of the steamer frightened a flock offlamingoes gathered to roost, as is their wont252when the shadows of evening approach. Thewhole flock sought refuge in flight, and theirwidespread wings, as they rose before us,seemed like a huge transparent pink curtainlifted before our very eyes, rising higher andhigher until it vanished in space.
Night fell upon the scene. First the starsand then the moon kindled their beacon fires,dispelling darkness into a semi-obscurity fraughtwith mystery, embalmed with the effluvia fromthe forest and the river. We felt like a shadowcrossing the wilderness. The littleness of self,the insignificance of the human being, becameoverwhelming.
What could it matter if that daring shell withits human freight were dashed to pieces againsta submerged tree and swallowed in the waves?Nature, impassible, would take no notice of theevent; in far-off homes sorrow would fill theloving hearts. The river would be lookedupon as a grave, wondrous vast, where a dearone had found his rest, but the river itselfwould suffer no change, and our world of hopes,ambitions, infinite longings, would leave nomore trace than the smallest bubble of thefloating foam.
And thus the morrow came. With the lightof day the circle of the horizon broadened; wewere out at sea, no trace of land was visible.The waves tossed the struggling craft tenderly,gliding under its keel, the wind caressed theflying pennants on the mastheads and seemedto whisper promises of freedom as it rustledthrough the rigging. The mighty river haddisappeared, paying its tribute, like a humanbeing to the grave, to Father Ocean. And thelong journey which lay behind us was nothingmore than a dream in our memory, for thingsdreamt and things lived do so intermingle theiridentity in our minds that the attempt to disentangletheir threads were useless. And sowe drifted into the broad, unmeasurable expanseof waters which seemed to palpitate andtremble as with the touch of life under theglorious rays of the morning sun.
THE END
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
