THE ANDES SOUTHWEST OF POPAYÁN; CRUISE OF THE _CALDAS_
After our return to Popayán we spent a few days wrapping and packing
the large collection of birds and mammals that had been secured on the
Cerro Munchique; and, during the odd moments when this work became
arduous, we sought information about the mountains south of the place
we had just visited. Eventually our quest took us to the governor’s
palace, where we had the good fortune to meet the executive of the
province of Cauca, Doctor Alfredo Garcés.
The first thing that attracted our attention was a framed poem hanging
above his desk; the title of it was “Death to Foreigners”; but the
kindly and sympathetic governor soon dispelled any doubts we may have
harbored as to his feelings. He was a man of great refinement and
education, and had travelled extensively in the United States. Our
mission interested him greatly. He brought out maps and charts, and
then, with the aid of a pair of powerful field-glasses, showed us the
places he had pointed out on the drawings.
Doctor Garcés proved to be one of our best and most highly valued
friends, despite the rather alarming notice on his office wall. He
called on us at the inn several times each day, and admired the birds
and mammals we had collected. Our rooms were always in the state
of greatest upheaval with packing-cases, equipment, provisions,
and a hundred other things occupying each available place; but the
governor took it all as a matter of course, enjoyed delving among
our possessions in search of things unknown to him, and probably
considered himself fortunate if he could find his silk hat and cane in
the place they had been left when he was ready to leave.
June 24 found us again upon the trail, heading south-westward. Both the
Central and Coast Ranges were visible for many miles, the snow-covered
Purace and Sotará dominating the former, with Munchique standing
unequalled in the latter. Barren, rolling hills stretched away in the
distance like the waves of a storm-tossed sea; this undulating country
is the first indication of a connecting-link between the two ranges.
For two days there was no perceptible change in the country; but on
the morning of the third day, shortly after leaving the settlement of
Monos, we entered virgin forest at an altitude of seven thousand five
hundred feet. A shelter-house, known as San José, is just a thousand
feet higher up, and at ten o’clock we were up ten thousand one hundred
and forty feet. From here one has an unrivalled view of thousands of
square miles of country. The magnificent valley, appearing greener and
more level from our height than was really the case, lay below, and
stretched far to the north. The paramos and volcanoes flanking the
far side were abreast of our station. Frequently, while in similar
positions, there recurred to me the sentiment so aptly expressed by
Hudson: “Viewed from the top of a lofty mountain, the world assumes a
vastness and varied beauty that revive the flagging spirit and refresh
the soul.” And quite as certainly there is forced upon our recognition
the infinitesimal smallness of man when compared to the immensity of
nature--a mere atom existing by virtue of a benevolent force that has
so ordained, but that reserves the power to crush the whole fabric of
life at a breath.
The top of the ridge is ten thousand three hundred and forty feet
high, and the vegetation is typical of the temperate zone; low, dense
bushes, mingled with the gnarled branches of stunted evergreen trees
and shrubs, burdened with clumps of red and lavender flowers. Numbers
of low grass shacks had been built along the trail; some of them
were very long and housed the peons working on the road to Micai.
Although these structures were of comparatively recent origin, many
small rodents had been attracted to them by the corn that formed the
principal article of food of the _peons_. A large brown rat (_Oryzomys
pectoralis_) was very abundant; apparently this rodent had formerly
existed in small numbers only, for it was rare out in the open; but
the artificial conditions created by the settlement of the region had
proved so congenial that it increased rapidly. The same is true of
several other species of rats that almost overran the houses.
In riding or walking along the trail, I frequently encountered a
species of snake resembling in coloration a coral snake; however, it
was not unusual to find an individual five feet or even more in length,
and two or three inches through in the thickest part. They appeared
exceeding sluggish and even refused to move although almost trodden
upon. We never molested them, as they appeared to be harmless, and were
really of striking beauty. Unfortunately, we had no way of preserving
any. A species recently discovered in Nicaragua by Mr. Clarence R.
Halter, which is similar to the one we saw almost daily, belongs to the
genus _Coronella_.
The birds belonged to a typical temperate-zone fauna. Among them was a
new species of beautiful honey-creeper (_Diglossa gloriosissima_); it
is black with blue shoulders and a deep-rufous abdomen. They clambered
about over the clusters of gorgeous flowers, feasting on the nectar
they contained. Another common bird was a tanager (_Iridosornis_) the
size of our redbird, but of a bright-violet color that merges into
greenish blue on the wings. The head is black excepting the crown,
which is deep orange. It is a vivacious creature, travels in small
flocks that frequent the taller shrubbery, but possesses limited
singing powers only.
During our stay we had occasion to witness a christening ceremony
performed by a priest who was travelling through the region for the
purpose of ministering to the people’s spiritual needs. The fact had
been widely advertised, so early on the appointed day many natives
appeared, bringing small children to be baptized. About thirty had been
brought by noon, when the priest commanded the god-parents to line up,
each holding his gaudily dressed and probably fretful little charge.
The priest began at one end of the row, dispensing one part of the
sacrament to each child as he passed; then he went back and began all
over again, giving the second part to each of them, and so on until the
rite was completed.
It so happened that there was a small child in the hut we had chosen
for our several days’ sojourn. To honor the _gringos_ who were stopping
under her roof, the señora asked Richardson to be the little one’s
godfather, while I was permitted to suggest the name. We naturally felt
as if we should give the baby a present, but a thorough ransacking
through my effects revealed only a can of talcum powder, which I
promptly presented to the mother. A few days later she came to me in
distress: “The baby has a slight fever,” she said. “I gave it some of
the white powder you made me a present of, but it did no good. How much
is it necessary to take at one time?”
The western slope of the range is very abrupt. Large forces of men
were engaged in cutting a narrow ledge for a footpath into the face of
the steep mountainside. The trail wound back and forth continuously;
looking over the rim of the narrow shelf one could count six or eight
loops underneath, one below the other.
The work of cutting such a way is hazardous for the men engaged in
it. The soil is loose and saturated with water, so landslides were
of frequent occurrence; and whenever the irresistible avalanche
swept the precipitous terrain, it usually carried one or more of the
laborers with it and buried them under tons of rock and débris. It was
invariably hopeless to try to find the body, so the survivors simply
erected a cross on the spot. Frequently there were several crosses
together, and in one place I counted seventeen standing side by side.
Late in the afternoon we reached a lone hut in a small clearing--the
hastily erected shelter of a group of _peons_. The men invited us
to stop, and as the locality looked interesting we accepted the
invitation; but we erected our tent and lived in it in preference to
the hut.
All the surrounding country was covered with virgin forest. It had
never been trodden by man, at least not within many years; there were
no side trails of any kind, so that it was impossible to penetrate very
far.
Among our first mammals were a doe and fawn of a little forest-deer
(_Mazama setta_). They are commonly known as brockets or spike-bucks,
as each horn consists of a single prong. I believe that these deer
are not so rare as generally supposed, but they are seldom collected
on account of the difficulty of hunting them in the thick jungle. The
_peons_ shot the ones we secured. They had discovered a path leading to
a small stream, and concealing themselves on the opposite side, waited
until the animals came down to drink; then they shot them. The men also
brought in a huge bushmaster that they unearthed while clearing away
underbrush. The deadly reptile is known as _equis_ to the natives on
account of the black X-shaped marks on its back.
The mountainsides were scarred with deep fissures and ravines filled
with the darkest and most impenetrable of forests. It was possible
to look across from one side to the other, but crossing them was
impracticable. Each morning I could see a flock of some thirty-odd
swallow-tailed kites soaring just above the trees on the far side of
one of the ravines. The magnificent birds resembled huge white-bellied
swallows, or swifts, as they circled majestically over the dark forest;
they uttered shrill screams all the while. Apparently they fed on
the wing, and specimens collected by us later had eaten quantities
of large beetles and flying ants. At about nine o’clock the band
always resorted to the top of a tall tree that towered far above its
contemporaries for a short rest; this was rather unusual, as the
birds are rarely seen perched, and the natives said they never alight
during the daytime. Live birds, or specimens freshly killed, have
the glistening black back covered with a beautiful grayish “bloom”
or powder that gives it a soft, velvety appearance. However, this
disappears soon after death.
A species of pigmy squirrel (_Microsciurus_) lived in the forest, but
we seldom saw any of the little creatures scarcely bigger than one of
the larger kinds of mice. I have always found these animals much rarer
than the ordinary squirrels; usually they live in pairs. They seem to
prefer forests abounding in palms and to feed on the various kinds of
palm-fruits and nuts. They frequently evince a great deal of curiosity
and can be approached to within a short distance before taking fright
and scampering out of sight among the leaves.
The minute creatures move rapidly and gracefully and make long, daring
leaps. In running over the leaves and branches they follow the lateral
stems, and on reaching the ends ascend through the tree-top or thick
foliage by leaping crossways from twig to twig, as if ascending the
rungs of a ladder.
I kept one that was given to me by the natives as a pet for some time.
It made its home in the pocket of my flannel hunting-shirt, where it
was always sure to find a bit of cracker or sugar, and to which it
could retreat when frightened. Whenever anything of an unusual nature
occurred, the bright, inquisitive little eyes always appeared suddenly
so as not to miss a single thing that might be of interest. It never
attempted to bite or run away, and seemed perfectly contented with the
company of the friends that fed and protected it.
Eventually we started back toward Popayán. We crossed the high
brush-covered divide July 4; a violent electrical storm had been staged
on the wild mountain-top as if in noisy celebration of the day. It
began with a dark mist that covered everything. Then rain and hail fell
uninterruptedly for more than an hour, while lightning flashed and
blue-green flames seemed to leap toward the blackened rock. Sometimes
the bolts came from above, and again they were below us so that we
were enveloped in a weird, ghastly light. The thunder was terrific and
kept up a continuous crash and rumble. It was impossible to see any
other member of the expedition on account of the thick haze--there was
no shelter of any kind--only the narrow shelf-like trail that snaked
its way along the steep slope. After the storm we made camp; the men
and mules kept straggling in until a late hour; they were very wet and
much bedraggled, but apparently none the worse for the nerve-racking
experience.
Popayán was reached without further incident. Richardson’s contract
having expired, he determined to leave the country, so we returned to
Cali to rearrange the equipment and pack the collections; then he left
for Buenaventura to take a north-bound steamer.
In the meantime Doctor Chapman, who had reached New York, arranged
to send down a man to fill the vacancy left by Richardson. Doctor
Arthur A. Allen, of Cornell University, was selected for the place. He
reached Cali about the middle of August and accompanied me during the
succeeding eight months.
In compliance with instructions received from Doctor Chapman, I
immediately planned an expedition northward, then toward the east to
make a zoological exploration of the forests bordering the Quindio Pass
and of the high paramo of Santa Isabel. The first stage of the journey
was down the Cauca River.
Regular steamboat service is maintained between Guanchito and Cartago
during the rainy season. The _Sucre_, a boat of small size, makes
frequent voyages, requiring about three days’ time each way. On this
vessel one may travel in comparative comfort--if one is not too
squeamish. We had to be content with a smaller craft, however, as
there was not sufficient water to float the _Sucre_ over the numerous
sand-bars.
The _Caldas_ is a little steel launch of not over fifty feet from stem
to stern, with a beam of fifteen feet and drawing eighteen inches of
water. When the river is full the _Caldas_ is used to carry freight
only, for which purpose she doubtless serves admirably; but at other
times she assumes the double responsibility of carrying both cargo and
passengers. Of course there is the alternative of going overland; but
the trip takes twice as long, and after having spent some time on the
muddy trails, the novelty of a river trip is likely to make a strong
appeal, whatever the odds.
On the announced date of sailing thirty-seven individuals of all
sizes, ages, and shades of color gathered on the river’s bank, each
impatient to be the first to cross the narrow plank and board the small
craft. There also waited a huge mound of boxes, bags, bales of hides,
and other freight; this was loaded first and piled in the front and
rear. The engine occupied the centre of the boat, as did the kitchen.
When the people were finally permitted to go aboard, there was a
wild scramble to the top of the heap of boxes and bundles. To sit up
straight under the sheet-iron roof was impossible; fortunately the sun
shone intermittently only or we should have been suffocated.
From the very beginning there was enough of interest to keep one’s
nerves tensed to a high pitch. The crumbling banks, great chunks
of which settled gently into the water as the waves, caused by the
launch’s propeller, washed away the last bit of restraining sand;
the numbers of bamboo rafts laden with bananas, plantains, and other
tropical fruits on their way to the port of Guanchito; the dark-skinned
fishermen who cast their nets into eddies and quiet pools, and the
washwomen, each smoking an enormous black cigar and beating the clothes
upon stones until one expected to see them fly into shreds, were very
interesting. There were also hundreds of cormorants and anhingas that
swam and dived or flew up into the trees; some of them sat on snags
drying their wide-spread wings.
The banks of the river are very high and abrupt in most places, and the
stream runs through a tortuous channel. At each bend the current dashes
with great force against the bank, and then rebounds on down-stream.
The little _Caldas_ could not hope to battle against the rushing
torrent, so she would head straight for the bank; frequently her nose
struck the soft sand and held fast; then the current swung her around
and back into midstream, where after spinning around a few times she
regained her poise and was swept along. As wood was burned exclusively,
stops had to be made every few hours for a new supply. The launch, in
her crowded condition, had little room for fuel, but the brief pauses
gave those on board an opportunity to go ashore--a welcome respite from
the cramped position made necessary by the limited space available on
the boat. At one of these spots an extensive cacao-plantation lined
the bank, the tall _madres de cacao_ reaching high up into the heavens
above their lowly but precious protégés. The “mother of cacao,” it
might be said, is a species of _Erithmas_ planted to protect the
delicate cacao-trees from the sun. A colony of snake-birds or anhingas
had selected this grove for a rookery. Thousands of the birds sat on
the topmost branches while other countless numbers were flying back and
forth in endless streams, each bird a component part of a whirling,
living mass. The slender body, long thin neck, small head, and sharp
bill give the bird a peculiar appearance; when swimming under water
with only the neck protruding it greatly resembles a snake--hence the
name snake-bird. Each tree within an area of several acres contained a
number of nests; they were clumsy structures made of sticks. The eggs,
three or four in number, are white and as long as a hen’s egg but only
half as wide. Later in the day a flock of scarlet ibises approached
from down-stream, flew past, and then disappeared like twinkling bits
of flame.
In the early afternoon the _Caldas_ struck a sand-bar with full force.
The greater number of the passengers had eaten their luncheon--brought
by themselves in small parcels neatly done up in banana leaves--and
were quietly dozing. There was a harsh, grating sound, a shock, and the
water swirled around and past the boat, which moved not an inch. The
engines were reversed and the crew sprang into the river and pushed,
but it availed nothing, so after repeated efforts these attempts were
abandoned. Luckily, the craft carried a small dugout canoe, into which
the passengers were unloaded, three or four at a time, and taken ashore
by two husky negroes who waded to the bank, one pulling and the other
pushing the canoe. There was no break in the abrupt banks for perhaps
a quarter of a mile, so it was some time before all on board had been
landed. The crew then began to dig away the sand that held the launch
fast.
The spot where the passengers had been landed was an open, treeless
plain with not a shelter in sight. At first the heat of the sun was
insufferable; then it began to rain as we had never seen it rain
before. No one had a poncho, so there was nothing to do but stand
quietly and endure the drenching downpour.
When the sand had been dug away the launch, suddenly freed, shot
down-stream a half mile before a landing could be effected. This of
course necessitated a long tramp through deep mud and tall, wet grass,
which added to the cheerlessness of the luckless, half-drowned victims
of backward methods of transportation. The banks were as steep as ever,
but a capybara runway, resembling a giant muskrat slide, had been
discovered, and down this we slid, one at a time, into the arms of two
negroes who acted as a back-stop below.
The delay prevented the launch from reaching Buga, so as soon as
darkness settled, she was tied up for the night. A great tree-trunk,
embedded in the sand with huge branches swaying high above the water,
lay near by. We swung our hammocks between the sturdy limbs, covered
them with mosquito-nets, and spent a miserable night; those who
attempted to sleep aboard had a harder time of it by far.
We were off with the first streak of dawn, startling flocks of muscovy
ducks and herons from near the banks. A faint blue mist was rising
slowly from the water, and the air was chill and damp. The mantle of
silence that falls over tropical South America at nightfall had not yet
been lifted. For some little time we glided on, farther and farther, it
seemed, into a great vacuity that led to some vaguely defined sanctuary
of everlasting peace and oblivion. Then, without warning, a sound so
terrible rent the vast solitude that it seemed as if some demon of the
wilds were taking a belated revenge for the few hours of quiet in which
the earth had rejoiced.
At first there was a series of low, gruff roars that would have done
credit to the most savage of lions, and made the very air tremble; but
this was not all. Added to the majestic frightfulness of the jungle
king’s voice was a quality of hate and treachery, of unfathomed rage
and malicious bitterness. Then followed in quick succession a number
of high-pitched, long-drawn wails or howls of tremulous quality
that gradually died, ending with a few guttural barks. This uncanny
performance lasted a number of minutes; but having perpetrated this
outrage upon a heretofore peaceful world, the weird chorus suddenly
stopped.
The mists of night had lifted, revealing clumps of tall bamboo and
the beginning of heavy forest. In the top of the very first trees sat
a group of large monkeys, red, with golden backs, properly called
howling monkeys; they were the authors of the terrific chorus we had
just heard. How an animal that rarely attains a weight of thirty
pounds can produce such loud sounds is most remarkable; the hyoid bone
is developed into a huge cup which gives resonance to the voice. The
howlers are rather sluggish and seldom descend from the trees. Their
roaring, which can be heard several miles, resounds through the forest
morning and night; whether it is merely a form of amusement with them,
or is used to intimidate enemies, seems to be unknown.
[Illustration: The _Caldas_ fast on a sand-bar in the Cauca River.]
[Illustration: Bamboo rafts on the Cauca River.]
Very little is known about the habits of howling monkeys, despite
their abundance and wide distribution. They are usually found in small
family parties, including young of various sizes; but I have noticed,
on various occasions, that the females desert from the troop when their
babies are males and do not rejoin it until the young are half-grown,
perhaps fearing that the old males will kill them; but I do not know if
this is always the case.
C. William Beebe, in the course of a lecture at the American Museum,
stated that he had on several occasions watched troops of these animals
feed, in British Guiana. The older ones sent their small young to the
tip of the slender branches that they, themselves, could not venture
upon on account of their weight, to pick fruits; then they pulled the
little ones back and robbed them of their food. This was repeated a
number of times.
The second night we tied up near a heavy growth of forest, at a place
called Riofrio. This is one of the few sections of the Cauca Valley
still retaining its original stand of virgin jungle. We slung our
hammocks between the trees. The nets furnished ample protection from
the mosquitoes, but not from an army of foraging ants that chanced our
way. From across the river came the whine of an ocelot, and the sharp
snort of deer, while more than once we were awakened by the pattering
and shuffle of cautious feet close at hand, some light, some heavy as
if belonging to a large animal.
Contrary to her custom, the _Caldas_ steamed on after dark on the third
night of her voyage. A train of bright sparks trailed far behind, and
when the wind blew it carried them into the boat where they set fire
to clothing and baggage alike. Within a short time we had reached the
port of Cartago, found the _arriero_ who was awaiting us with the
animals, and were off for Cartago a league away. The town was enveloped
in inky blackness, and fast asleep, notwithstanding the early hour. A
stray dog barked and a mule whinnied, but there were no other signs of
life.