FIFTEEN HUNDRED MILES ON THE ORINOCO
It seemed as if the declining sun had set the quivering world aflame;
all day long the _Delta_, well remembered but unbeloved by voyagers
on the Master River, had struggled on against the yellow flood toward
her goal two hundred and forty miles above the Parian Gulf. Not a
ripple stirred the placid water which glided ever onward, and no breeze
stirred the heavy, dark vegetation that lined the river’s bank. It had
been one of those days which only the traveller to tropical lands can
adequately picture; when all the earth silently droops beneath the
unrelenting glare of the lurid orb overhead, and eagerly awaits the
coming of night which alone can bring relief.
As the last vestige of the sullen disk dipped into the forest, and only
a faint pink and violet glow lit up the banks of vapors hanging low in
the west, the nightly gales from the ocean sprang up with unrestrained
vigor; soon a choppy sea was raging, and as each white-capped wave
struck her wooden sides with a muffled boom, the fragile, top-heavy
steamer shuddered and threatened to capsize. Morning, however, found
her still battling bravely with the somewhat subsided elements, and,
not long after, the _Delta_ was slowly dragging herself alongside the
high, sandy beach on which stands Ciudad Bolivar.
The first white man to ascend the Orinoco was Ordaz, who in 1531–2 went
as far as the mouth of the Meta; and after him came the usual bands of
treasure-seekers in quest of El Dorado; but instead of wonderful golden
cities they found yawning graves in a hostile wilderness.
In the middle of the eighteenth century missions, founded by the
Jesuit fathers, dotted the river-bank as far up as Esmeraldas; these
have long since vanished. Humboldt made his memorable voyage to the
Cassiquiare in 1800, and a number of other scientific expeditions
followed in his wake at irregular intervals; to enumerate them all
would be a tedious and unwarranted use of time. However, one remarkable
fact must not be overlooked, namely, that even to this day the actual
sources of the Orinoco have not been discovered.
To trace this huge artery to its very beginning, supposedly somewhere
in the Serrania de Parima on the Brazilian frontier was not the object
of our expedition; but rather to explore the regions north of the
inaccurately mapped Rio Cunucunuma, more particularly Mount Duida,
thought by many to be the locality described in a widely read book
entitled “The Lost World.” Of this country, and of the people and
animal life inhabiting its virgin wilds, very little was known.
With the tying up of the _Delta_ the first stage of our journey had
been completed.
Ciudad Bolivar, formerly called Angostura, meaning narrows, on account
of the narrowing of the Orinoco at this point to the width of a mile,
stands on an eminence on the left bank, and is the capital of the
Department of Guiana; it is the largest and only city of importance on
the river. The red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls of the houses can
be seen from afar. On landing, one is confronted by a strange medley
of low, thick-walled edifices; narrow, crooked streets, and swarthy,
unkempt people. Practically all of the windows are heavily barred, a
custom common in many parts of South America, and retained from the
Moors.
Whatever beauty attached to the place is indoors. There are no green
lawns or flowering gardens to cheer the eye of the passer-by; but a
glimpse behind the sombre walls will invariably reveal an open court or
_patio_ filled with flowers and tropical shrubbery, and occasionally
a fountain; but this is not all. In the _patio_ of the hotel, which
served as our headquarters, there lived in perfect harmony several
large tortoises, a deer, two sheep, about a dozen tree-ducks, turkeys,
chickens, guinea-fowl, and several pigs; fifteen species of birds,
including parrots, orioles, and finches occupied cages hanging on the
walls. The desire to keep caged animals is an inherent trait of the
South American. Back of the city lies an extensive swamp from which, at
least during the month of December, came great numbers of mosquitoes.
As may have been inferred, the heat was very great; but regularly at
nightfall the strong wind came up the river, causing a drop of several
degrees in the temperature; then the town cast off its torpor, lights
twinkled, the band played on the water-front, gayly dressed and painted
women peered from behind the heavily barred windows, the streets
were filled with a roving crowd of men and boys, and Ciudad Bolivar
presented a wide-awake appearance.
On the opposite side of the Orinoco is the small town of Soledad; this
village supplies a large portion of the sailors who man the boats
plying on the river.
Our first care was to try to find a way of proceeding on our voyage.
On account of the low stage of the water from the months of January
to March, steamers do not ascend beyond Ciudad Bolivar regularly,
and at best they go only as far as the Apure. It was, therefore,
decided to charter a sailboat of shallow draft which would take us
to the first great barrier to navigation, the cataracts of Atures.
To secure such a craft was not an easy matter. We visited several of
the large export houses, mostly German, but none of them had vessels
at their disposal. Finally, we heard of a man named Guillermo Montez;
he was a type frequently met with in South America; owning a small
store which contained chiefly long ropes of garlic festooned on the
walls, living in a mud hovel, and apparently poverty-stricken, he
nevertheless possessed great wealth and knew how to handle his fellow
countrymen. This “handling” consisted of keeping them constantly in
debt to himself, so that he owned them virtually body and soul. Montez
immediately sent to Soledad for one of his debtors, and within a short
time we had secured the contract for the transportation needed.
On December 16 word reached us that the boat was ready. We had spent
the intervening days adding to the stock of provisions brought from New
York, and it might be added that the shops of Ciudad Bolivar were well
filled with a splendid assortment of foodstuffs at reasonable prices.
The _Hilo de Oro_ (_Thread of Gold_), for that was the name of the
sloop impatiently bobbing near the bank, was a boat capable of
carrying one hundred and fifty _quintales_, under the command of
one Pedro Solano; her crew consisted of four men, and the captain’s
wife, whose position was that of cook. To properly load the equipment
and provisions required half a day, and with the springing up of
the evening wind we hoisted sail and, skirting the towering rocks
protruding from the centre of the river, glided easily to the other
side. As all the men came from Soledad, there followed a night of the
usual festivities of drinking and leave-taking; but with the rising
sun, the wind still holding out, we started on the real voyage up the
great river.
Fortunately, the wind was favorable and continued to blow
intermittently all day long; by ten o’clock at night we had covered
about thirty miles and cast anchor at a point called _Boca la Brea_.
The width of the river averaged about one mile and a half, and the
entire bed is strewn with huge boulders, rendering navigation at night
impossible.
Next day, a favorable wind did not reach us until late in the
morning, and we had our first glimpse of wild life. The crew, a
piratical-appearing band with unshaven faces, wearing short breeches
only, and red and blue handkerchiefs around their heads, landed a
number of large striped catfish; but their tackle was too light and
others of greater weight broke the lines and escaped. Numbers of
_caimans_, or crocodiles, floated lazily down-stream with only the
eyes and saw-like tails showing above the water; and a school of
fresh-water porpoises jumped and raced around the boat.
On the days that followed, the wind either died down entirely or
blew with terrific violence, so that slow progress was made. The
_chubascos_, or squalls, not uncommon on tropical rivers, come up
suddenly and without warning; a faint, funnel-shaped mass appears on
the horizon, followed by a low bank of black clouds, and fitful little
sandspouts that spring into existence on the vast _playas_. There is
never time to seek the leeward banks, and not a minute is lost in
lowering sails and placing every available object below to prevent its
being washed overboard. While Captain Solano shouted hoarse orders
and the crew worked like mad (the only time they really did work), we
donned our oilskins and awaited the coming of the storm. To go down
into the hatch was impossible, both on account of the lack of space
and the stifling heat. The wait was never very long; with a roar the
hurricane burst upon the quiet river, and in a few minutes everything
was obliterated in the dense fog and wall of falling water. The wind
tore through the rigging with agonized wails, and angry white-capped
waves sprang suddenly into existence, sweeping over the boat and
dashing it about like a cork in a millrace. There was nothing to be
done but wait until the storm subsided and hope that no obstructing
boulder, or the bank, would put an end to the madly careening craft in
the semidarkness. This lasted from fifteen minutes to an hour; then the
wind died down, the rain ceased, and the fog lifted. A changed river
presented itself. Monstrous waves, capped with foam, dashed and tore
at the high, crumbling banks, undermining them so that large sections
tumbled into the water, carrying with them tall trees and massed
vegetation. The agitated surface was littered with _débris_ which bore
good evidence of the violence of the storm.
After this there followed several days of calm; there was not enough
wind to fill the sails, and all the “whistling for a breeze” of the
sailors did exactly as much good as one would expect it to. Finally,
in desperation, a long rope was tied to the mast, and two men going
ahead in a canoe made the other end fast to a tree, a few hundred feet
ahead. The remaining members of the crew then hauled on the rope,
slowly drawing the boat forward. Progress was slow, of course, but
on the 22d we reached the _Puerto del Infierno_, the best possible
name for the narrow, rocky gorge through which the river rushes with
uncontrolled fury. A large mass of granite covered with low vegetation
divides the river into two narrow channels, one of them so protected
by high, rocky banks that no wind ever reaches the water, consequently
making it impossible for boats to sail up the passage. The other is a
narrow, rock-strewn gorge, down which the water thunders in a series
of cascades. On the right bank, perched high on the rocks, are a few
mud huts called _Pueblo de las Piedras_. We spent the greater part of a
day waiting for wind, and then made straight for the seething passage.
Fortunately our pilot was a good one; his method was to steer directly
for some great boulder, below which the water was quiet, and just as
the ship seemed about to strike he swung the tiller, and the boat
painfully nosed her way up the cataract that dashed down the sides of
the rock. If the breeze slackened for a moment the ship drifted back
with the strong current, which was extremely dangerous, as there was no
way of regulating her course; but always, just in the nick of time, the
sails filled and after an hour’s struggle we left the rapids and sailed
into the quiet water above.
Not far above the _Infierno_ is the village of Mapire, a neat
collection of perhaps fifty huts on a high bluff overlooking the river.
In back of the town are vast _llanos_, or grassy plains, which are
capable of supporting numerous herds of cattle. On the opposite side
of the river, and some little distance up, is the mouth of the Caura,
at one time believed to be the home of a tribe of headless people; but
the old superstition has been overthrown, and during the first month of
each year many adventurous parties ascend the river for a considerable
distance in search of the _serrapia_ or tonca-bean. The tree (_Dipteryx
odorata_) upon which the fruit grows resembles a mango, with spreading
branches and deep-green, dense leaves. The fruit also is very similar
to the mango, though green, with tough, fibrous flesh and a large seed.
While the fruit is still green great quantities of it are destroyed by
macaws and parrots, which take a bite or two, then drop the rest on the
ground. Upon ripening, the fruit falls, when it is gathered into heaps
and dried; the seeds are later cracked open and the strong-smelling
kernel extracted to be carefully preserved and sent to Ciudad Bolivar,
where it is treated in casks of rum and then exported. It is used in
making perfumes and flavoring extracts.
The water of the Caura is of a clear dark-red color, and for a great
distance after entering the Orinoco the two waters flow side by side
without mingling in the slightest degree.
The Orinoco widens into a majestic stream above this point, and we
estimated that the distance from bank to bank must in some places be
from three to five miles; also, vast sand-banks stretch along both
sides for a distance of many miles.
Caicara, the only town of importance on the Orinoco besides Ciudad
Bolivar, consisted at the time of our visit of about one hundred and
fifty houses, but on account of a rubber and _serrapia_ boom on the
Cuchivero many of the inhabitants were leaving for the latter place.
The next day we passed the mouth of the Apure, and just beyond the
mouth of the Arichuma; a great low, sandy island rises out of the
centre of the Orinoco at this point, on which thousands of terns,
skimmers, gulls, and other water-fowl were apparently nesting. All day
long and even at night the air was filled with darting, screaming birds
that made such a terrific din that it was impossible to sleep. High
waves prevented our landing on the island, but the natives visit it
regularly, taking away canoe-loads of eggs; for this reason the island
has been named _Playa de Manteca_, meaning in this case land of plenty.
The next settlement is called Urbana, and is on the south bank of
the river, almost opposite the mouth of the Arauca. It consists of
about a score of hovels. The Arauca is a river of considerable size,
and is said to be bordered by vast marshes and swamps, the home of
countless egrets and other water-birds. Hunting-parties ascend during
the nesting-season and kill great numbers of the birds; the plumes are
taken to Ciudad Bolivar and disposed of to the export dealers.
Leaving Urbana on the 29th, we entered one of the most difficult
stretches of the river to navigate. The fish-hook bend of the Orinoco
turns southward, and the eastern bank is dotted with a range of
low granite hills which are, in fact, a chain of giant, blackened,
dome-shaped boulders. The wind from the east, roaring through each
cleft and opening, strikes the river from several directions and with
cyclonic violence. One moment there is scarcely enough to make headway
against the current; the next a gust strikes the sails and sends the
ship wallowing on her beam until the boom drags in the water and it is
an even bet if she will gradually right herself or go over. At such
times of peril as well as on starting each morning it is the custom of
the sailors to pray. Of course they were all Catholics. The captain or
whoever steers said, “_Vamos con Dios_” (let us go with God), and the
others answered in chorus: “_Y con la Virgen_” (and with the Virgin).
Occasionally the person whose duty it was to lead was so occupied
rolling a cigarette or slapping at flies that he neglected his duty;
then some one was sure to remind him with a sarcastic “_Aha! Hoy
vamos como los Protestantes_” (Aha! To-day we are starting like the
Protestants). It often happened that the crew was remiss. The captain
repeated his lead several times without being heard; finally, his
patience exhausted, he shouted at the top of his voice, “_Vamos con
Dios, caramba_,” and the crew immediately yelled back at the top of
their voices: “_Y con la Virgen, caramba_.”
Added to the danger of the shifting gales is a rapids named San
Jorge. There was just enough water to cover the rocks which dot the
river-bed, causing a series of cross-currents and whirlpools which
only a Venezuelan boatman, trusting mainly to luck, can hope to pass
through. The rigging of the _Hilo de Oro_ was old and rotten, and ropes
were constantly snapping and sails splitting. No matter how obvious a
defect was, it was never remedied until an accident had occurred. The
boom had been threatening to break as each sudden gust of wind struck
the mainsail, but a few boards nailed across the weakened place it
was hoped would give sufficient strength for any emergency. An hour
after leaving San Jorge, however, the boom parted with a loud report
and dropped into the water, nearly upsetting the boat. Then, while the
craft wallowed on her side with the deck awash there ensued a good deal
of mingled praying, swearing, and frantic work until the heavy boom was
fished out of the water. We tied up at the bank, cut down a tree, and
worked the greater part of the night replacing the broken member.
One of the curious granite battlements rears its head out of the
water to a height of several hundred feet, and is somewhat suggestive
of a small edition of the famous Sugar-Loaf Rock at the entrance to
the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. This is called Treasure Rock, and no
Venezuelan ever passes the spot without casting envious glances to the
top. In the days when the old Spaniards were still wandering over the
newly discovered lands in search of El Dorado, so the story goes, they
penetrated far into the Cerro Sipapo and found rich treasures in gold
and precious stones. The Guajibo Indians, in whose domain they had
penetrated and whom they had robbed, finally tired of their unwelcome
guests and chased them down the river. In desperation the Spaniards
formed a stronghold on this island rock, driving iron spikes into its
sides as a means of reaching the top; for many weeks they resisted a
siege by the savage hordes, but with the coming of the rainy season the
Indians withdrew to their mountain fastness. Finally the Spaniards
came down, cutting off the spikes as they descended; they feared
pursuit, so left the treasure on the rock, hoping to come for it when
reinforcements had been secured; they never returned, and to this day
the fabulous wealth of the Guajibos lies entombed on the top of the
impregnable boulder.
The Meta is a mighty river coming from the immense prairie region of
eastern Colombia. It is navigable for the greater part of its course,
and should be the means of opening up illimitable grazing areas when
the Orinoco is thrown open to free navigation. Where the Meta joins the
Orinoco, the latter is fully two miles wide; near its mouth the country
is covered with a dense scrub growth. As we neared the mouth of the
great river several large canoes filled with Indians, of the Guajibo
tribe, shot from an invisible hiding-place near the bank and made for
the centre of the stream. They have an unsavory reputation among the
river-men, and Captain Solano added little gayety to the occasion when
he prophesied an attack and armed his men. On they came, swiftly and
silently, the dusky, naked bodies bending in perfect unison, and the
great muscles of the arms and shoulders rippling in the sunlight as
they drove the short, pointed paddles deep into the water with vigorous
strokes; but our suspicions proved to be unfounded. They passed rapidly
on some secret mission of their own without even condescending to
glance in our direction. This utter indifference to strangers, I found
later, is a characteristic common to all Indians of the Upper Orinoco.
A man might be drowning or stranded on a rock, but they would pass him
quietly in their canoes without apparently seeing him; they would pay
not the slightest attention to his cries for help. Their ill treatment
at the hands of strangers has been so great that they have lost all
confidence in any one unknown to them, and so they retaliate by
feigning indifference to him, even in his direst need.
The nights were usually spent aboard ship. If there was no wind it
was safe to tie up to some tree; or if darkness overtook us near a
playa the anchor was carried ashore and buried in the sand. While the
cook prepared supper on the brazier or over a fire built on the bank,
hammocks were strung in the rigging, and then we fished until time to
retire.
Fish were always abundant and of many varieties. One kind that
was taken frequently and that was excellent eating was a catfish,
weighing up to twenty-eight pounds, of a deep brownish color with
wavy bluish-gray lines running along its sides, called _vagre tigre_;
another species of catfish, frequently of a weight of seventy-five
pounds or more, and of a deep slate color, was not uncommon; there was
also a third about eighteen inches long, with a large, narrow head and
“feelers” as long as the body, that was always sure to be among the
catch; but neither of the two last named was ever eaten, as the flesh
was said to be poisonous. The crew was always careful to clean all
fish immediately and place them under cover; if left exposed to the
moonlight overnight they were unfit for food.
The hoarse cough of jaguars was heard almost nightly; it was the season
when great numbers of turtles left the river at nightfall to deposit
their eggs in the sand-banks, and the jaguars left the forest at dark
to dig up and feed on these eggs. One night, just as the boat had
drawn up to the high sand-bank preparatory to tying up, one of the
huge cats was discovered sitting ten feet above us quietly surveying
the scene on deck; there was a rush for the guns, but when they were
secured the jaguar had disappeared. A clear sweep of loose sand with
a low bush here and there stretched back a mile from the river to the
heavy forest, and in the brilliant moonlight it was easy to trace the
animal’s tracks as it started toward cover. Several times its shadowy
form was visible, slinking from one bush to another a few rods away,
but always out of range; after half an hour the tracks were lost in
the edge of the forest. We returned to the ship. Before replacing the
guns in the hatch some one casually broke his, which action led to the
discovery that it contained no shells; neither were the others loaded.
One of the men while cleaning them that afternoon had removed the
cartridges and failed to reload them. Fortunately, the jaguar is not
quite as savage as he is usually pictured, or there might have been a
lively scene on the _playa_.
There is but one other rapid of importance in the Orinoco before
reaching the cataracts of Atures, and that is San Borja, not far above
the mouth of the Meta. Just above this narrow stretch of seething
water we met another boat about the size of the _Hilo de Oro_, which
was cruising back and forth near the bank, her crew directing loud
shouts toward the forest at frequent intervals. Upon inquiry we found
that one of the men had gone into the woods to cut a pole; the other
members of the crew had heard him chopping, as he had not entered the
matted vegetation more than fifty feet; suddenly the chopping ceased,
but the man did not come out; although they had searched far and near,
no trace of him had been found, and this was the fourth day after his
disappearance. The supposition was that he had been killed and carried
away by Indians.
Perrico was formerly the port of call for sailing craft below Atures.
At the time of our arrival there was nothing whatever there, not even
a single hut. We continued up the river half a mile to a place called
Vagre; here we found the remains of two palm-leaf huts, long since
fallen down and overgrown with vegetation. In the small clearing a few
cotton-stalks, beans, pawpaws, and castor-bean bushes still struggled
for existence with the invading hosts of creepers and second-growth
sprouts; the forest was rapidly reclaiming its own. On the sandy
river-bank were the tracks of jaguars and caimans. At this point the
river is divided into a number of branches by islands, and the one on
which Vagre was situated is not over five hundred feet wide. Beyond
this point a boat of any size cannot proceed; it is the foot of the
series of cataracts, six miles long, known as the rapids of Atures. We
sent a man overland to Zamuro for a _falca_, which is a canoe with the
sides heightened with boards; and while our luggage was being rowed up
the swift stream, we walked near the bank.
The aneroid, read at water-level, gave an elevation of three hundred
and fifty feet; perhaps this is somewhat too high. Between Vagre and
Zamuro a row of rounded, black rocks rise to a height of two hundred
and fifty feet above the river, on the eastern side. Many boulders of
enormous proportions lie sprinkled about in the most irregular manner,
as far as we could see, and in spots there are outcroppings of ledges
of quartz. The tops of the rounded granite hills are hard and glazed,
so that they glisten in the sunlight as if covered with a coating
of ice. There are but a few stunted trees, and where any vegetation
can get a foothold tough, wiry grass grows; this is the home of many
rabbits and rattlesnakes.
Zamuro we found to consist of three grass huts newly built and occupied
by sick, miserable Venezuelan families. The heat is terrific, and
mosquitoes and sand-flies first begin to make their presence known
in considerable numbers. The river scenery is really magnificent;
huge boulders of fantastic shape strew the river-bed, and rear their
heads high above the seething torrent; against them the water dashes
ceaselessly, surging and swirling in mad endeavors to destroy them,
only to be baffled by the immovable sentinels and hurled back again to
collide with their brethren equally unrelenting and equally impervious
to the roaring onslaught. The scene is awe-inspiring.
The next step was to secure ox-carts to carry the _impedimenta_ to the
Rio Catañapo, three miles away, and this we crossed in a canoe, landing
practically at Atures. The governor of the Upper Orinoco, General
Roberto Pulido, made Catañapo his home. He was ordinarily supposed to
reside in San Fernando de Atabapo, but on account of his arbitrary
methods of government he was so greatly disliked that he decided it was
“healthier” to live elsewhere.
The Catañapo is a turbulent stream of clear, cold water that dashes
down from the near-by Cerro Sipapo. Not far above its mouth is a
good-sized village of Piaroas, who come down occasionally with
plantains, pawpaws, and other fruits which they exchange for cloth and
sugar at Atures. When the Indians come down they apparently bring with
them numbers of freshly killed monkeys, the flesh of which is greatly
esteemed as food. We saw several heaps of the charred bones near
frequently used camping-sites, here as well as at Zamuro.
The clear water of the Catañapo abounds in fish which may be seen
twenty-five feet or more beneath the surface. Some were fully two feet
long and resembled giant black bass; they refused to be tempted with
meat bait, but rushed greedily for bright-colored objects such as fruit
and flowers; they would take half an orange at a gulp.
Atures, consisting of six or eight mud and grass huts, owes its
existence to the fact that the governor lives on the Catañapo and
all the residents are his employees. Formerly the town was larger
and there were thirty ox-carts plying back and forth across the
portage; but the governor promptly selected the few he wanted and then
discouraged competition in such a manner that he was shortly left alone
in the field. To us he was most cordial, and immediately placed his
carts at our disposal; nor did he examine our luggage, which was his
self-imposed duty, and extract anything that suited his fancy.
The two miles from Atures to Salvajito, the port of embarkation above
Atures Rapids, were covered in ox-carts which lumbered slowly along
over the uneven semiarid country. Salvajito was only a small cleared
space in the forest fringing the river.
The next step of the journey was to traverse the forty miles of river
between Atures and the second great cataract at Maipures. Only a small
canoe was available, so leaving my assistant and a number of the men
to guard the left-over luggage, I started with three paddlers. The
canoe was only eighteen feet long, with about two inches of freeboard,
but fortune favored us and after two days we reached the mouth of
the Tuparo. The first night out had been spent on a _laja_, or shelf
of rock which extends over the water; the men set the dry vegetation
in back of the camp afire in order to keep away jaguars, and built
a fence of brands along the outer edge of the rock to frighten off
the crocodiles. The second night was spent on a large sand-bank just
below the rapid of Guajibo. In approaching this site the canoe had
been caught in a sudden hurricane and swamped before land could be
reached; but fortunately we had gained shallow water, so nothing was
lost. On this sand-bar lived three species of terns, one of very small
size that came in immense flocks after nightfall and, dropping on the
sand, immediately disappeared from view; also numbers of yellow-legs
and a few gulls. The wind blew steadily all night, so that by morning
everything and every one was half buried in the loose sand.
The rapid of Guajibo is one of the most treacherous in the whole
Orinoco. Each year the rubber-gatherers pay heavy toll in lives while
traversing this notorious spot. A great horseshoe-shaped ledge of
rock extends across practically the entire river, and over this the
water rushes at great speed; below is a series of scattered rocks
extending for a quarter of a mile, and forming a raging, roaring gorge.
We portaged around the spot, although the country is very difficult,
owing to the many high rocks and the deep crevices between them. An
acquaintance who had just passed attempted to have his men drag their
boat through, with the result that they lost the canoe and three men.
Shortly after a large _piragua_ coming from up-river attempted to run
the rapids to save time; seven of the crew, as well as the owner of the
outfit, paid for their folly with their lives, and the entire cargo
of rubber, together with the boat, was lost. A few days later another
party wrecked their canoe and lost two men. These are all cases which
came under our notice, and I was told of many others.
The port of Maipures is on the Rio Tuparo, about half a mile above its
mouth. This river, some two hundred yards wide, comes rushing out of
the interior of Colombia down a rocky river-bed. Where the landing was
effected we found only the parched plain, a trail leading away from
the river to the settlement of Maipures, a good three miles away. We
pitched camp near the water, and the canoe and two men were immediately
sent back for another load of the equipment. There was not much life
along this part of the river. Numerous iguanas spent the hot hours
burrowing in the sand, and if disturbed either ran away in the brush
or plunged into the water. Both green and blue kingfishers clattered
noisily on the opposite side, and a few large gray herons flapped up
and down over the centre of the stream. We could constantly hear the
loud roar of the Maipures Rapids, and the water rushing down the course
of the main river was covered with foam.
Five days after our arrival the second load, in charge of my assistant,
arrived. They had met with a mishap in the rapid of Guajibo, and
one man and the canoe were lost. For nearly two days they had been
stranded on an island and besieged by a party of Indians from the
Sipapo; the occupants of a passing canoe, seeing their plight, came
to the rescue, and brought them on to the Tuparo. While the borrowed
canoe returned for the remaining members of the party, we busied
ourselves transferring camp to Maipures, above the head of the rapids.
The intervening country is level and covered with a sparse growth of
clumps of wiry grass and patches of low woods; near the watercourse the
trees are taller and the vegetation more dense. The town, consisting
of six adobe houses with thatched roofs, nestles in a little grove of
mango and tonca-bean trees, and from a short distance away is very
picturesque; but like all the rest of the plain it is insufferably hot
and the myriads of sand-flies quivering like heat-waves in the air make
life almost unbearable.
[Illustration: The village of Maipures.]
[Illustration: The _Hilo de Oro_ at the end of the voyage.]
While waiting for a boat of ample size to take us up the river to
San Fernando de Atabapo, we had time to explore the surrounding country
and to visit the rapids, three in number, which obstruct the river. The
woods are wonderful beyond description; most of the trees are gnarled
and low, as if grown under the guiding hand of a skilful Japanese
gardener, and have the appearance of being hundreds of years old.
Stunted spiny palms rear their crowns here and there, and an occasional
tangle of red-flowered creepers forms an umbrella-like mass on the
tip of some slender, dead stub. The ground is sprinkled with rocks of
fantastic shapes, and some are of enormous size, rising in needle-like,
fluted columns, or as the crumbling tiers of massive walls amid the
curiously distorted vegetation. Along the river are other masses of
rock, but of an entirely different formation; we saw caves and grottos,
and ledges honeycombed with hundreds of pot-holes exposed by the low
water.
Beyond the woods are large areas of cacti, pineapples, and low, thorny
bushes, springing from crevices in the granite ledges. Bird life is
abundant and varied. Quail and red-breasted meadow-larks occupy the
open country, as well as a species of the much-sought tinamou; but
a bird that proved to be the most interesting was a small, obscure
individual called nunlet or swallow-wing. All day long the little
creature, about the size of a king-bird, black above and gray below,
with a saffron band across the throat, sits on the top of some dead
tree, seemingly asleep; but let a fly or an insect of almost any kind
pass along and the bird immediately becomes charged with activity and
darts into the air in hot pursuit, catches its victim, and returns
to its perch with graceful flits of the wings. It remains on the
same twigs for hours, and usually returns day after day. If a stick
is thrown at it the little creature flies away and comes back again
and again. But stupid as the bird appears to be, it is nevertheless
a skilful architect. I have seen them dig perfectly round holes deep
into a bank of sand so loose that the whole mass would crumble at my
touch; while one bird digs with much scratching and working of wings,
the mate sits on a branch near by and gives a twitter of alarm upon
the approach of danger. Some members of the family build a huge pile
of twigs on the entrance to their burrow to hide it. At the end of the
tunnel, a foot or two back, the snow-white eggs are laid upon a thin
layer of straw and feathers.
The highest falls in the river are known as Carretia, and are supposed
to be about thirty feet high; they block the eastern channel of the
river, here divided into two branches by the immense Isla de Raton. In
the western arm the Raudal del Conejo and Raudal Saltinero effectively
block this watercourse to navigation. It is said that the Spaniards
built a road from Atures to the foot of the Cerro Sipapo above the
falls of Carretia, and that the Indians still follow this route
occasionally. If true, this was doubtless a great convenience, as it
did away with the necessity of navigating some fifty-odd miles of the
most difficult and dangerous waterway of the entire river.
A large boat called _piragua_ was obtained at Maipures, and in this
the expedition travelled to San Fernando de Atabapo in six days’ time.
The river is dotted with a number of islands, the largest being the
great Isla de Raton, all heavily forested; the current is frequently
so strong that no headway could be made either by rowing or poling the
heavy boat. At such times a thick cable of the braided fibre of a palm
called _chiquechique_ had to be requisitioned, and everybody walked on
the bank, dragging the boat slowly along. The very first day the man
in the lead ran into a bushmaster fully eight feet long, and narrowly
escaped the vicious thrust of the deadly reptile; a charge of shot soon
put an end to the creature’s menacing career, but the men jumped into
the boat and did not want us to take along the dead snake, or they said
its mate would be sure to follow and inflict a terrible revenge for the
loss of its companion; this kind of superstition is very common among
the natives on the Orinoco. Few of them would dare shoot a jaguar, as
they firmly believe that for every one slain a member of their own
family would be carried away by one of the huge spotted cats.
The country on the Colombian side, from below Atures onward, is level
llano, covered with a good growth of grass, and with an abundance of
water. Some day, no doubt, and in the near future, numerous herds of
cattle will graze in the rich pasturage awaiting them, and another
source will be added to the world’s limited supply of meat. A fringe of
trees grows along the river; among them are the valuable “cachicamo”
and “cedro,” the trunks of which are frequently fashioned into canoes
by the natives.
The Vichada, at this season, had dwindled down until at its mouth it
was not more than a hundred yards wide. We could see a range of hills
far to the west, dimly outlined against the sky and finally fading into
obscurity in the haze; in this direction the river has its origin.
Several Piaroa families had settled near the junction of the two rivers
and built a large hut of palm-leaves and grass. The men lounged in
their hammocks all day long, drinking rum and fighting the clouds of
sand-flies which feasted on their half-naked bodies; at night they
crossed to one of the numerous sand-banks and collected basketsful of
turtle eggs and also as many turtles as their canoes would hold. Some
of their canoes were mere shells, so small that we could never learn
how to negotiate them; no matter how quietly we sat they upset as soon
as pushed out into the current, but an Indian or even two would calmly
squat down in the bottom, take up their paddles, and glide away without
the least concern.
The women were making cassava bread; after the tubers (_Manihot
utilissima_) are ground and the juice has been extracted a thin layer
of the coarse meal is spread on the bottom of a shallow pan about
three feet in diameter; the heat causes the particles to adhere,
forming a tough, round wafer which can be turned without breaking; it
is thoroughly baked on both sides. When cold it hardens, and the huge
slabs are then done up in bundles of twenty to forty each, tied up in
plantain leaves, and in this way it can be kept indefinitely. This is
the bread of the Orinoco, and is always carried as the main article
of provision by Indians and travellers alike; when needed pieces are
broken off, dipped in the river to soak a few minutes and then eaten.
While not particularly appetizing, the slightly acid flavor is not
unpleasant, and if there is time to freshly toast it just before using
it is really quite palatable. Another article commonly prepared by the
Piaroas is the bark of a certain tree, called “tabari.” Long, narrow
strips are cut from the trees and alternately soaked in water and
beaten between rocks until the thin layers separate into tissue-like
sheets; these are used in rolling cigarettes.
One of the granite ledges flanking the river just above the Piaroa
dwelling bears on its surface a number of curious figures, carved in
the face of the rock; unfortunately the water was so low that we passed
far beneath them, and I was unable to make out just what they were; but
the canoemen who had seen them a number of times said they were figures
of men and date back to prehistoric times.
The country now rapidly grows wilder; tall forest replaces llanos
or scattered growth, and the camps of rubber-collectors dot the
river-banks. One afternoon, as we poled quietly along, we came upon a
huge anaconda coiled up on a sand-bank; all about were iguanas three or
four feet long, digging nesting burrows in the loose sand. The snake
had just caught one of the big lizards and was crushing it into a limp
mass, but the others paid not the slightest attention to the tragedy
which was being enacted in their midst, and ran about or worked but a
few feet away. When we approached to within twenty feet the anaconda
dropped its victim and flung itself into the water; some of the iguanas
followed it, and others scampered away over the sand.
That night we reached the low, sandy island of Tanaja and, ascending
one of the branches of the river, made camp on the rocky mainland. The
water was sluggish and shallow, so that we could easily see the muddy
bottom six or eight feet below. As the boat moved slowly along we
became aware of masses of black, flitting shadows underneath, and soon
made out vast shoals of fish of various sizes that literally covered
the bottom. There were rays, electric eels, catfish, and _piranhas_ by
the thousands, besides many others which we could not identify; the
reason for their congregating in this shallow place is hard to guess.
The boulders on the bank were dotted with what we at first took to be
lichens; but examination showed them to be night-hawks (_Chordeiles
rupestris_) of a light gray color, which clung to the rounded tops
silent and immovable, as if carved out of stone. When we paddled across
to the island a short while after, we found scores of others, but
these were the females squatting on one or two fragile speckled eggs
which had been laid in shallow hollows scooped out of the warm sand.
They were very tame and permitted me to walk up to within a few feet
of them; then they took wing and with noiseless, graceful flaps flew a
short distance away and dropped back on the sand.
Flocks of red-and-blue macaws flew screaming across the river in
quest of some favorite tree in which to spend the night, far in the
depths of the forest; after them trailed parrots of various sizes and
colors, always flying two by two. Herons flapped lazily up-stream, and
snake-birds perched on snags looked down at the masses of fish below,
apparently regretting their limited capacity for eating. Exciting as
this naturally must be to a field-naturalist, it was but a foretaste of
what we were to find each day farther up the river.
As the morning of January 24 sped by, the water of the Orinoco began to
assume a dark color, and by four o’clock that afternoon we had reached
the mouth of the Atabapo; an hour and a half later we had ascended the
clear red water of that river for a distance of three miles, and tied
the _piragua_ to the ledge below San Fernando.
San Fernando de Atabapo is the last settlement on the Orinoco and was
the base from which we hoped to make our dash to the unexplored regions
about Mount Duida.