CROSSING THE BOLIVIAN HIGHLANDS FROM COCHABAMBA TO THE CHAPARÉ
Cochabamba is one of the more important cities of Bolivia. In size it
ranks next to La Paz, although it is not nearly so modern, and in point
of activity it is far in advance of Sucre. The population is about
thirty-five thousand.
The plain upon which the city is built was at one time the bottom
of a lake, which fact is indicated by its ancient name of Oropeza,
a Quechua word meaning “plain of the lake.” On account of its high
elevation, which is approximately eight thousand five hundred feet
above sea-level, the region enjoys a mild climate; the average annual
temperature is 66° F. Rain falls in abundance during the months from
November to April; and during the dry months irrigation is resorted to
for providing water to the fields of alfalfa and grain. The country is
naturally of a decidedly semiarid character.
The city boasts a number of fairly modern buildings, although by
far the greater number are of the low adobe type with thatched or
tile roofs; delightful little plazas filled with tropical trees and
shrubbery relieve the monotony of the rows of white edifices.
The shops are filled with provisions and dry-goods at remarkably low
prices; the city market is supplied with a superabundance of produce,
flowers, and articles of native manufacture; the people are courteous
and obliging, and the great numbers of Indians and Cholos give a touch
of gayety and color to the throngs which fill the streets.
Among the city’s institutions deserving of special mention is the
Cochabamba Institute, founded in 1911. The instructors are nearly all
Americans of the type one meets all too rarely in South America,
and who are really doing a great and noble work in furthering the
educational and moral progress of the country. Several hundred students
of both sexes, from many and remote parts of Bolivia, attend the
literary and business classes of the college, live under the care
and refining influence of its instructors, and, as I subsequently
discovered, introduce into their homes the desirable and elevating
qualities which they have acquired.
To the northwest towers the Cerro Tunari, a mountain over fifteen
thousand feet high and of imposing appearance. It rises in majestic
proportions above the uneven summits of the cordillera, in a manner
befitting a snow-crowned monarch of the range.
We spent several days in the city, adding to our outfit and purchasing
mules, and then started eastward _en route_ to the Beni district; it
was our intention to go slowly and stop at places which offered a
suitable field for our operations.
Leaving Cochabamba on the afternoon of May 9, 1915, we rode the fifteen
miles to the town of Sacaba, arriving there at dusk. The intervening
country is thickly settled, and large areas are irrigated and planted
in alfalfa, maize, wheat, grapes, and vegetables. Nearly all the
inhabitants are Indians of the Quechua race.
Beyond Sacaba the trail adheres closely to the bed of a small stream,
and ascends at a steep angle. Numerous little canals carry the water
along the mountainside, and the country is dotted with small stone huts
surrounded by carefully cultivated fields; this is made possible by the
fact that the rivulet never dries, but, on the contrary, supplies a
constant stream of water of sufficient volume to irrigate a large area.
The canals have been dug with great precision; each family uses only as
much as required, and at stated intervals, so there is enough for all.
The trail goes up steadily until an elevation of twelve thousand feet
is reached. As we neared the top a strong wind sprang up, so that it
was difficult to keep one’s place in the saddle. The mountainside is
covered with small, round rocks of uniform size, such as one would
usually expect to find in a dry river-bed.
Beyond the high summit of the first ridge lies the high mountain
valley in which is located the Quechua village of Cuchicancha (meaning
“pig-pen”). There are several score of huts scattered about in little
groups, and built of rocks, with thatched roofs. The Indians speak
practically no Spanish, and live in much the same way as they did
in the days of Atahualpa. In order to cultivate the land they have
gathered the rocks which everywhere carpet the ground into huge piles,
and also built fences of them; large quantities of potatoes, ocas, and
avas are grown.
Each family owns a flock of sheep, which apparently replace the llamas
of olden days, although flocks of the latter animals are still to be
seen frequently; also a few pigs and burros. They have likewise taken
to cultivating wheat, oats, and rye.
We decided to spend a week at Cuchicancha and succeeded in persuading
an old Quechua man to rent us his hut for that length of time. He spoke
not a word of Spanish, or at least pretended that he knew nothing
whatever of that language, so all conversation had to be carried on
through an interpreter. As our coming was a complete surprise to him,
he asked if he could occupy the habitation with us for a few nights
until he had time to find sleeping-quarters elsewhere; to this we, of
course, consented. One night I was awakened by loud talking, and much
to my astonishment found that the aged Indian, who had evidently taken
too much _chicha_ during the day, was restlessly tossing on his pile
of sheepskins and blankets, and talking in his sleep--in excellent
_Spanish_. After that we conversed with him without the aid of an
interpreter, and he understood every word of it, too.
The weather at Cuchicancha was splendid; it was autumn, and while the
nights were cold, the days were always comfortably warm. The Indians
were friendly and brought us eggs, goats’ milk, chickens, and bread.
Each morning the children took the flocks to the narrow river-bed to
feed on the sparse vegetation, and at night they brought them back to
the stone corrals; they took a few boiled potatoes with them for lunch,
and also their spinning for pastime. All spin except the men; and every
one had an abundance of blankets and _ponchos_; even the bags for grain
and potatoes are made of homespun wool.
The harvest had been gathered and every one seemed contented. One
day a party of Indians collected to thresh wheat; from a distance I
could hear the boom of a drum and the shrill wail of reed flutes; as
I approached, a strange sight met my eyes. Bundles of grain had been
piled in a high mound, on the top of which sat the musicians; a dozen
mounted Indians were driving a herd of mules and burros around the
base. Around and around they went at a frantic pace, keeping perfect
time with the music; as the animals circled the stack a man on top
cast armfuls of wheat down in their path, so that in running over it
repeatedly they naturally trampled out the grain. About a hundred men,
each holding to a long rope, formed a circular fence around the racing
mob and prevented any of the animals from escaping.
We were surprised at the abundance of life in this naturally barren
region. There were practically no indigenous trees, but a long line of
willows had been planted near one of the houses, and to these thousands
of cowbirds, doves, and finches came each night to sleep. A short walk
across the stubble-fields always revealed something new. There were
tinamou which rose with a loud _whir_, reminding one of partridges;
many species of brownish birds belonging to the wood-hewer family, one
of them with a long, curved bill, but they ran about on the ground or
perched on the stone fences; large flickers lived among the rocks, and
condors soared above; and there were even flocks of gulls and plovers.
The most unusual birds were two species of very small parrakeets which
clambered about over the rocks and slept in holes in the high banks.
Vast numbers of cavies lived in the rock-piles, from which they sallied
at all hours of the day in quest of food, and many small rodents
inhabited the grain-fields.
A good trail leads eastward from Cochicancha; the summit of the range
rises about two leagues from the settlement. At the time of our visit
the black, rocky peaks were covered with a mantle of snow and an icy
wind swept through the cleft which serves as a pass. The elevation of
the trail is thirteen thousand four hundred feet. At the base of the
towering masses which rise several hundred feet above the passage,
lies a placid little lake, and ducks, and gulls were swimming on its
peaceful surface. Condors swept down from above to inspect us, and then
soared back to their dizzy perches among the unscalable crags.
On the eastern side of the divide the trail leads downward abruptly,
and the character of the country changes; at eleven thousand feet a
sparse growth of bushes appears, growing denser with each passing mile.
Suddenly we found ourselves on the rim of a gorge through which the
Incachaca River rushes--a raging mountain torrent fed by snows melting
in the high altitudes. The path is a mere shelf cut in the face of the
cliff; to the left rise the smooth walls of frowning, black rock; to
the right is a sheer drop to the river. We could peer over the edge of
the precipice and see drifting clouds two thousand feet below, filling
the chasm and shutting from view the bottom hundreds of feet lower down.
At seven thousand seven hundred feet the forest begins; a collection
of half a dozen huts called Incachaca nestles in its inner border,
and there we decided to remain for a few weeks. We secured space in a
large house belonging to an organization which is engaged in digging a
canal along the opposite side of the gorge; when this work is completed
the water of the river will be turned into the artificial course and
utilized for running dynamos to furnish electricity for the light and
street-car service of Cochabamba. A power-house had been constructed at
the bottom of the ravine, and the lines for transmitting the current
had been strung across the mountains.
At Incachaca the river flows through an underground channel; while
exploring the forest one day we came suddenly upon the narrow cleft in
the mountainside, scarcely a dozen feet across, and with a great deal
of effort were finally able to distinguish the roaring white torrent a
hundred feet below. The edges of the cleft are so overgrown with ferns
that one has no idea of its existence until the very brink is reached.
A short distance below, the river emerges from the darkened cavern, and
plunging over the face of a precipice, thunders into a pool in a sheer
drop of fifty or sixty feet.
We found the upper limit of a subtropical fauna at Incachaca.
Bird-flocks travelled hurriedly through the trees; they were composed
of bright-colored tanagers, finches, and cotingas. Honey-creepers and
hummers were plentiful in the flowering shrubs. Queer little ducks
called merganettas disported in the pool below the falls, and dippers
ran nimbly along the edge of the water. In one of the tall trees near
the river we discovered the nest of an eagle. We found it impossible to
climb the tree, but a German named Ricardo Marquardt, who was in charge
of the workmen along the river, succeeded in reaching the huge mass of
sticks seventy feet above the ground, and brought down a beautifully
spotted egg. To my companion, Mr. Howarth S. Boyle, who accompanied
me on the entire trip, belongs the credit of taking the rarest
birds from this locality; they were a pair of white-eared thrushes
(_Entomodestes_), which, so far as I can learn, exist in only two other
museums. Among the lower growth lived many ant-thrushes (_Grallaria_),
whose clear call could be heard at all hours of the day. This is one
of the hardest of all birds to collect. The long-legged, tailless
songsters never leave the thick growth of ferns and brush, and the
only way to secure them is to enter the dense cover, sit quietly, and
imitate the clear, ringing call in the hope of attracting the birds;
sometimes this requires hours of patient work, and more often than not
the effort is futile.
Coatimondis, or raccoons, roamed in the woods in small bands, sniffing
in the damp mould and searching for insects; while feeding they uttered
deep grunts, but when frightened they gave a succession of rapid
bird-like chirps. These animals spend a good deal of their time in the
trees, but are almost invariably found on the ground in the daytime;
when pursued they are very pugnacious and it takes an exceptionally
agile dog indeed to avoid being severely torn by the sharp teeth and
claws. In captivity they become very tame, and make nice little pets,
although their mischievous disposition often gets them into trouble.
From Incachaca to Locotál is a distance of only eight miles, but the
scenery along a part of the route is as impressive as any to be found
in the entire Andean chain; perhaps the gorge of the Urubamba, in Peru,
alone equals it in grandeur and awe-inspiring magnificence. The bare,
shattered, and split crags reach many hundred feet above the trail,
and stand in a leaning position so that the tops actually hang over
the narrow passageway as if threatening to topple over at any moment;
below, the steep slope is covered with huge boulders which have fallen
from the towering masses above.
At Locotál there are but half a dozen houses, occupied by Quechua
families who subsist mainly on the profits derived from the sale of
_chicha_. We stopped a few days in a hut owned by a kind-hearted old
woman who gave us permission to use it; next day we found that we were
occupying the schoolroom, and the teacher followed by his half-dozen
ragged scholars came to take possession. He tried to show us how
important it was to have the place at once, but we saw no reason why he
could not conduct his class out under the trees just as well as under
the shelter; this suggestion offended him very much, so greatly to
the delight of the pupils he declared a vacation until the _gringos_
should move on.
_Chicha_, the native drink of Quechuas and Bolivians alike, is a kind
of corn-beer; it is made by grinding maize into a fine meal, after
which the women and children thoroughly masticate a part of it; water
is added to the mass and the thick liquid is boiled several hours,
after which it is poured into jars to ferment; it is of a yellow color,
has a tart, agreeable taste, and is intoxicating.
The forest at Locotál is somewhat taller than at Incachaca, but the
birds are of a similar character. Very abundant and beautiful were the
brilliant cocks-of-the-rock; the bright, orange-red creatures flashed
through the deep green of the forest like fiery comets and, perching
on the low branch of a tree, quietly surveyed their surrounding, or
uttered hoarse, croaking calls. This bird is most conspicuous in its
natural environment. Among the other large birds were green toucans
(_Aulacorhynchus_); the natives hunted them on every possible occasion
for the sake of obtaining the bill, which they use as _remedio_, the
rasping sound made by rubbing the mandibles together being supposed to
be an unfailing cure for epilepsy.
While pursuing our work at Locotál, a man named Quiroga chanced to
pass, and begged that we pay him the honor of stopping at his house
some distance below; it was a charming place, he said, in the very
heart of the wonderful Yungas. We gladly accepted his invitation, and
one morning loaded our outfit on mules and started down the trail. For
a mile there is only a narrow ledge in the face of a rounded mountain
of dark sandstone; a few stunted sprouts, and myriads of orchids
covered with purple blooms, have secured a precarious foothold in
crevices in the glazed surface; hundreds of feet below, but invisible,
the river tears through a narrow gorge. At one point a strip of the
shelf upon which we travelled had entirely disappeared; we could not
see the bottom of the canyon--its depth was too great--but there were
evidences we could not mistake, telling us the history of the gap in
the trail. Vultures hovered over the spot and perched on the scant
vegetation, and from below came an overpowering stench. What more was
needed to reveal the fact that the missing section of trail, in its
mad dash through space, had taken with it the pack-train of mules, and
probably the men attending them, which chanced to be passing at the
time.
Miguelito is only three miles below Locotál, and consists of three or
four huts in the centre of a grassy clearing. The Quechuas who live
there are friendly, and one may be sure of a welcome for a night’s stop.
At five thousand five hundred feet the forest becomes taller and the
trees attain a greater diameter. The vegetation of the subtropic zone
reaches its highest development at this altitude. After crossing a
ridge six thousand seven hundred feet high, the trail descends a long
slope into the Yungas, properly known as the Yungas of Cochabamba. At
the base of the ridge, and shortly before entering the cultivated area,
we crossed the dry, narrow bed of a stream which was filled with rocks
bearing the imprints of leaves, and also fossil shells.
Yungas is the name given to the fertile mountain slopes which have
been cleared of forest and cultivated; it stretches along the sides
of the Rio Yungas for a number of miles, and huts dot the roadside
at frequent intervals. When we visited the region in June only the
Indian caretakers lived in the habitations, the coca, which is the
principal product, having been collected a short time before, and the
_propietarios_ having gone back to Cochabamba. The owners visit their
plantations three times a year, supervise the picking and packing of
the leaves and, after a month, return to Cochabamba to sell the drug
and live on the proceeds until the next harvest.
After spending an hour in questioning the occupants of the various
houses which we passed, we succeeded in locating the house to which we
had been invited. It was a low, one-room board structure, open at both
ends, and with wide entrances on each side, situated in the centre
of a large banana-field. An Indian, so old that he could hardly walk,
lived in the hovel and refused to admit us; however, we flourished our
letter of introduction from the owner of the premises, took possession,
and remained a week. When we left, the aged tenant implored us to
remain, as we had daily provided him with all the game he could eat,
and had provided him with some medicines that he greatly needed.
The climate at this season, June, was most trying. Although the
elevation is only three thousand five hundred feet, the whole region
was covered with fog each night, and the cold and damp penetrated
everything; during a part of the year the weather is good, and then
life in the Yungas is more bearable. We had a trying time at Señor
Quiroga’s hut, and while the pleasure of investigating a new region
is always intense, our joy at leaving was in this particular instance
vastly greater.
There is no flat valley along the river, which is of considerable size,
and all cultivation is done on the steep mountainsides. Coca is planted
in terraces and occupies the greatest acreage; then there are red
bananas, plantains, guavas, and sugar-cane.
The fauna of the country seems to represent a transition zone. There
are birds typical of the higher country, and others which are common
lower down; also, a number found at approximately this altitude only.
Near the house, and on the edge of the banana-plantation, was a tall,
isolated tree. Flocks of birds, in their flight from one side of the
canyon to the other, would invariably alight in its branches for a few
minutes’ rest. There were many brilliantly colored little tanagers
(_Tanagra_) which came to the tree in considerable numbers and chirped
and quarrelled as they flitted about examining the leaves for insects,
or reached out to pick the small fruits with which the tree was
covered; one day not less than seven species of these birds visited
this resort within a short time.
[Illustration: An Indian hut in the Yungas of Cochabamba.]
Giant orioles (_Ostinops_) were also very plentiful, and travelled in
large, noisy flocks. One of the more interesting birds was a species of
small, red-tailed parrakeet (_Pyrrhura_) which clung to and crawled up
the sides of trees like squirrels; it was almost impossible to see them
unless they moved, so well did their coloration, and more particularly
their actions, conceal them.
We had travelled to the Yungas on mules owned by the expedition, and
upon our arrival turned them loose to feed as usual. Next morning the
animals were in a sorry plight; they had been visited by vampire-bats
during the night, and bled so badly that we had to send them back to
Locotál without delay. Severe as this attack seemed to be, it was mild
compared to what we were to see later on. We discovered clumps of the
small bats guilty of the execution spending the days under the roof
of our hut, and despatched many of them, but this made no impression
whatever upon their vast number. People, also, are bitten on any part
of the body which is left exposed at night, and I have frequently seen
Indians which had been attacked on nose, forehead, and arms.
After completing our work in the Yungas we returned to Cochabamba in
order to await more favorable weather for the trip into the lowlands of
eastern Bolivia, and to restock our outfit with articles which had been
used, and others which it seemed necessary to acquire for the difficult
undertaking ahead.
After spending several weeks in the vicinity of Cochabamba, we made
arrangements with the mail-carrier which enabled us to travel jointly
to the Chaparé. He usually made the trip at six weeks’ intervals during
the dry season, and, consequently, he knew the trail better than any
one else. His _peons_ were also accustomed to the country and knew how
to adjust packs so they would meet the varying conditions of the road,
which is an “art” that can be learned through long experience only.
On July 12 we left Cochabamba. Besides my companion and our personal
attendant there were the mail-carrier and his three _peons_; twelve
good, strong mules carried the luggage, and there were half a dozen
riding and spare animals--quite a cavalcade for the kind of undertaking
in hand.
Three days after starting we reached our old camping-spot in the
Yungas, and, after stopping for a short chat with the old caretaker of
Señor Quiroga’s hut we proceeded into what was for us _terra incognita_.
Numerous huts of flimsy construction are scattered along the entire
twenty miles or more of cultivated slopes; each has a fenced-in area
paved with flat stones upon which coca leaves are dried. We stopped at
a number of these dwellings in an attempt to buy fruit or vegetables,
but unfortunately the men were all away working in the fields, and any
one who has attempted to purchase anything from the average Quechua
squaw knows how hopeless a task it is. Although they may have a
superabundance of the article desired, they seem to take great delight
in refusing to sell anything to a stranger; then the only method to
follow is to take what is needed, offer a fair price for it and pass
on, leaving them in the midst of their wild rantings; the men are
easier to deal with.
The _peons_, and the _patrón_ as well, stopped at each hut where the
white flag announced that _chicha_ was for sale, and attempted to drink
enough to last them until their return; after their money gave out they
left articles of clothing in payment for the drinks. It was therefore
a great relief when the last abode of the intoxicating beverage had
been left behind, and we plunged into the wilderness. Immediately
after leaving the Yungas we ascended a precipitous slope, the top of
which was seven hundred feet above the surrounding country, and then
descended on the other side until the elevation was only two thousand
feet; here the forest was more tropical in character, and some of the
trees, especially the cottonwoods, reached a height of one hundred and
fifty feet, and measured twenty-five feet through the buttressed roots
at the base.
The day after leaving the Yungas we reached the most dangerous part of
the whole trail. After crossing a number of steep, high ridges, we came
to an abrupt slope, the side of which is seared by a huge gash where
the treacherous white clay keeps sliding constantly into the river,
many hundreds of feet below. Each caravan desiring to pass must first
cut a ledge in the moving mass of soft, muddy earth, and then hurriedly
lead the mules across, one at a time, before the newly made trail is
obliterated. The spot is very appropriately named _Sal-si-Puedes_ (pass
if you can), for any one succeeding in crossing this slide is very apt
to possess the ingenuity required to negotiate the remainder of the
trail.
That night we made camp early on the banks of the Rio San Antonio,
called _Chuspipascana_ by the Indians, which means Mosquito River. The
altitude of the site is only one thousand eight hundred feet above
sea-level. The river was a clear, rapid stream one hundred feet wide,
flowing through a rock-strewn bed a quarter of a mile across. Swarms
of black flies, sand-flies, and other stinging or biting insects
immediately came out to greet us. Birds were very abundant. In addition
to the jays, ant-wrens and manakins, which remained in the forest,
flocks of parrots and toucans flew across the open spaces. One of the
most unusual occurrences was the great flocks of a new species of giant
oriole; there were not less than one thousand of these birds in a
single flock, and they roamed almost everywhere, coming close to camp
to inspect the tents, and to discuss them in hoarse cries of curiosity
or resentment. They were beautiful creatures, of a deep chestnut color
with light olive-green head and neck; the face is devoid of plumage and
of a flesh-color, while the tip of the bill is deep orange. The flesh
is highly esteemed by the natives and we found it quite palatable.
As soon as the cargoes had been neatly placed in a pile and covered
with a tarpaulin to keep them dry the _peons_ cooked their supper;
this consisted of a thick soup made of corn-meal and _charque_ (dried
beef). They had a meal in the morning and another at night; during the
long walk throughout the day they chewed coca leaves. The mules were
turned loose to shift for themselves, but as plenty of wild cane grows
near the rivers, they had an abundance of food. One of the animals
carried a bell tied to its neck, and the others would seldom stray out
of hearing of the constant clanging. In the morning the men easily
located the bell-mule and led it back to camp, the others following in
single file. Should one be missing, which was a rare occurrence, it
was only necessary to take the bell and shake it vigorously; this soon
brought the stray member to the spot.
The remainder of the journey was through the heavily forested lowland;
the last of the mountain ridges had been left behind.
During the dry season the caravans follow the courses of streams as
much as possible. The water is low, and the wide, rocky margins serve
as roads. This is far from being easy on the mules; the animals go
stumbling and slipping along, but a good many miles are cut from the
total length of the journey. Streams are encountered with frequency,
and as one penetrates farther into the interior they become wider
and deeper. We crossed not less than six fords in a single day, all
between two hundred and three hundred feet wide, the water averaging
from three to four feet deep. Although the current is strong, the
mules are accustomed to this kind of work and usually manage to cross
safely, often stopping in the deepest, swiftest spot to unconcernedly
take a drink. Occasionally, however, one of the animals slips on a
moss-covered boulder and falls; then it is a difficult matter to
assist the drowning creature to his feet, as the swift water may roll
him over, and the weight of the pack keeps him down. In any event,
the least result of such an accident is the thorough saturation of
everything in the pack, and this means a day’s loss of time while
the soaked effects are spread out to dry. During the rainy season
streams rise with startling rapidity, and parties have often been
forced to camp on the river-bank many days until the water went down.
To turn back is hopeless, as the last stream crossed is just as high as
the one ahead; there is nothing to be done but wait.
[Illustration: The expedition in the Cuchicancha Pass.]
Wild animals are particularly abundant in this section of the country.
All day long we could hear the raucous scream of long-tailed,
multicolored macaws (_Ara_) as they flew two by two overhead. Many
hawks sat alertly on dead snags near the water, and black-and-white
gulls flapped hurriedly up and down along the river. Occasionally we
caught a glimpse of a small flock of muscovies, the largest of South
American ducks, as the great, black birds flew heavily up-stream. There
were also black guans, resembling small turkeys, which sat quietly in
the tops of tall trees until we approached quite near to them; then,
emitting a loud, mule-like bray, they set their wings and soared across
the river or down into the underbrush. At night the forest was usually
quiet, reminding one of “Pools of Silence.” Occasionally, however, the
still air was suddenly rent by the most unearthly noise that mortal
man ever heard, and the woods rang with the wild, insane cackle of
forest-rails (_Aramides_). Beginning with a shrill _oohoo-hee-cra_,
the demoniacal chorus continued several minutes without interruption,
swelling constantly and finally ending with a few low, explosive
_cow-cow-cows_. A number of birds always sang together, and the first
time one hears the performance it is enough to make the flesh creep and
the hair to stand on end; but even after becoming somewhat accustomed
to the noise, it falls short of conducing to peaceful slumber,
suggesting as it does the agonized shrieks of some tortured spirit of
the jungle.
Night-monkeys (_Douroucouli_) were apparently plentiful, but we never
saw them in the daytime. After darkness had fallen they began to move
about in the tree-tops; one night a troop selected the tree under
which we camped for the scene of their frolic, and kept us awake the
greater part of the night. They jumped about in the branches, and
from the swishing noises which reached us it was easy to imagine them
enjoying a good swing up and down upon some particularly springy limb.
They dropped leaves and twigs down upon the tent-fly, probably through
accident, but perhaps prompted by the desire to find out if anything
would happen. At frequent intervals they drew together in a close group
to chatter in low, grunting tones, and then, coming to the conclusion
that the queer-looking objects below them must be capable of performing
some interesting action, again began to tempt fate by showering down
more twigs and leaves.
In many places the receding water of the river had left isolated pools;
these were teeming with fish of many species; some of them were of
large size. A number which we caught had practically the entire tail
and fins eaten off; their cannibalistic brethren had no doubt taken
advantage of the circumstances in which they were all placed, and begun
to devour them piecemeal, at their leisure.
The trees were tall and straight, and there was dense undergrowth near
the rivers only. Mosses and epiphytes, so typical of the subtropical
zone, were almost lacking, but frequently the wind brought the
delightful fragrance of ripening vanilla-beans and the perfume of
flowers. Great clusters of scarlet trumpetflowers dangled from the tips
of slender vines, and from the tops of many of the trees drooped long
garlands of huge white-and-blue flowers that resembled sweet peas; some
of these blooms were two inches in diameter. There were also clumps of
terrestrial orchids on some of the rocks, with slender spikes of deep
purple flowers waving daintily under the impulse of each passing breeze.
Seven days after leaving Cochabamba we came suddenly upon the little
cluster of grass and bamboo houses known as Todos Santos; there were
exactly seven of them, two of which were of large size, partially
enclosing a wide plot of ground carpeted with soft green grass. Tall
forest hemmed in the settlement on three sides, and the Rio Chaparé,
flowing through deep banks, formed the boundary on the fourth side.
The largest building was occupied by the _corregidor_, or federal
agent, who generously provided us with accommodations; in addition to
the several living-rooms there was an immense wareroom stored with
hides, salt, and other articles of commerce. The remainder of the
houses were occupied by families of Bolivians who possessed land or
concessions in the neighborhood, and owned numbers of Indians of the
Yuracaré tribe; these latter lived in long sheds built in the rear of
the dwellings of the people they served. There was also a small church,
but no shops of any description. In spite of its inconsiderable size,
Todos Santos is a place of importance because it serves as an outlet
for commerce from Cochabamba and Bolivia in general, and is the port
of entrance for hides from Trinidad, and merchandise entering by way
of the Amazon and Madeira-Mamoré Railroad. A small steamer, the _Ana
Catarina_, was tied up against the bank, waiting for the water to rise
sufficiently for her to proceed down the river; this boat plies more or
less regularly between Todos Santos and Trinidad, and requires three
days for the downward trip, and five days coming up. From Cochabamba
to Trinidad is a distance of approximately two hundred and sixty-five
miles, one hundred and sixty-five overland and one hundred on the river.
During the dry season steam-navigation on the Chaparé is very
irregular, but canoes of large size and native paddlers may always be
had. During the rainy season there is a small steamer or launch each
fortnight.
Several years before, the government had by law abolished the practice
of keeping Indians in the condition of semislavery, and had ordered all
owners to turn them over to the missions; this, however, had not been
done, and each Bolivian family living at Todos Santos had a number of
Yuracarés in its service. Not far from the settlement were a number of
clearings, some of considerable size, where fruits and vegetables were
cultivated for the benefit of the _amos_, as the owners of Indians are
called; the Indians cleared the ground, cultivated it, and then brought
in the results of their labor, receiving nothing in return. They seemed
fairly contented, however, and did not appear to be suffering from ill
treatment. They frequently spent days at a time in their shelters on
the edges of the fields, or in hunting and fishing trips far from their
homes.
Each Yuracaré woman kept a number of Amazon parrots which she looked
after carefully and refused to sell, even at a good price. Upon asking
the reason for this I was told that they reared them for the sake of
the tail-feathers, which are in great demand by the Aymarás. Each
parrot will grow three “crops” of feathers a year, each of which is
worth fifty _centavos_. The Aymarás from the vicinity of La Paz send
down agents at regular intervals to purchase these feathers, as they
use them in making ornaments worn during their annual festivals.
In the branches of one of the tall trees near the village a neat little
hut had been built of bamboo and leaves, reminding one a great deal of
a Philippine tree-dwelling. Indians armed with bows and arrows would
conceal themselves in this house, forty feet above the ground, and
shoot many of the birds which came to feed on the fruit covering the
tree; other Indians, hidden about the base of the tree, watched where
the birds fell, gathered them up and skinned or plucked them. In this
way quite a number could be shot without alarming a feeding flock.
The forest around Todos Santos abounds in wild life. Squirrel-monkeys
(_Saimiri_) are very numerous and travel in troops of from twenty to
fifty individuals; we saw them daily, playing about in the trees, and
feeding on fruits, buds, and insects. They are delightful little pets,
and one that we owned spent the greater part of the day catching the
mosquitoes which infested our habitation. It searched every nook and
crevice for insects, and one of its chief pastimes was to look through
a pack of cards in the hopes of finding mosquitoes between them. Harpy
eagles also are very plentiful, and feed on the squirrel-monkeys to a
great extent, as they are easy to catch. However, monkeys are not the
only animals which suffer; we one day found the remains of a sloth
which had been dropped by an eagle, the entire fore part of which had
been eaten away.
There were numerous trees covered with vivid-scarlet blossoms,
scattered throughout the forest, and forming gaudy little islands of
color, which stood out very conspicuously amid the green tree-tops.
These trees are known as _madres de cacao_, because they are frequently
planted in cacao-groves to shield the young plants from the sun. The
flowers contain so much nectar that numbers of birds feed upon them,
including parrots, macaws, and orioles; when the brilliant blooms fall
into the river they are greedily snapped up by fish.
Of small birds there was such a variety that it would be impossible to
mention all of them, but one in particular deserves attention. It is
a species of manakin called the “child of the sun” by the Yuracarés,
who look upon the tiny creature with reverence and would not harm it
under any circumstances. The bird is not as large as a sparrow, but is
of stocky build, with a bright orange-red head and neck, the remainder
of the body being black. As it whirs from branch to branch it makes a
loud sputtering, crackling noise which reminds one of a bunch of small,
exploding firecrackers. The female of the species is of a dull-green
color.
At Todos Santos, as elsewhere, local migrations of birds in the heart
of the tropics were several times forcibly brought to our attention. We
had been hunting in the forest a number of weeks and were pretty well
acquainted with its inhabitants; suddenly a species entirely new to us
appeared in great abundance in all parts of the region; each member of
the expedition, including the native assistants, brought in specimens
of it the same day. This can be explained only by the fact that flocks
of these particular birds had arrived suddenly from some distant part,
probably attracted by a fruit or insect which chanced to be plentiful
at the time, and upon which they fed.
Several miles from port, and entirely concealed by the forest,
stretches a lagoon of considerable size; it is connected with the
Chaparé by a small, brush-clogged creek, but the water is stagnant
and filled with decaying vegetation and detritus. Masses of bushes
and swamp-grass grow all along the borders, and in some sections the
surface of the water is covered with floating, aquatic plants. As may
be supposed, many species of birds live both about the water and in
the dense thickets that line the banks. Among the former was the rare
little sun-grebe, but it was by no means abundant; the few solitary
individuals we saw were always surprised out in the open water and,
after giving a series of hoarse, loud cries, either flew or swam as
rapidly as possible to the nearest clump of vegetation, which offered
a secure retreat. Graceful jacanas stepped about daintily on the
lily-pads; their toes are very long and give the feet a wide spread,
thus enabling the birds to walk on the floating little islands of
water-hyacinths and wild lettuce; for this reason the natives call them
_pájaro de Jesu-cristo_, because they can “walk on the water.”
Several species of flycatchers and large, noisy wrens (_Donacobia_)
lived in the partly submerged bushes; we found several of the bulky,
domed grass nests of the former, but it was almost invariably
impossible to reach them as they always harbored colonies of biting
ants, which rushed out in maddened frenzy when the nest was touched;
however, the birds and ants seemed to live in perfect harmony.
In the tangles of tall bamboo growing on the bank and drooping out over
the water lived flocks of hoatzins and numbers of several species of
_dendrocolaptine_ birds or wood-hewers; also an occasional water-turkey
and cormorant. Many black-and-white ibises soared above in circles
and at a great height; they acted not unlike vultures, but the long,
outstretched neck and legs immediately gave a clew to their identity.
The forest was full of surprises. One morning my companion encountered
a tamanduá ant-eater which was on the ground, and refused to realize
that the close proximity of man meant danger; he was but lightly armed,
and shot the tough, thick-skinned animal with the 32-bore auxiliary
tube of his shotgun, and number 12 shot--an unheard-of feat.
It was, however, not always necessary to go into the forest to hunt;
the open plot in which the settlement lay attracted many birds, such as
scarlet tanagers, vermilion flycatchers, swallows, and others, which
were never found in the forest, and small mammals in abundance lived in
the houses. We frequently caught five species of rats in a single house
in one night, and at least two species of bats lived in the palm-leaf
thatch of the roof. Some of the rodents, particularly a large, spiny
rat, lived under the floor, while others made the walls and ceiling
their homes; each species seemed to adhere more or less to its own
part of the dwelling, thus dividing the houses into well-defined
“life-zones.”
The natives are very fond of the flesh of the spiny rat and often
begged for any which chanced to come to our traps.
Ocelots were not wanting in the neighborhood; they visited the
hen-houses occasionally at night, but never entered by the doors,
preferring to tear holes in the side of the structures; they killed a
large number of fowls, on one occasion nearly twenty on a single visit,
and prompted apparently by the mere lust for killing.
At night vampire-bats came out in hordes; they attacked everything
from human beings on down; even the few miserable pigs kept by the
Indians were severely bitten and kept up a continuous squealing as
the bloodthirsty creatures settled on them, usually at the base of
the ears, and began their painful operations. The worst sufferers
by far, however, were our mules. As soon as the sun set our _peons_
brought the animals to the corral and strapped canvas covers over
them; this precaution was of little avail, for the bats attacked all
exposed parts, causing the mules to kick and roll, with the result that
their covers were soon torn off. We went out frequently to watch these
obnoxious creatures at work; after circling above their prospective
victim a few times, they dropped suddenly, usually upon the neck or
flanks, and at once began to bite and suck, making a grating sound
with the teeth all the while. They paid no attention to us, although
we stood but a few feet away, but clung with folded wings to their
prey, perfectly motionless and in an upright position; if we moved they
uttered a few squeaks, but made no attempt to fly until we reached for
them and came to within a few inches, when they reluctantly fluttered
up, but almost immediately settled on the other side of the animal.
Desiring specimens of them for our collection, we went one night to the
corral armed with a butterfly-net and, approaching one of the mules
on whose back were a dozen or more bats, made a hurried sweep with
the net; as the large, white bag of netting scraped the back of the
nervous animal he sank to his knees with a groan of despair, wondering,
no doubt, what new monster had swooped down upon him to add fresh
suffering to his already unbearable existence.
In the morning the mules were in a pathetic condition; blood continued
to flow from the wounds made by the bats’ sharp teeth, so that the
ground was red and the animals were covered from head to foot. It
was always necessary to take them to the river and wash them, then
disinfect the numerous punctures; if this is not done flies attack the
sore spots, infesting them with their larvæ, and the animals die of
blood-poison. After three nights we were compelled to start the mules
back to Cochabamba, as they were on the verge of exhaustion.
[Illustration: Vampire-bat from Todos Santos.]
[Illustration: Tamanduá ant-eater.]
While at Todos Santos we learned of a mission among the Yuracaré
Indians about twelve miles distant, and near the Rio Chimoré. We
expressed a desire to visit it, but the _intendente_ told us that
such a move was impossible. He said that the priest in charge of the
mission was absolute monarch of the territory under his control; that
he would permit no one to come near his retreat, and that this mandate
had never been disobeyed. Such statements made the place seem of
especial interest to us, and we were eager to go there at almost any
cost; we devised many plans which we hoped would lead to an interview
with the priest, but all of them failed miserably; finally, however,
the opportunity came to us in an unlooked-for manner. A misfortune to
one person frequently comes in the guise of a blessing to another,
and so it happened in this instance. As we were pursuing our work one
afternoon in the open corridor in front of our room, a long canoe drew
up at the river-bank, and the priest, followed by a dozen Indians,
stepped ashore and marched across the clearing to the _intendente’s_
quarters. We immediately recognized him as Padre Fulgencio, the
missionary of whose despotic rule we had heard so much; but he did not
even glance at us as he passed. While debating upon some diplomatic
move which might serve as an excuse for an interview, for now or never
was the time to obtain the coveted permission, he suddenly emerged from
the house and came straight to us. A few curt remarks were exchanged,
and then he began to relate his trouble. To make a long story short,
he was suffering from a severe toothache; it had kept him awake many
nights, and at last he was forced to come out of his retreat in search
of a remedy. The _intendente_ could do nothing for him; could we?
How I thanked my lucky star for a limited knowledge of medicine!
After an examination, conducted with much formality, the trouble was
pronounced curable. He submitted bravely to the injection of cocaine,
and soon after was relieved of the aching member. Tears rolled down his
cheeks as he expressed his gratitude, and then, taking note of the work
upon which we were engaged, he suddenly asked: “Why don’t you come to
the mission; I have four hundred Indians who spend several days each
week in hunting, and they can take you anywhere, and also bring you all
kinds of animals.”
We needed no urging, and within five minutes the day was set when
porters in abundance should come to convey our equipment, and we should
start on our journey to the mysterious stronghold of Padre Fulgencio,
and the boundless jungles bordering the Rio Chimoré.