Before parting from our friends the mules, it may not be amiss to speak
of the equipment for man and beast which obtains in Colombian Andine
regions. The saddle used—sometimes native, sometimes European—offers
nothing striking in its composition, only that it is provided with a
crupper which must be very strong—strong as a braced strap—since in the
steep ascents or descents the girth alone would be insufficient. The men
wear leggings or _zamorros_, which, in fact, are rather seatless
trousers than leggings, 2 feet wide, held together by a strap across the
loins, the outside consisting of tanned hide with the hair on it, and
the inside of soft leather. They have the advantage of being very easily
put on and slipped off when the rider alights. The stirrups are a large
shoe wherein the whole foot is encased, made of copper or brass. At
first those unfamiliar with the roads find them awkward, bulky, and
heavy, but one soon learns that they are an indispensable protection, a
sort of armour or shield against the stones, trees, and sundry other
obstacles which the rider’s foot is bound to strike. The _poncho_, which
is a rectangular piece of woven cotton cloth about 5 to 6 feet long by 3
to 3½ feet broad, with a slit in the centre, is worn by all riders, and
a similar piece of india-rubber cloth, only somewhat larger, is carried
strapped to the back of the saddle to be used when rain comes on. The
real native accoutrement, in which the saddle differs, having a pommel
and being high-seated in the back, is not complete without the lasso,
made of twisted raw hide, kept soft and pliable by the frequent use of
tallow, which is rubbed into it. The expert herdsman can throw the lasso
a long distance, either across the neck of the horses or right over the
horns of the cattle; their aim is unerring. They fasten the lasso to the
pommel of the saddle, and turn their horses backwards so that they may
better withstand the pull of the lassoed animal. Spurs in Colombia are
frequently worn, especially when you ride somebody else’s hired mule or
horse. The spurs are more formidable in appearance than harmful in
reality; the rollocks, instead of being small with little pinlike pricks
as in Europe, are huge in size, about 3 inches in diameter, and each
prick about 1½ inches; they make a great rattle on the slightest
provocation, but are less painful to the animal than the little European
spurs. Apropos of this, I remember the case of an individual who,
finding the Colombian spurs too heavy, only wore one, arguing that if he
managed to make one side of his mule get along, the other side would be
sure to follow, and hence only one spur was needed.
On arriving at the wayside _venta_, or inn—and Heaven only knows how
elastic a man’s conscience must be to bestow the name of inn upon many
of these _ventas_—the first care of an experienced traveller is to see
to the welfare of his mules and horses. If available, Indian corn, brown
sugar of the species called _panela_, which is uncrystallized solidified
molasses, and the best grass that can be got in the neighbourhood, are
given to the animals. If there happens to be an enclosure, the mules and
horses are let loose in it, so that they may rest more comfortably; but
these enclosures are very frequently a delusion and a snare, as
inexperienced travellers find when, on rising early in the morning the
next day, they are told that the animals have jumped over the fence or
broken through, or in some other way disappeared, whereupon the
muleteers, with the boys and men available in the locality pressed into
the service for the occasion, scour the mountains and the neighbouring
forests in search of the missing animals, the search lasting at times
four and five hours, during which the traveller frets, foams, and
possibly, if he be quite natural and unspoiled by convention, swears.
But notwithstanding these drawbacks, there is a special charm about this
mode of travelling. In the morning about four the traveller arises from
his not too soft couch. The first breakfast is at once prepared, and
whilst it is being cooked the _mañanas_, or morning greeting, is
indulged in, consisting of a little whisky, brandy, _aguardiente_, rum,
or whatever spirits happen to be available. The hour, even in the hot
lands, is cool. The stars still shine brightly in the heavens, and, were
it not for the testimony of one’s watch, one would believe one’s self
still in the middle of the night. The mules are brought forward, given
their morning rations, the luggage is strapped on the ‘cargo’ mules, as
they are called, and the others are saddled, and if all goes well,
towards five or half-past, the journey begins.
There is a characteristic odour in the temperate and low lands of the
tropics at that special hour of morning, and the dawn is announced by a
hum in the ear, which, whilst it is still dark, is not of birds, but of
the thousand insects that inhabit the forest. Finally, when the sun
bursts forth in all his glory, a hymn seems to start in all directions,
and the mountains vibrate with echoes of universal animation from the
grass and the bushes, the running streams, and the nests in the branches
of the trees laden with life. In the cool air of the morning the mind is
quite alert, and the climbing and descending, the fording of rivers, the
crossing of ravines and precipices, the slow ascent of the sun in the
horizon, the fresh stirring of the breeze in the leaves, the
reverberation of the light on the drops of fresh dew still hanging from
the boughs and dotting the many-coloured flowers—all these things induce
such a feeling of communion with Nature that one feels one’s self an
integral part of the large, immense, palpitating life that throbs in
every direction, and the conception of immortality seems to crystallize,
so to speak, in the mind of the traveller; but, of course, familiarity
breeds contempt, and things beautiful, though they are a joy for ever,
might tire Keats himself through repetition, so that at times travelling
in this wise often seems slow, and one longs for some other means of
locomotion. Yet I cannot help thinking with regret of the days when one
will ask for a ticket—railway, ‘tube,’ balloon, or whatever it may
be—from any place on earth to any other place. When that day arrives,
men will be transported more rapidly from one place to another, but the
real traveller will have disappeared, as the knight-errant disappeared,
as the gentleman is being driven out from the world in these days when
all things are bought and sold, and kindness and generosity are becoming
empty words or obsolete relics of a past that very few understand, and
fewer still care to imitate.
On the very outskirts of the forest, within half an hour’s ride from the
long file of trees, we came upon a group of thatch-roofed structures
which form the so-called town or hamlet of San Pedro del Tua, a
meeting-place, as I have said before, for herdsmen and dealers, deserted
at the present season; the only persons who had remained were those
whose poverty—heavier than any anchor—had kept them on the spot away
from the Christmas and New Year’s festivities that were being celebrated
in all the towns and villages of the neighbouring region. Our first care
was to find a roof under which to pass the night. We inquired for the
man in power, namely, the _correjidor_, a sort of justice of the peace,
mayor, sheriff, all in one, an official to be found in hamlets or
villages like that which we had just reached. It was not hard to find
him, since there were only fifteen persons in the place. We had a letter
of introduction to him, which made things easier. He immediately took us
to the best house in the place, which happened to belong to him. He
asked us what good winds had wafted us thither, and whither we went. As
we did not care, until having felt our ground a little more, to state
frankly that we wanted to cross into the neighbouring republic of
Venezuela, one of us—the most audacious if not the best liar of the
lot—calmly stated that we had come to the _llanos_ for the purpose of
selecting and purchasing some land, as we intended to go into the
cattle-breeding business, and possibly into some agricultural pursuit or
other. The _correjidor_ said nothing, but an ironical smile seemed to
flit across his lips. When we had become more familiar with things and
customs in the plains, we understood why he had not replied, and the
cause of his almost imperceptible smile. To purchase land in the
_llanos_ would be tantamount to buying salt water in the midst of the
ocean! People ‘squat’ wherever they like in those endless plains that
belong to him who exploits them. The cattle, horses, sheep, are the
elements of value to which ownership is attached, but the grazing lands
belong to one and all, and as matters stand now, given the scarcity of
population and its slow increase, such will be the condition of affairs
for many a long year to come.
Once inside the house that the _correjidor_ had placed at our disposal,
and feeling more at ease with him, we told him of our intention to go to
Venezuela, and asked for his assistance. His name was Leal, which means
loyal; its sound had in it the clink of a good omen, and later events
proved that he deserved it. He told us that our undertaking was by no
means an easy one, nor one that could be accomplished without the
assistance of expert and intelligent guides. He added that he knew the
various ways to penetrate from Colombia into Venezuela, and that if we
would accept his services he would accompany us. I need not state that
the offer was accepted with alacrity.
In the short journey from the skirt of the forest to the hamlet of San
Pedro del Tua across the _llano_ itself, we had time to remark that its
aspect, once in contact with it, was quite different from the beautiful
velvety green waving in the sunlight, soft and thick, that we had seen
from a distance. The ground was covered with a coarse grass varying in
height and colour, we were told, according to the season of the year. A
great many small pathways seemed to cross it in all directions, formed
by the cropping of the grass and the animals that moved to and fro on
the plains. We crossed various _caños_, which are natural canals,
uniting the larger rivers. As we were at the beginning of the dry
season, these canals were low, and we forded them without any
difficulty, but in winter—that is to say, in the rainy season—they
attain the dimension of large rivers, and travelling in the _llanos_ on
horseback then becomes most difficult. We came frequently upon copses of
the _moriche_ palms already described. In the centre of these copses one
always finds a cool natural basin of water, which is preferred by the
natives as being the healthiest and the sweetest of the locality—_agua
de morichal_. There must be something in it, for the cattle also prefer
this water to that of the rivers and _caños_.
To our inexperienced eye the _llanos_ bore no landmark which might serve
as a guide to our movements. After a copse of _moriche_ palms came
another one, and then another one, and no sooner was one _caño_ crossed
than another took its place, so that without guides it would have been
impossible for us to know whether we were moving in the right direction.
Leal advised us to lose no time, as the journey we had before us was a
long one. Now that we were close to the beginning of our canoe journey
on the rivers, we at once set to counting the belongings we had brought
at such great expense and trouble from the high plateau of Bogotá, which
seemed ever so far away when with the mind’s eye we beheld it perched
like an eagle’s nest high up on the summit of those mountains that it
had taken us about eighteen days to descend. As every inch of ground
that we had left behind had been, so to say, felt by us, the distance
appeared enormous, and the old city and the plateau seemed more like the
remembrance of a dream than of a reality. We drew up our inventory, and
found that we were the happy possessors of about eight cases, 50 pounds
in weight each, containing preserved meats, vegetables, and food of all
kinds in boxes, jars, tins, and so forth. Next came about six large jugs
or demijohns of native fire-water, or _aguardiente_, a most useful and
indispensable beverage in those latitudes, and about half a ton of salt,
a most precious article in that region. We were going across the plains
where there are neither salt-water fountains nor salt-bearing rock
deposits, and we knew that as an article of barter, salt went far beyond
anything else that we might possess, hence the large quantity which we
carried. Our arsenal consisted of four fowling-pieces, six Remington and
two Spencer rifles, plenty of ammunition, cartridges, gunpowder, one
dozen cutlasses, or _machetes_, and four revolvers. We also had a box
with books, our trunks with clothing, rugs, mosquito-nets, waterproof
sheets, a medicine-chest, and two guitars of the native Colombian type;
but what rendered us most important and steady service during the whole
of that journey was a certain wicker basket, 1 yard long, ¾ of a yard
wide, and 10 inches in height, which contained a complete assortment of
cooking utensils and table-ware for six persons—plates, corkscrews,
can-openers, frying-pans, and all that one could wish to prepare as
sumptuous a meal as mortal man could desire in those vast solitudes. The
saucepans, six in number, fitted one inside of the other, nest-wise;
they were copper-bottomed, and proved of inestimable value. The tumblers
and cups were also nested—pewter ware with porcelain inside. Everything
was complete, compact, and so solid that, after the long journey with
its vicissitudes, the wicker basket and its contents, though looking
somewhat the worse for wear, were perfectly serviceable.
Leal, a man of simple habits, who had never been in a town of more than
4,000 or 5,000 inhabitants, on looking at that display of superfluous
articles, argued that we were altogether too rich, and that our
movements would be greatly facilitated were we to dispense with, say,
two-thirds of what lay before him on the ground. We pleaded that since
the worst had been accomplished, namely, the transportation across land,
roads, and mountain trails, we might as well keep what we had, and only
abandon it when forced to do so. Leal nodded his head, as one who sees
that it is useless to argue, and nothing more was said on the subject.
Everything was prepared on that New Year’s Day to start on the next day
for the neighbouring cattle-farm of Santa Rosa del Tua, situated on the
river Tua, one of the affluents of the Meta, which itself is one of the
most important tributaries of the mighty Orinoco. These arrangements and
decisions once arrived at, it was deemed prudent to celebrate our
arrival into the place, and the arrival on the scene of life of the New
Year, by a banquet worthy of the double occasion.
A heifer was slaughtered. Leal brought upon the scene, in front of the
house where we were stopping, the whole side of the animal trimmed and
prepared for roasting; he had passed through it, skewer-wise, a long
thin pole of some special wood hard and difficult to burn. A huge
bonfire was lit on the ground, and Leal fixed the lower end of the
skewer quite close to the fire, holding the side of the heifer now right
over the flame, now at a certain distance, turning and twisting it with
consummate skill. The air was soon scented with that odour of roast meat
which so deliciously tickles the nostrils of him who has an empty
stomach. Looking at Leal doing the roasting, I realized
Brillat-Savarin’s dictum: _On devient cuisinier, on naît rotisseur_.
Leal, if not a born poet, was a born roaster. Soon the meat was ready;
our plates, forks, and knives not being sufficient for the crowd, we
preferred not to bring them forth. Large leaves, green, fresh, and
shiny, cut from the neighbouring banana and plantain trees, were laid on
the ground both as a cover and as dishes. Leal unsheathed from his belt
a long, thin shining knife as sharp as a razor, and with wonderful
dexterity cut the huge joint, separating the ribs, so that everyone
could have a bone with a large portion of hot, steaming, newly-broiled
meat. Bread was not forthcoming, but there was an abundance of baked and
roasted green plantains, crisp and mealy, which did service for the best
bread; at least, so we thought. As for meat, never in my life do I
remember having enjoyed such a delicious morsel: so the banquet
consisted of meat and roasted plantains _à discretion_. A bottle of rum
which belonged to our stock, and which I had forgotten in the inventory
given above, went round the guests of that primitive board, warming our
hearts into conviviality and good-humour. Finally came the big bowls of
coffee, prepared according to the local fashion, which deserves to be
described. The coffee is roasted and ground in the usual way, but these
operations are only carried out just before the liquor is brewed. In a
large saucepan cold water, sweetened to the taste with black sugar, is
placed over the fire, and the necessary amount of ground coffee is
thrown into it before it gets warm. The heating should not be too rapid;
when the first bubbles indicate that the boiling-point is about to be
reached, the saucepan is withdrawn from the fire, and a spoonful of cold
water dashed upon the surface of the hot liquor almost in ebullition.
This precipitates the roasted coffee to the bottom, and gives a most
delicious beverage, which, though not as strong as the coffee distilled
according to other methods, retains all the aroma and flavour of the
grain. The method is a very good one in localities where delicate
coffee-machines cannot be easily procured, and it is in truth nothing
more or less than the method of preparing Turkish coffee, with less fuss
than is required for the Oriental variety.
We had soon grown, in that very first day of our encounter with him, to
like Leal and to wonder at his intimate knowledge of the plains, the
forests, and the rivers of that vast region. He was not a Colombian; he
had been born on the shores of the river Gaurico, one of the affluents
of the Orinoco. From boyhood he had thus come into daily contact with
the mighty rivers and the deep and mysterious forests that cover their
shores. His plan was that we should first follow the river Tua down to
the Meta. On arriving at this latter river, we should have to find
larger canoes, which would enable us to reach the Orinoco. Once on the
Orinoco we would arrive at the settlement called Urbana, where we were
sure to obtain larger craft in which to go as far as Caicara. Here we
might wait for the steamers that go to Ciudad Bolivar. As to the time
required for this journey, Leal said that, barring unforeseen obstacles,
fifty days might suffice for us to reach Ciudad Bolivar. The only
inhabited places which we would come across were first San Pedro del
Arrastradero, then Orocue, and finally San Rafael, the last Colombian
settlements where troops were stationed, and on inquiry Leal stated that
on the river Meta it was necessary to follow the only channel that
existed, so that it would be indispensable for us to touch at the
various towns he had named, as there was no lateral _caños_ by which we
might avoid them, should we want to do so, as was the case in other
parts of the plains, where one might either follow the main stream or
some _caño_ or tributary. If we wanted to take another river route, we
might, on reaching San Pedro del Arrastradero, walk a short distance of
about a mile to the _caño_ called Caracarate, which would take us to the
river Muco, an affluent of the Vichada, almost as large as the Meta
River, and flowing into the Orinoco. But, said Leal, if we follow the
Vichada instead of arriving on the Orinoco below the rapids, we shall
strike that river above the rapids, and these alone will entail more
trouble and difficulty and require more time than any other part of the
river. For the moment no decision was taken. The question was left open
to be solved as might be most convenient at an opportune moment.