Early next morning, January 2, we started from the village, and, after a
short ride across the plain, reached the river Tua, at the house of a
small cattle-ranch called Santa Rosa del Tua.
The owner of the premises welcomed us most hospitably, and, to our joy,
placed at our disposal two small canoes. No others were to be found
there at the moment. However, they were large enough to carry us and our
belongings, and accordingly we made ready for an early start next day.
The houses—or what serve for houses in the _llanos_—are built on the
most primitive architectural principles. Poles, varying in thickness and
in length, according to the proportions of the desired structure, are
sunk into the ground at convenient distances, following the lines either
of a perfect square or of a rectangle. Cross-beams are nailed or tied to
the vertical poles at the required height; in the latter case the
vertical poles are grooved, so as to give additional support. From the
cross-beams on either side other beams are thrown, slanting so as to
meet in the centre, thus forming the basis of the roof, which is again
covered with reeds, upon which are placed several layers of palm-leaves,
fastened by means of thin ropes to the slanting beams and poles; and
thus the roof is completed. This finishes the house for use during the
dry season.
During the wet season the sides are covered in the same fashion as the
roof. The palm-leaf most used is that of the _moriche_, which abounds in
the _llanos_.
When lying in the hammock during the dry season one feels the breath of
the breeze as it blows across the plain, and may see the stars twinkling
in the deep blue dome of heaven, like far-off tapers. The _llaneros_, or
inhabitants of the plains, prefer to sleep in the open air, even without
palm-leaf roofing above their heads. It is as though they felt
imprisoned indoors, and pined for the ampler ether.
Here we had thus reached the last stage of our land journey. The real
voyage was about to begin.
The reader who has followed me thus far will have gathered that there
were three of us in this expedition—Alex, Raoul, and myself. With us
came our servant Fermin, who adapted himself to the most urgent
requirements, being now muleteer, now valet, now cook. Leal had engaged
the services of several _peones_ to paddle the canoes when we reached
the Tua River; these numbered seventeen, so that, including Leal and
ourselves, we formed a group of twenty-two men. The canoes were so small
that we were packed like herrings, but, as it was impossible to obtain
others, we had to make the best of them.
Raoul was a sportsman: more than once he had taken up arms against the
harmless ducks that swarm at certain seasons of the year in the lakes
studding the plateau of Bogotá. I had no personal knowledge of his
powers, but, with the modesty and truthfulness characteristic of all
hunters and fishermen, he carefully impressed upon us that he was a dead
shot, and that when a bird, hare, or any furred or feathered creature,
came within range of his gun its doom was certain.
Immediately upon our arrival at the river Tua, the shores of which are
covered with a dense forest, he called our attention to the numberless
birds to be seen, and as soon as he could manage it he left us,
accompanied by one of the men, and was speedily lost to sight amongst
the trees. Shortly afterwards the report of his gun reached us with such
frequency that one might think he was wasting powder for mere love of
smoke. By-and-by he returned, bringing with him about sixteen different
birds of various sizes and kinds, sufficient to feed the whole
expedition for one or two days. He was on the point of starting on
another murderous excursion, when we remonstrated against the wanton
destruction of animal life. Leal quietly observed that if Raoul thus
continued wasting powder and shot he would soon exhaust our store of
those indispensable articles, the lack of which might entail most
serious consequences later on. On hearing this we held what might be
called a council of war, at which it was decided that no more birds or
game were to be shot than were absolutely indispensable. We were
influenced not so much by a feeling of humanity or love for the birds as
by the fact that a long journey lay before us, that the loss of a canoe,
the flooding of a river, or illness, or any accident that might befall
us, would detain us for much longer than we had bargained. Raoul
reluctantly listened to all these reasons, but, acknowledging their
force, agreed to comply with them.
Our descent of the river Tua began next day. The waters were very
shallow, owing to the dry season, and, as our men could not use their
paddles, they punted the canoes down-stream. We were often detained by
palisades which obstructed the current. These were formed by trunks
uprooted from the shores by the river in its flood, and then jettisoned
in the bed of the stream. In the dry season they stood forth like small
islands, and gathered round them all the floating débris of the river.
These palisades, with which we met very often, gave us a deal of
trouble. We often had to jump out of the canoes and either drag or push
them, as they would stick to the sandy bottom, and punting failed to
make them budge. We took to this task cheerfully, and found it tolerable
sport, until one of our men was stung by a peculiar sort of fish, black
and round, called _raya_. This lies hidden in the sand, and, when
touched or trodden upon, stings, darting its harpoon into the ankle or
the calf, leaving its point in the wound, a most painful one, which
continues to smart for several days. The man, who was stung in our
presence, cried and moaned like a child, so intense was the pain. After
this we were decidedly chary of lending a hand in dragging or pushing
the canoes, and—I must confess it to our shame—we would wade booted to
the shore and wait till they had been got afloat again, rather than take
the chances of being stung in our turn.
We had started at about six in the morning; towards five in the
afternoon Leal began to cast his eyes about in search of a nice, dry,
sandy beach upon which to pitch our camp for the night. So far we had
always found some house or hut to sleep in; now, for the first time, we
were faced by the necessity of camping in the open air without any roof
whatever above our heads. We experienced a peculiar sensation of
unwarranted fear—a dread arising, doubtless, from the force of habit in
the civilized man, naturally averse to imitating the birds and the
beasts, which sleep under God’s heaven and run all risks; but whatever
our feelings, we were forced to accept the inevitable.
As soon as a satisfactory strip of beach was found, we jumped ashore.
The canoes were dragged halfway out of the water, and tied with stout
ropes to neighbouring trees to prevent their being carried away in case
of an unexpected flood—by no means an impossible contingency. The men
took out the mats upon which we were to sleep, and as there were swarms
of the mosquitoes, sand-flies, and numerous insects which make life a
burden in the early hours of the night on the shores of these rivers,
the mosquito-bars, made of cotton cloth, were rigged up over the mats.
Fermin, who had been promoted to the rank of private cook for Alex,
Raoul, and myself, prepared our supper, making use of the saucepans and
sundry implements contained in our travelling basket. To prepare their
meals, the men used a huge iron pot, which was soon tilted over a large
fire.
We were four days on the river Tua punting or paddling, according to the
depth of water. When we reached the river Meta, we had already arranged
the daily routine best suited to our requirements, and I might as well,
once for all, describe it.
Our acting chief, Leal, ever watchful and alert, wakened us at about
three in the morning. Every man had his appointed task: two of them
prepared the indispensable coffee in the fashion of the land; others
folded up the mats, the mosquito-bars, and whatever else might have been
landed. Alex, Raoul, and I would in the meantime stand on the river
brink, whilst two of the men poured upon us small cataracts of water
drawn from the river in the _coyabras_ or _totumas_ cut from native
gourds, which form an indispensable part of the domestic arrangements in
the _llanos_. It would have been sheer madness to bathe in the river,
with its _rayas_, or water-snakes, or perhaps some shy, dissembling
alligator in quest of a tasty morsel.
Sandy beaches are the best places for camping on the shores of tropical
rivers. They are dry, clean, soft, and perfectly free from snakes,
scorpions, tarantulas, and all such obnoxious creatures, which are more
likely to be found amongst the high luxuriant grass and the leafy trees.
Between four and five, as soon as it was ready, every man drank a large
goblet of coffee and a small glass of aniseed _aguardiente_, which is
said to be a specific against malaria. The men’s faith in the virtue of
the distilled spirit was astounding; they never failed to take it, and
would even ask for more, lest the quantity given were not enough to
protect them from the dreaded illness. Though the merits of quinine are
more universally acknowledged, it did not seem to be as acceptable, nor
to be coveted with equal greediness.
We generally started at about five in the morning, paddling steadily
till about eleven, when we landed as soon as we found a suitable spot,
if possible shaded with trees. Here we would hang the hammocks, prepare
the midday repast, and wait until three, letting the hottest hours of
the day pass by. At this time the sun seemed to dart real rays of fire
upon the burnished waters, whose reflection dazzled and blinded our
eyes.
About three in the afternoon we would start again for two or three hours
more, until a convenient beach was found; once there, the camp was
formed without delay, the canoes tied up, the mats spread, and in a few
minutes two huge bonfires, made of driftwood, sent their glad flames
flickering in the night air. After supper we crept under the
mosquito-bars, and waited for Leal to call us in the morning.
The seasons in the plains, as is well known, are sharply divided into
dry and rainy. The first lasts from May to November, and the second from
November to May. During the wet season it rains from eighteen to twenty
hours out of the twenty-four; showers are not frequent during the dry
season, but they fall now and then.
The third or fourth night that we spent on the banks of the Tua, I was
awakened by feeling a moist sheet over my face, and at once realized
that the heavy rain had beaten down the mosquito-bar. There was nothing
for it but to cover myself with the waterproof _poncho_, sitting up for
greater convenience, and disengaging myself from the fallen
mosquito-net. There we all sat helpless under the dense cataract. The
beach, slanting towards the river, bore with it the waters from the
higher ground, and as my body made an indenture in the sand, I felt on
either side a rushing stream. Fortunately, the shower was soon over, the
bonfires were heaped with driftwood and blazed forth joyously. Coffee
was specially prepared for the occasion, and we sat in the genial warmth
of the flames until the sun burst forth on the horizon. That morning we
did not start as early as usual: the tents and covers were spread in the
sun, and after an hour or so were again dry and soft. Then we started on
our journey, leaving behind us the discomforts of the night. The rain
seemed to have gladdened the forest, and brightened the trees and bushes
into a livelier green. During the journey we underwent a similar
experience upon two or three other occasions.
As for food, we had a comfortable supply, and hardly a day passed
without our having either some fine bird, or at times a larger piece of
game in the shape of a species of wild-boar, fairly plentiful in that
locality, the flesh of which is quite agreeable after one learns to eat
it. Besides game, we also had plenty of fish. All this without counting
the salt meat and tinned provisions. The birds most abundant were ducks
of various descriptions, wild turkeys, and a beautiful bird of fine
dark-bluish plumage, similar to a wild turkey, called _paujil_ by the
natives, the meat of which greatly resembles that of the pheasant.
At about this stage of the journey an incident took place which shows
how even the humblest tasks in life require a certain degree of ability
and experience. One day on the river Tua, Raoul—who, as I have said, was
a great hunter before the Lord, and had no more esteem than most men for
the milder arts—had brought down a beautiful duck of exceptional size,
and of the kind known as ‘royal duck.’ Not satisfied with his triumph as
a Nimrod, he took it into his head to cook the bird himself and rival
the achievements of Vattel or Carême. He invited me to help him in his
undertaking. My culinary attainments being purely of a theoretical kind,
I promised him my moral support and hearty co-operation in the shape of
advice. We invited Alex to share our wonderful supper, to which he
replied that, being aware of the perils most incident to the efforts of
inexperienced cooks, however enthusiastic they might be, he preferred
the men’s supper, which, though humbler, was far more to be depended on.
Heedless of this taunt, Raoul went on with his work. A pot filled with
water was placed over the fire, and as soon as it was boiling the bird
was plunged into it. In due course Raoul began to pluck valiantly;
feathers black and bluish fell from his hand numerous as flakes of snow
in a winter storm. When he began to tire after a while, I took the bird
in hand, and continued the task, the feathers falling like dry leaves in
the autumnal forest. After half an hour of steady work, when the ground
was literally covered with black feathers, that blessed bird seemed
untouched. We were beginning to feel anxious and hungry, and the
tempting whiffs from the large iron pot, where the men were stirring
their stew, stung our nostrils in a tantalizing fashion. However, it was
now a question of pride and self-esteem, and we were bound to cook the
bird at any cost. By-and-by Alex, holding a steaming plate in his hand,
came to us and invited us to eat. Raoul rejected the offer, and though I
was most anxious to accept it, I felt bound in loyalty to stand by him.
We told Alex that we wanted to reserve the fulness of our appetite for
our delicious bird, to which Alex replied that by the time that bird was
ready we should certainly be hungry enough to devour it, leaving the
bones quite clean. Raoul and I took turns at plucking the duck, which at
last seemed to yield, showing a few whitish specks here and there devoid
of all feathery covering. Seeing our plight, Fermin, who had stood by,
not being called upon to help, seized the bird, declaring that we had
allowed it to become chilled, and that the perfect plucking of it was
well-nigh impossible. However, he undertook the job most courageously,
and finally, taking advantage of the shades of night, which facilitated
a compromise, we dropped that royal duck into the boiling water and
pretended to enjoy our supper, such as it was, when ready. How much we
ate is a question as to which I need not go into detail here, but I must
own that in lying down upon my mat under the mosquito-bar I felt
famished. From that day onwards both Raoul and I decided to forego all
interference in matters culinary, beyond occasional advice. I have no
doubt that, had Fermin or one of the men undertaken the task, we should
not only have had our supper much sooner, but a dish fit for any man’s
palate.