Let us take a glance over some of the rivers of the land.
The Essequibo, called by the Indians the "younger brother of the
Orinoco," first claims attention. The mouth has rather the appearance
of a vast lake than a river, its shores bordered by thick groves of that
tree of curious structure, the mangrove, whose roots or seeds, borne on
the ocean wave, strike wherever they can find a muddy soil, throughout
every part of the tropics. Rising upwards on the roots, which it shoots
downwards as it grows, the base of its stem is often six or eight feet
from the ground--the stem itself seldom more than a foot in diameter,
and from fifteen to twenty feet in height. Its thick stiff ribs, about
eight inches long and nine inches wide, are of a dark sombre hue. This
broad estuary, extending inland for thirty miles or more, with numerous
picturesque islands covered by tropical vegetation rising out of it, is
joined by the united streams of the Masaruni and Cuyuni, its own and
their romantic waterfalls making a continuous navigation up them
impossible. Yet, notwithstanding its impediments, these rivers afford
the only means of communication, except along the foot-tracks of the
Indians, through the dense forests, into the far-off interior. These
forests commence in many parts close to the ocean, spreading often for
thousands of square miles, broken sometimes by swamps, and at others by
wide savannahs, open spaces covered with grasses, and here and there
clumps of trees. Even the sand-hills of moderate height bordering the
Atlantic are clothed by the superb vegetation of the tropics,--the
forest extending to, and even climbing up the sides of the Rocky
Mountains. Vast timber trees, the purple and green heart, the stately
mora, the locust-tree, raise their heads above their smaller brethren,
conquering in the struggle for room to allow their foliage to expand;
while below, the moist carpet of fallen leaves, fungi, and moss,
increases the richness of the vegetation. Here also are numerous
graceful palms,--the cocorite, from which the Indians form their
poisoned arrows; the troali, with broad and long leaves, used for
thatching their huts. The graceful manicol, rising to a great height,
bends, like the weeping willow, its slender stem over the stream; and,
with several other species of palm, it affords the succulent cabbage.
Beautiful parasites hang in every direction from the trunks and boughs--
sipos ascending and clinging in intricate network, interlacing the
trunks and branches, and often supporting the remnants of the trees they
themselves by their fatal embrace have destroyed; indeed, the same style
of forest here exists as throughout the Valley of the Amazon.
As the flora is much the same on a similar altitude, so there is little
difference in the fauna, although some species are found in Guiana which
are unknown in the latter region. The native tribes, however--the red
men of the wilds--differ considerably. Near the supposed site of the
famed El Dorado at Pirara, situated on the borders of Brazil, some
thirty years ago, an attempt was made to carry, not the gold that
perishes, but the joyful news of salvation, to the long-benighted
Indians in that region. It was blessed, and was prospering greatly, and
gave promise of the speedy conversion of the Macusi tribe and others,
when some Brazilian Roman Catholic priests, hearing of it, determined on
its destruction, and induced their government to claim the region as
Brazilian territory. A detachment of militia was despatched, and took
possession of the village. The Indians, fearing lest the Brazilians
might conduct them into slavery, dispersed into the forests and
mountains, while the missionary with difficulty escaped with his life.
The distance to be traversed from the British capital of George Town to
Pirara is about three hundred miles; and though the scenery is of that
enchanting character which, as the enthusiastic Waterton describes it,
made his soul overflow with joy, and roam in fancy through fairyland,
yet, as it is through an almost uninhabited country, with numerous
rapids and torrents, woods to be traversed, and mountains to be climbed,
the difficulties are not contemptible.
"To surmount these obstacles to navigation," say Mr Brett, "it is
necessary in some places to carry or haul the canoe overland at the
sides of the fall. At others, advantage is taken of the eddies which
are found at the base, and huge rocks that intercept the stream. The
Indians pass from rock to rock by leaping, wading, or swimming, and, by
means of a hawser, haul the boat through the rushing water from one
resting-point to another, the steersman keeping his seat, and--sometimes
lashed to it--striving with his large paddle to guide in some degree her
course. The roar of the water dashing and foaming against the
surrounding rocks renders this operation as exciting as it is difficult.
Still more exciting and difficult is the task of descending these
rapids. The safety of all then depends on their perfect steadiness, and
on the bowman and steersman acting in concert, and with instant
decision. The canoe is kept in the very centre of the current, one of
her best hands kneeling with quick eye and ready paddles in the bow, and
the rest of the crew exerting their strength to give her headway.
Darting swiftly along, she arrives at the head of the fall, and bounding
downward, shoots into the surf below it, dashing it up on either side,
and leaving her crew alone visible. If all be well, rising above the
foam, she obeys the guiding paddles in stem and stern, and dances over
the tumbling waves, while her excited crew exult at their success.
Whole families, however, even of Indians, are sometimes drowned; and in
1805 Captain Beresford, son-in-law of the governor, and four other
gentlemen, with two of their crew, lost their lives in shooting the
lower falls of the Masaruni."