Junction of the river Itenez—Short description of the Itenez
or Guaporé and its affluents—Fires at night prohibited on
account of savages—A capybara shot—Abundance of game above the
rapids—False alarms of attack by savages—Cooking-stove rigged
up in the canoe—The river Matocari—Hard work towing canoe—Open
pampas—Strong gale from the south hinders progress—Chocolotales
of Exaltacion—Falling banks—Estancia de Santiago—Value of oxen
in the Estancias of Mojos.
June 7th. Starting at twenty minutes past midnight, we were soon left
behind by the other canoes, and at daybreak there was a thick mist on,
which cleared up by about seven o’clock; but no canoes were in sight. On
the left bank there are many lagoons, for the number of ducks, cranes,
and other waterfowl hereabouts was very great. We passed a long stretch
of falling bank, with some trees overhanging, and looking, as we passed
under them, much as though they would fall on us. The current underneath
these falling banks is always very strong, and gives great trouble to
overcome, on account of the large number of trees and dead wood at the
foot of the bank. The river began to widen considerably, and as the wind
blew strongly up stream, a very considerable sea soon arose.
About 11 a.m. we got in sight of the junction of a river on the right
bank, and at first took it for the Itenez; but it turned out only to
be an arm of that river, for, proceeding onwards, we saw the other
canoes encamped upon a large sandbank formed between the junction of
the Itenez and the Mamoré. The river Itenez, whose waters are clear and
dark-coloured, whilst the Mamoré’s are muddy and whitish, is much wider
than the Mamoré, which, however, gives its colour to the united waters
below the junction, thus proving, probably, that the volume of its waters
is greater than that of the Itenez. Both these rivers are exceedingly
handsome at the junction, and so fine a “meeting of the waters” it would
be difficult to match. This junction may be said to be the point of union
of the extensive system of rivers that flow over the northern plain of
Bolivia, and down part of the southern slope of the Cordilhera Geral, in
the province of Mato Grosso in Brazil. The river Itenez in its higher
portions is called the Guaporé, its head waters being separated from
those of the river Paraguay by a land portage of but few miles in length.
There are but few settlements or villages upon its right bank, or on the
tributaries that empty themselves into it on that side, the town of Mato
Grosso, near the source, being the one of most consequence, while the
fort of Principe da Beira, about fifty miles from the junction, is simply
a Brazilian outpost, at which, however, a considerable fortification
has been erected. On the left bank there enter two rivers, called the
Maddalena and the Baure, or Blanco, which are entirely in Bolivian
territory; and on these rivers are some important villages, peopled
by different tribes of civilized Indians, who were Christianized by
the Jesuit missionaries of the Beni, and are to-day reckoned with that
department. On a branch of the Baure River, near the abandoned missions
of San Simon and San Nicolas, gold quartz veins of surpassing richness
have, for some years, been known to exist, and a Chilian society has
lately been formed to work these reefs. With the river Itenez we have
nothing more to do; the Mamoré, the sources of which are all in Bolivian
territory, being the river up which the journey was prosecuted.
In this part of the journey the Bolivians talk a great deal of the
presence of “barbaros,” and orders were given that the canoes should not
separate as they had hitherto done; but I had little hope that the order
would be carried out, for my men had taken it into their heads to be sick
again with fevers and ague, so that my canoe was generally a long way
behind the others.
We left the junction of the rivers about 3 p.m., and at 5 p.m. stopped
again for the evening meal, starting again in about half an hour, and
keeping on till about nine, when we stopped at a large playa for the
night. Here the Bolivian patrons gave a good sample of the discipline
they maintain with their Indians. The orders were that, as we were
in territories supposed to be much roamed over by the savages, we
were to start early—as soon after midnight as possible—keep on till
breakfast-time, about 8 or 9 a.m., then on again till dinner, about 5 or
6 p.m., when we were to shift quarters again ahead to some convenient
spot—a playa, if possible—where, making fast the canoes quietly, we
were to sleep till midnight, and then start ahead again. At this
sleeping-place no lights or loud talking to be allowed. Instead of this,
when we got to this playa, one of the crews, who had some lumps of
alligator flesh unroasted, lit fires and cooked the meat, and the patrons
said nothing to them; and it appeared to me that the fear of losing the
meat, although they had an enormous quantity already roasted, was greater
than the fear of attack from the barbaros. Doubtless there are barbaros
hereabouts, especially in the lands bordering on the Itenez, and higher
up the Mamoré; there is also an igarapé below the junction of the two
great rivers on the left bank, which leads up into districts bordering on
the higher parts of the Beni, where the Chacobo barbaros are said to be
in great numbers; but it is a chance that they should be _on_ the great
river, and my experience would go to prove that they will not attack even
a single canoe, or else I was lucky enough to ascend the river when they
were not on its banks, but up country.
June 8th. We started at 2 a.m., and kept up the right bank of the
Mamoré, and having left the Madeira below the junction, we are now
altogether in Bolivian territory. This morning I paddled from the start
till breakfast-time, at 9 a.m., and kept the men sharp to their work,
succeeding so well that we kept up with the other canoes, thus proving
that when my men chose to work well there was no reason why we should be
behindhand. When I work we have thirteen paddles going, and this number
ought to and can send our canoe, which is not a large one, along right
well; but if I take a short nap, or rest a time in the camarote, the men
sleep at their paddles, and we then drop to the rear.
About 5.30 this morning, before it was fairly light, we passed an open
pampa, with an igarapé running out at a sharp angle up stream into the
river. It appeared as though it was a large drain cut by hand, for the
slopes were just like canal banks, being covered with short grass, while
the water running down was clear, and seemingly some three or four feet
in depth.
Just above this igarapé I saw a large dark animal, the size of a large
hog, moving slowly up the river bank, having, apparently, just emerged
from its morning bath. In the dim light I could not be sure whether it
was an animal or a savage, but as we were only about a dozen yards from
the bank, I dropped my paddle, and taking up my gun, which was always
ready to hand, let fly a charge of B B at the moving mass, which rolled
down the bank into the river again. It proved to be a “capybara,” or
water-hog, and I was much pleased, as I had heard a great deal of this
animal, and had never seen it or got a good description of it. The
savages make ear ornaments of the front teeth of this rodent, and I have
already stated that I was fortunate enough to get four of these from the
Pacaguaras of the river Trés Irmãos. The capybara has the body of a pig,
the hind quarters slightly humped and covered with long bristles; the
feet are three hoofed; legs short and stumpy, but with plenty of flesh on
them; the head is almost exactly the shape of a rat’s, with three upper
and three lower teeth just like the incisors of a rat or rabbit. Its
colour is a dark dun all over. The teeth are very difficult to get out
of the head, more than three parts of their length being set in the jaws.
The only way is to hang the skull up until it dries sufficiently to allow
the teeth to shake out, but this is an affair of some months.
This capybara gave us plenty of good fresh meat, for I should think we
got about four or five Bolivian arrobas, say 1 or 1¼ cwt. from him;
whole, he took four of my strongest men to drag him along. The meat
greatly resembles the flesh of river turtles, but it is not so tough; one
can’t compare it to any other kind of animal flesh, it isn’t like beef
or pork, but is something like rather tasteless veal. The fat cannot be
eaten, as it has a strong fishy taste. On arriving at the breakfast place
we cooked some steaks, which were very palatable, and roughly roasted the
joints, that being the way in which the meat is kept when time will not
allow of its being properly made into charqui, _i.e._ jerked or dried in
the sun.
In the afternoon I shot a cayman for the men, who had for some days been
anxious to get one; this fellow was about eight feet long, and was among
the reeds (capim) at the foot of the bank. A charge of B B in his eye
troubled him seriously, and backing the canoe to him, we finished him
with a bullet in the same eye that was wounded by the shot. Hauling him
on board, we put him in the bows of the canoe in order that we might
roast or “chapapear” him at the first stopping-place. I also shot to-day
a large stork, called here a “cabeça seca,” or dry head, very much like,
and probably identical with, the “adjutant” of Calcutta. This fellow
stands about a couple of feet off the ground, body white with black
feathers in the wings, head fearfully ugly, with wattles all down the
neck and bare head. In this part of the river every canoe is well stocked
with meat, for everything seems eatable here. Birds of all kinds are
eaten, except, of course, vultures and hawks, called here “souchus” and
“gabilans;” also a very common bird on these rivers, called a “cigana,”
and which is I think the “hoopoe;” so, also, everything else, be it
monkey, lizard, or alligator, is welcome to the men. This abundance of
meat, whether fish, flesh, or fowl, justifies, in some measure, the
practice of the Bolivian patrons, of trusting to the shooting above the
rapids for meat, and giving all the Obidos charqui, etc., to the men
amongst the cachuelas.
At 2 p.m. another halt was ordered for dinner, and then to row on till 10
p.m. for a short rest. About five o’clock we crossed from the right to
the left bank, one of Don Miguel’s canoes dropping behind to allow the
large batelão and my own canoe to get into proper file, as Don Miguel
had given orders to one of his mayordomos always to stop in the rear.
Just as I pulled up into my place, I heard shouting, and saw the peons
of the rearmost canoe, many of whom had gone on shore, come running
down the bank and throw themselves into the river, shouting out “Los
bougres! los bougres!” The mayordomo mounted on the top of the camarote
with his rifle, and I, concluding that the men had seen barbaros in
the forest, ordered my crew to paddle out from under the bank, so that
I might get a range for my rifle if necessary. The sun was, however,
setting right in our faces, and prevented my seeing what was going on
with the other canoe. The mayordomo fired three shots, and, when his
peons had struggled into the canoe, paddled away as quickly as possible,
shouting to the canoes that were on ahead, and to the crew of one, who,
a short distance up stream, had landed on a sandbank, and were roasting
alligator-flesh. When we all got together again, I found that the peons
who went on shore, declared that they had seen two barbaros in the bush,
and that the mayordomo had seen three on the bank some distance down
stream. At these he fired, but, from the fact of the sun being in line,
he could not be sure whether he hit them or not. Every one was much
alarmed, as the savages hereabouts are said to be very bold; having at
this spot, about three years ago, attacked a single canoe, killing a
Brazilian, who was going to Bolivia as consul, and all his crew except
one Indian, who managed to hide in the bush and then find his way by land
to Exaltacion. We kept on until 7 p.m., when, crossing the river, we got
to a large playa, at which we made fast for the night, no fires being
allowed, and the night passed quietly.
June 9th. The start was made at 2 a.m., the canoes working up the right
bank until daylight, when we were obliged to cross over to the other
side, in order to avoid a strong current that we could not overcome with
the paddles. I took a paddle till daylight, and then went on watch, rifle
in hand, ready to do my best in case of a discharge of arrows from the
bush; but my good fortune prevailed, and although we were, during the
greater part of the day, far behind the other canoes, no attack was made
upon us. There was a very cold wind from the south beginning to blow
to-day, the men seeming to suffer much from it—one of them especially
complaining greatly of the effect on his eyes, which were almost closed
up, and apparently giving him great pain.
The usual halts for breakfast and dinner were made during the day, and
at nightfall we moved on up the river, looking for a playa to pass the
night on. While paddling on in the dark, some of the canoes being on
either side of the river, we were startled by hearing four shots fired
from the canoes on the opposite side to ourselves. It was impossible
to cross the river in the dark, and so we had to wait in great anxiety
to know what was occurring. The firing ceasing, I kept on up stream,
and overtook Señor Morales, who was on the same side of the river, from
whence we heard the canoes opposite to us proceeding on their way, and
we accordingly judged that there had been a false alarm. Soon afterwards
the moon rose, and Don Miguel’s canoes came over to our side, and we
learned that they had heard, while waiting for the large canoe that had
fallen somewhat in the rear, some suspicious noises in the bush, sticks
cracking, as though from being trodden upon; so they discharged their
guns in the direction of the sounds, and soon afterwards crossed over to
the side where Señor Morales and I were. The funk about barbaros was now
at its height, and every little noise in the bush, whether by night or
by day, is set down to barbaros following the canoes, until a convenient
spot, such as a point of land commanding the canoes as they ascended near
the bank, should be chosen for the attack. Arriving at a small playa,
which afforded a clear space of about a score of yards to the forest,
we made fast for the night, sleeping pretty soundly for a few hours,
although we had no watch set or sentinels on guard.
June 10th. Started at 2.15 a.m., and by good luck I was able to keep my
canoe somewhat ahead of the others, as towards daylight the other patrons
and their mayordomos stopped about a good deal, shooting pavas, which
were very numerous hereabouts. I did not get any, as to have tried to do
so would have necessitated my stopping also to follow the birds into the
bush, and I could not afford to lose the good place I had obtained to-day
in the file of canoes.
To-day I rigged up a cooking-stove in the canoe, by filling a large zinc
basin that I had with sand, and thus I was able to get a cup of coffee
or even some “chupe” for breakfast, prepared by my boy while the canoe
was _en route_. This saved me a good deal of time, and enabled me to get
something to eat at the hour most agreeable to me, and as the stoppages
for breakfast and dinner were now made very early in the day, I found the
invention a very good and useful one.
We had been travelling for the last three days through a very uniformly
level country, but slightly raised above the highest flood line, but the
forest still continues on either side of the river, the pampas passed as
yet having been very small. The river keeps very good for navigation,
although the many playas would give a pilot considerable trouble at
night, the canoes often getting fast in the mud, and having to be guided
into deep water by a man at the bow with a sounding-pole.
June 11th. We started very early at 1.15 a.m., and at 3 a.m. passed an
igarapé, on the left bank, called the “Mayosa,” which appears to be one
of the few well-known points between the junction of the Itenez and the
pueblo of Exaltacion. There was nothing special to record during the
day, and about 6 p.m., as we came to a large playa, formed by a rocky
formation, we concluded to stop for the night, and let the men get a
little more sleep than they had lately been able to have allowed them.
June 12th. Started at 2 a.m., and at 8 a.m. we passed the river Matocari,
emptying into the Mamoré on the right bank, its outlet being about
fifty yards in width. This stream is said to be navigable as far as the
villages of San Ramon and San Joaquin, which are distant from the Mamoré
about two days’ paddle during the rainy season. Goods for these villages
may in that season be taken up this river, instead of being taken down to
the junction of the Itenez, and passing the Fort of Principe da Beira, up
the river Maddalena. During the afternoon we passed many pampas on either
side of the river, which still keeps a fair breadth of about 500 or 600
yards. The pampas seem to be slightly raised above the highest river
level, but sufficiently so to prevent their being flooded except in very
high floods. At night we were unable to find any playa convenient for the
night halt, so we made fast the canoes to a stump about fifteen yards
from the shore.
June 13th. The morning was very cold and chilly; we started at 1.30
a.m., crossing over to the left bank, following in rear of the big canoe,
or batelão. Towards 4 a.m. a very strong and cold wind came up from the
south, with a thick fog, and we made poor progress, crossing from one
bank to another on account of strong currents, in one case having to
send the men on shore to pull with the rope, which was very hard work,
as the mud on the bank was very soft, making the men very cold, wet, and
dirty, as they sank in it at every step up to their knees. When they
came on board again, I served them with a ration of cachaça, and when
the day broke we found that, notwithstanding all our mishaps, we were
well up with the other canoes. The cold wind seemed to make the men very
stupid and dull, and their rate of paddling got to be so bad, that, as
I was determined not to lose the other canoes, I had to keep on without
stopping to cook any breakfast, but made shift with what we had left over
from the previous day.
About mid-day we came to large open pampas on either side of the river,
which in this part of its course has some very severe bends, some of them
being almost right angles. On the left bank is a grove of trees standing
alone, and looking almost like young poplars, and as they are on the top
of a cliff-like bank of yellow earth cut down by the current straight
to the water, they form rather a remarkable landmark. In consequence of
repeated crossings of the river to avoid shoals or currents, we made
but slow progress, and this part of the river will require a good deal
of study before steamers will be able to navigate easily, the playas
especially being very numerous, and stretching out a great distance into
the river.
We stopped for the night on the left bank, at a very large playa, which
was so soft and muddy, that in trying to go after some ducks, I got
thoroughly into it, and had to crawl out on hands and knees. Through this
I spoiled a good pair of high boots; for my boy, who should have washed
and dried them carefully, put them right into the fire for the second
operation, and burnt the fronts completely off. During the night the
south wind increased to almost a gale, and we were cold and miserable
till morning.
June 14th. We did not start till 5.30 a.m., and made but poor progress on
account of the gale which, blowing down on us, keeps us back. The men,
also, are apparently quite unable to put out any power, and look more
like a lot of blue-faced mummies than men, for it is curious how blue the
Indians seem to turn when suffering intense cold, which certainly knocks
them up much more than the hottest sun does. The country now appears more
open, and extensive pampas are now very frequently occurring. This day we
could only work about twelve hours, and at night the gale moderated.
June 15th. Started at 3.30 a.m., the day breaking cold and dull like
the preceding ones, but the wind had somewhat moderated from that of
yesterday, which might be termed half a gale.
The men still seemed in a numbed state, and it was impossible to
get the least exertion out of them, for they paddle in an inert and
wretched manner during the continuance of the cold. My thermometer had
unfortunately got broken, but I should judge that the mercury would have
stood very near, if not below, 50° Fahr.
At breakfast time to-day we found, on landing and passing through the
fringe of forest on the bank, that we had arrived at the “chocolotales”
of Exaltacion so that at last we had arrived near to some sort of
civilization. These “chocolotales” appear to be very extensive and are
found on both sides of the river, but to discover them it is necessary to
go ashore and push one’s way through the belt or fringe of chuchia and
brushwood that has been left all along the river bank. These plantations
of cocoa trees, or “chocolotales,” as they are called, were made in the
last century by the Mojos Indians of the department of the Beni, who were
gathered together from their wandering habits, and formed into villages
by the Jesuit missionaries of the Spanish South American dependencies
of Peru and Bolivia. They are very extensive, and are now claimed as
government properties, being farmed out, by the authorities of Exaltacion
and Trinidad, to speculators who make good profits, as there is no
labour, or very little, expended in clearing. At the proper season, which
is during the months when the river is in flood, from February to March,
the Cayubaba Indians from Exaltacion descend to these plantations, and
collecting the cocoa pods which are then ripe, clear the trees somewhat
of the dead leaves and rubbish that has fallen during the year, leaving
the chocolotales to the savages and wild animals until the collecting
time again comes round.
During the afternoon we passed a succession of these chocolotales, and
also some small clearings, or “chacos,” with plantains and other fruits
growing in abundance. Each chaco has its hut, where the Cayubabas live
during the few months in which they stay upon their plantations; but
there were no inhabitants, the proper season for staying down the river
having gone by. The absence of the proprietors did not, however, keep my
fellow-travellers and the Indian boatmen from helping themselves to all
the plantains and pumpkins that they could lay their hands on; and I was
told that it was an understood custom that all travellers should help
themselves as freely as they wished at these plantations, which are the
first that parties ascending the rapids into Bolivia can arrive at.
Hereabouts we had to cross to the right bank to avoid a very strong
current; and having to go under a very long stretch of falling bank, we
very narrowly escaped being buried by a fall of many tons of earth. While
paddling along, our captain saw ahead, small pieces of earth dropping
down the straight wall of the bank, and just had time to sheer out into
mid-river when down the mass came, very nearly bringing with it a lofty
tree, which, had it fallen, would certainly have reached us with its
topmost branches. Canoes ascending the river are much exposed to this
danger, and in passing under these falling banks a constant watch must be
kept.
To-day we found an arrow floating down the river, which the men declared
to belong to the Chacobo tribe of savages that roam about in these
districts; the arrow was of same size, form, and make as those used by
the Caripunas and Pacaguaras of the Rapids.
At night we stopped opposite to the “Estancia de Santiago,” the first of
the cattle feeding-grounds of Bolivia that one arrives at in ascending
the Mamoré. This was formerly the property of Don Barros Cardozo,
Brazilian Consul in the Beni for some years, and who had been murdered by
one of his Brazilian servants only a few weeks previously, as we had been
informed by the canoes we met descending the river at the Misericordia
Rapid. We now learned that the assassin had been hunted by the mayordomo,
and other servants of the deceased consul, for some days, until he was
discovered endeavouring to escape down the river in a small canoe; and
that, as he refused to surrender and menaced his pursuers with the same
knife with which he had murdered his master, he was shot down and killed
without waiting for process of law. This estancia is reported to have
nearly 8000 head of cattle, and I was informed that, had the consul not
lost his life, he had intended to drive a large number of his cattle by
land from Guajará Merim to San Antonio. From the estancia to the first
cachuela, the cattle would have been taken in canoes or on rafts—a
comparatively easy work, as the navigation is entirely free from other
obstacle than the playas or banks of sand which stretch out into the
river at low water, leaving, however, in every case a channel deep enough
and wide enough for craft that do not draw much water. Pasturage for the
cattle would be easily found at night along the river banks, which are
covered with “capim,” a rough wild grass, or “chuchia,” the wild cane,
the succulent points of which are greedily eaten by the cattle. Oxen in
the estancias of Mojos are worth from fifteen to twenty “pesos faibles,”
say about £2 10_s._ to £3 10_s._ a head, while at San Antonio and on the
higher Madeira they are worth from eighty to one hundred milreis, or £8
to £10.