Start from Trinidad with convoy of nine canoes—Hacienda
de San Antonio—Shifting of the river’s course—The river
Securé—Bella Vista, the port of Loreto—Siriono savages—State
and ceremony in preparation of meals—Excellent character of
Bolivian chocolate—Junction of the river Grande—River Piray—The
Mamoré left, and the Chapari entered—The Chimoré route to
Coni preferable to that of the Chapari—Class of steamers
suitable for the upper Mamoré—Difficulties of navigation in
the Chapari—Scarcity of game—Number of Indians available
in Trinidad for navigation of the upper rivers—The raya
fish—Jaguars—Mountain ranges approached—Bamboo trees seen—The
river Coni.
When one is dependent upon Bolivian Indians for means of locomotion,
it is impossible to secure punctuality in starting, and although the
men were ordered for the 15th of the month (July, 1874), it was the
19th before they were ready. The 16th was the feast of the “Virgen del
Carmen,” and of course the men could not leave on the eve of a holy
festival; which being over, they required a couple of days at least to
sleep off the effects of the heavy drinking which seems to be the sole
end and aim of these frequently recurring “dias de fiesta.”
On the 19th, my canoe, a light one, joined a convoy of nine, with an
aggregate number of 100 Indians in the crews, that then left Trinidad
for the port of Cochabamba, at the head of the river Coni, which falls
into the Chapari, one of the principal affluents of the river Mamoré.
All these canoes were laden with cocoa in the bean, or “pepita” as it is
called, a few tiger skins and tamarinds being the only other articles
that were taken up for sale in the interior of Bolivia.
Canoes ascending the Mamoré from Trinidad do not have to return by
the river Ybari, as there is a lagoon, about a league from the town,
from which a creek, or “curiche,” gives egress to the principal river,
which above Trinidad still preserves a bold and wide course, with free
facilities for navigation, and has many plantations and sugar estates on
its banks.
The first night we bivouacked on the Mamoré, a short distance only above
the junction of the creek just mentioned, and on the 20th we made good
progress, as the light canoes, or “montarias,” travel rapidly. In the
afternoon we stopped for a couple of hours at the “trapiche” of Don
Mariano Vargas, the “Intendente” of Police for Trinidad. This gentleman,
a native of Cochabamba, or a “Colla,” as those born in the hilly interior
of Bolivia are termed by the Bolivians of the plains of the Beni, treated
us very hospitably, and showed me great kindness, supplying me gratis
with a new rudder for my canoe, which, after starting from Trinidad, had
proved too small for its work. The sugar-cane plantations (“cañaverales”)
on this estate were of considerable extent, and there were also large
tobacco, coffee, and cocoa plantations.
The river hereabouts, as elsewhere above Exaltacion, appears to be
continually changing its course, for behind Don Mariano’s establishment
is a channel, now dry, that has evidently been the course in past years,
and the river again shows signs at this point of making back for its old
track. The want of any knowledge amongst the settlers as to how to keep
the river within bounds must at times lead to serious losses. Although
the river overflows its banks frequently on this part of its course,
there is no doubt that rough groynes run at an angle, covering the weak
places, so as to prevent the banks being destroyed and falling, would
tend to keep the river more in one course; for behind the groynes silt
would soon be deposited, and the bank would not be exposed to so much
scour, as the force of the stream would be diverted more into mid-channel.
We left Don Mariano’s about 5 p.m., and at nightfall stopped at a sand
playa after an hour and a half’s good work, and, having had a quiet
night, started again on the 21st, at daybreak. The climate on this part
of the river seems to be excellent, and the temperatures, I noted, in the
shade of my cabin, which was covered with palm leaves and a bullock’s
hide, varied from 62° Fahr. at night to 88° at mid-day. We passed some
large lagoons on the right bank of the river, and on the left bank saw
the mouth of the river Securé, on the sandbar of which were congregated
together a larger number of alligators, basking in the sun, than I saw on
any other part of the Mamoré. It was no use shooting any of them, as we
had plenty of beef in the canoes, and although the Indians are very glad
to eat cayman flesh when amongst the rapids, they scorn the idea when
in their own country of the Beni, where the term “cayman-eater” (“come
caiman”) is a common term of abuse in their villages. The river Securé
has its rise in the mountains of the northern part of the province of
Cochabamba, and though broad and wide for a great portion of its course,
is very shallow, and entirely unnavigable from the driftwood and timber
collected therein. An expedition, sent up by the Prefect of the Beni from
Trinidad, shortly before my arrival there, returned with the only result
of the impracticability for any kind of navigation. At mid-day we stopped
on the right bank, at the mouth of a small but rapid stream running
through mudbanks, where it was expected that we should be able to get
some plantains and yams, etc.; but the banks were too soft to enable us
to go to the chacos close by, belonging to the villagers of Loreto, and
the stream was too shallow for the canoes. About 4 p.m. we got to Bella
Vista, the port of Loreto, where we stayed while Don Bello went about
a quarter of a mile inland to a hacienda, for some tamarinds to add to
his merchandise for Cochabamba. Here is a trapiche, and many large and
well-kept cane-fields and plantations, but the land is much cut up by old
river-courses, called “madres,” or mothers, and must be almost entirely
inundated in exceptionally high floods, such as those caused by the rains
of 1872 and 1873, which were two very wet years. The town of Loreto is
about a couple of leagues from the river, and is inhabited by Indians of
the Trinitario family. As we were leaving, one Señor Nasario Buitraga
came down the river from Cochabamba and the river Chapari, his arrival
delaying us till nightfall, as Don Bello and he had some little business
and a great deal of talk to get through. Buitraga’s account of the state
of politics in Bolivia was not very encouraging to the prospects of my
journey, as there was fear of a _coup d’état_ by President Frias and his
party, who, being in a minority, were supposed to entertain the idea
of dismissing the Congress forcibly, as they had the troops at their
disposal. Chatting over these things with Buitraga detained us till 7.30
p.m., when the men were ordered to their paddles, and the journey was
continued until midnight, when a suitable resting-place was found on a
playa.
The next two days, the 22nd and 23rd, had nothing of importance worthy
record, except that we made good progress, the journey being continued
steadfastly and pleasantly. Above Bella Vista, it is said that the
right bank is subject to visitation by the Siriono savages, a fierce
and thoroughly intractable tribe, that infest the banks of the river
Piray. It is, therefore, advisable for canoes to keep on the left bank,
on which, a short distance in the interior, are plantations of cocoa
belonging to the Government. On this part of the river I had frequent
opportunities of adding something fresh to the supper-table, either in
the way of a duck or pava, or perhaps a stork that had fallen to a long
shot from my Winchester. Remembering these suppers brings vividly to my
mind the amount of state that a Bolivian patron observes at his meals
when _en voyage_. Immediately the canoes touch land, whether for the
mid-day or for the evening meal, the first thing the captain of the crews
must see to is to put on some of his men to clear a space in the bush
for the patron; then, while others seek dry firewood, some are despatched
to the canoes for the patron’s camp-table, chair, and hammock, in which
last luxurious resting-place, swinging from tree to tree, the patron
smokes the everlasting “cigarito de maiz” (cigarette rolled in husks of
the Indian corn), whilst his body-servant prepares the repast. Then,
while the cooking goes on, the camp-table is covered with a small cloth,
the cleanliness of which does not appear to be so much an object as that
it should have as much embroidery or lace attached to it as possible. In
fact, I have seen many table-cloths, with about a square yard of cloth
in the centre, having from two to three feet of embroidery on every
side. Next, the much-coveted deep silver dish that every Bolivian of any
pretensions to decency must have, even though he has not a clean shirt in
his portmanteau, is produced and placed in due state on the embroidered
cloth. This dish, or “fuente,” as it is termed, having been filled with
“chupe” (a kind of watery stew, composed of whatever meat or fish is
in the larder for the day, with rice, onions, garlic, “ahi,” or strong
chillies, and any vegetable added), a plateful of farinha is also placed
on the table, together with as many different kinds of bread or biscuit
as possible; and the patron, guests, and confidential dependents having
taken their seats, all state and ceremony is at an end, for each one
being armed with a spoon, a simultaneous attack upon the silver fuente,
or fount, is at once commenced, and he who is most dexterous with his
weapon secures not only the major portion of the savoury mess, but, if he
be a successful fisher, the most solid and substantial morsels.
The meal is not, however, considered complete without a cup of chocolate,
made from the excellent cocoa growing on the banks of the Mamoré River,
near Exaltacion and Trinidad. This chocolate is, in my opinion, quite
equal, if not superior, to the well-known Maravilla or Caracas cocoa, so
largely sold at the present day, and may be exported in large quantities
from Bolivia when the railway of the rapids is complete. At present each
trader to Pará takes a full cargo of cocoa in hide seroons, a ready sale
being sure to be met with there, as the quality is so much superior to
that grown in Brazil itself.
On the 24th, the sixth day after leaving Trinidad, we arrived at the
“Junta de los Rios,” being the junction of the Rio Grande with the
Mamoré. The Rio Grande takes its rise on the southern slopes of the
mountains near the town of Cochabamba, from whence it flows in a
southerly direction until it is turned towards the west by the mountains
near Sucre, when it takes a magnificent curve round to the north, and
flows on to join the Mamoré; and although it has the longest course of
the rivers of Bolivia, it is so shallow that it is quite useless for
purposes of navigation. Although the whole of its course is laid down on
most maps, I should be inclined to think that probably it has never been
fully explored, for the Siriono savages have made their last stand in the
strip of land through which it flows, between the Piray and the Itonama
or Magdalena.
About forty leagues from the Junta de los Rios, the river Piray runs
into the Rio Grande on its left bank, and from this point the Rio Grande
receives the name of Sará until it joins the Mamoré. The Piray, of
the navigation of which I can only speak from hearsay, flows from the
district of Santa Cruz, and is said to be free from all obstacle for at
least eight months of the year; but for the remaining four I should think
it would be closed to steamers, as even canoes have to be unloaded and
dragged over the shallows, which, I was told, are of frequent occurrence.
The Rio Grande at its mouth appeared to be very dry, while the Mamoré had
plenty of water, and was about 500 yards in width.
About 9 a.m. on the 25th, we entered the river Chapari, leaving the
Mamoré, or as it is called from the junction upwards, the Chimoré, on
our left. I was only able to ascend the Chimoré a short distance, just
to get some slight idea of its capabilities for navigation purposes, and
it seemed to me to be a far superior river in volume of water to the
Chapari, which is barely 200 yards wide at its junction with the Mamoré,
and brings down beautifully clear water, that soon becomes lost in the
muddy waters of the larger river. I was much disappointed that Don Bello
did not arrange to ascend the Chimoré to its port of the same name,
instead of taking the Chapari, which, as will hereafter be seen, is full
of obstructions to the progress of the canoes. I suppose the reason why
the Chapari route is the one in general use, is that it allows the canoes
to ascend right up to the (so-called) port of Coni, or the landing-place
and depôt for the city of Cochabamba; while the port of the Chimoré is
about two leagues distant therefrom. A good road might easily be made
across from Chimoré to Coni, and I should think that the ascent of the
Chimoré could be done in about half the time required for that of the
Chapari, as I have been credibly informed that there are no rapids, and
but few shallows, on the Chimoré.
Throughout the day the Chapari kept of a uniform width of about 150
yards, and though every turn of the river caused the usual playa, or
sandbank, there was always a fair channel for the canoes.
Steamers for the upper waters of the Mamoré—that is, above the
rapids—should be about 80 or 100 tons burthen, and stern-wheel boats
would probably be the best for the purpose, as they would be of lighter
draft than screw-propellers. Eighteen inches to two feet should be the
limit of draft, although the channels would generally admit of deeper
vessels being used—indeed, some of the canoes draw three and three feet
six inches; but the danger of grounding on the playa is so constant, that
only flat-bottomed craft would be always sure of making fair progress. At
present the practice is, when it is found impossible to haul the canoes,
with their loads, over the shallows, to unload them and drag the packages
through the shallow water, in hides doubled up so as to form rough and
water-tight boxes, termed “pelotos,” and frequently the cargoes are thus
drawn along for two or three days successively.
When steam navigation is commenced on these upper waters of the Mamoré, a
station should be set up opposite to the Junta de los Rios, that is, on
the left bank of the Mamoré. It would serve as a depository for canoes
and goods from or for Santa Cruz, and would be free from attacks of the
Siriono savages, who are on the opposite shore, and do not seem to use
canoes at all. As we proceed with the journey, we shall see what the
capabilities of the Chapari are for navigation; but rapids and strong
currents (“cachuelas” and “corrientes”) are spoken of as existing higher
up, and also “barbaros,” or savages, called Yuracarés; but they are
“manso,” or tame, being called barbaros simply because they refuse to be
baptized into the Roman Catholic Church.
During the day we were frequently much delayed by getting into false
channels amongst the sandbanks; these often obliged us to return a
considerable distance before we got into the right course, as they do not
connect with each other, but end abruptly in a most inexplicable manner.
There is very little, if anything, to shoot on the river Chapari, for
the Yuracarés are such good hunters that game of all kinds has become
very scarce in their district. Fish is said to be very abundant, but as
we worked long hours by day, the men were too tired to sit up fishing at
night, and consequently we had no time to test the resources of the river
in this respect.
On the 26th we paddled, nearly the whole of the day, through a succession
of snags and dead trees that had collected across the river, and formed
an almost complete barricade. These obstructions might be removed by
hauling them down stream with a steam-tug, but the operation would be
a long and difficult one. In the afternoon, being about ten minutes
behind the other canoes, I took up a channel on the right bank, and kept
on round a large island formed in a big bend of the river, the channel
being very dry, and in places very full of snags. It is, however, much
shorter than the main course of the river, which we got into again before
nightfall.
July 27th. Throughout the day’s journey the river was wider than the
part travelled over yesterday, and there were fewer snags and less
fallen timber to delay the canoes. To-day we overtake two large cargo
canoes, or gariteas, belonging to Don Bello, and there are four others
ahead, all laden with cocoa for sale in Cochabamba. Thus there are nine
canoes altogether in our party, and this would seem to give proof that
there are a good many men always to be had in Trinidad, although to look
at the place one would fancy it deserted; and such was the impression
that I gathered from my visit there. However, when one thinks of the
number of canoes always in movement on the upper rivers, it is clear
that there must be a considerable population. To-day I counted up the
“tripulaciones,” or crews, with us and the four canoes ahead, and made
the number of men to be exactly 100, exclusive of servants. Most of
these are from Trinidad, and there are other canoes on the Piray for
Cuatro Ojos, and down the Mamoré to Santa Ana, Exaltacion, and the other
villages. During the afternoon we passed a station called the “Cruz,”
being simply a rough cross set up to mark the half distance from the
mouth of the river to the port of Coni.
The next day (28th) the morning was very cold, the thermometer going
down to 60°, through the continuance of a strong south wind which has
been blowing for the last few days. The river this day was bordered
with groves of chuchia, which one of the Bolivian patrons chose to set
on fire. The canes being very dry, the fire took large proportions with
great rapidity, and the wind blowing straight down stream, our canoes
passed a bad time from the quantity of ashes that were blown over us.
During the afternoon, Don Bello being a short distance ahead of my canoe,
I saw him take aim at something near him on the bank; but his gun missed
fire, and he beckoned to me. However, before I could get fairly up, a
fine deer ran down the bank and rapidly up again. Having my double barrel
in hand, I fired with B B, but was out of range. The deer was as large as
a good-sized English sheep, and I much regretted that we did not manage
between us to secure him. During the evening I consoled myself by making
the best rifle-shot I ever made, or probably ever shall make, killing a
pava from the opposite side of the river, the bird being at the top of
a tree probably 100 feet high, and the river being more than 150 yards
in width. Certainly the Winchester rifles do make extraordinary good
shooting; but such a shot as this was, of course, a chance that will
never occur again to one.
On the 29th the river, which during the last three days had been very
fairly favourable for navigation, again appeared full of old timber
and snags; we therefore made very slow progress, having to make many
delays on account of the heavy cargo canoes, which drew from two to
four feet of water, requiring to be partially unloaded in many parts
of the course travelled over to-day. Our lighter passenger canoes, or
montarias, could have got far in advance of the cargo craft, but we
should not have gained time by doing so, for the probable result would
have been that we should have been kept waiting an unconscionable time
for the cargoes at the Coni, while the crews were fishing and otherwise
delaying, as they invariably do when out of the sight of their patrons.
Upon one occasion, when they overtook us, we found that one of the men
had just been stung by a “raya” fish, the wound being in the heel. The
man was suffering a good deal of pain—about as much, I judged, as that
caused by a scorpion’s sting. I gave him a glass of cachaça, with about
thirty drops of chlorodyne, to dull the pain; and as we had no ammonia
available at the moment, I advised him to bathe his leg and foot freely
with urine. The raya of these rivers appears to be much smaller than
that of the coasts of Venezuela, where I have seen them nearly two feet
square; while these are rarely more than six or eight inches square. The
bite or sting is here, consequently, not so much to be dreaded as that of
the rayas of Venezuela, which cause a wound that might be thought to have
been caused by a severe cut from a jagged knife; while on these rivers
the wound is invariably a punctured one only. In Venezuela the wound is
considered to be very dangerous, and people rarely recover from it, while
here it appears not to have much more effect than the sting of a scorpion
or centipede; but that is bad enough, and painful in the extreme. The
offensive weapon of the raya is placed at the root of the tail, and is,
perhaps, three or four inches in length, by about a quarter of an inch in
width. The sides are serrated, the points of the teeth being set at an
angle, with its apex towards the end of the sting, and thus, when this
probe is driven into whatever the fish is attacking, it enters readily;
but when it is withdrawn, the teeth scratch and tear the sides of the
wound, doubtless depositing at this time the poison, which is probably
injected through small channels along these teeth in the same way as the
rattlesnake and the cobra di capella inject their poison down a groove in
the under side of their fangs. As the fish is flat and of a dark brown
colour, it is at all times difficult to detect; but it is more especially
so on the stony beds of the upper rivers, where the men, who have to wade
barefooted over the shallows, are always in danger, the rayas being in
great abundance. A good stout pair of thigh boots is, however, a perfect
preservative from the attack of this venomous fish.
On the next two days, the 30th and 31st of July, our toilsome journey
was continued in a constant battle with the shallow water and stockades
of dead wood. During a mid-day halt, one of the Bolivian merchants, who
had a number of tiger skins as part of his cargo, opened the packages
and spread the skins out on the sandbanks, to have the dust and insects
beaten out of them, as well as to air them—an operation that is very
necessary, as the skins, being fresh, are soon damaged if left packed for
any length of time. The trade in these skins seems to be a favourite
one, the best sale for them being in La Paz, where the Quichuan Indians
pay a long price for them for use on their feast-days. When dressed
in these skins, and their heads adorned with macaw feathers, they are
supposed to represent the wild animals of their country’s forests. These
tigers or jaguars are of good size, and must be splendid beasts when
alive, as some of the skins are fully five and six feet from the root of
the tail to the tip of the nose, with dark and lustrous spots that give
them a very handsome appearance. From the large trade in these skins, it
would seem that these animals are very numerous in the forests and on the
pampas of the Beni, and it seems strange that throughout the journey we
did not meet with any of them, although their footprints were always met
with wherever we landed.
August 1st. The river appears to be wider than ever, being at least 500
yards in width, and running very strongly. We are now six days on this
river, and instead of its decreasing it grows wider, but it is also much
shallower—so much so that, what with the shallows and dead wood, it would
be quite impossible to take up any kind of steamer. At mid-day we saw
four large otters (“lobos”), and I sent a ball amongst them from about
500 yards distance. It seemed as though one had been hit, for there was a
great commotion amongst them, and only three were seen afterwards, though
the body of the wounded one did not turn up, probably being carried away
by the strong current; the other three made for the shore and were lost
in the bush. In the afternoon my montaria was very nearly upset; for we
were pulling hard against a strong current, when it mounted a sunken
pole, and, swinging round, the rudder broke clear away. Drifting down
stream, we managed to get hold of a stump, and, passing a rope on shore,
hauled up to the bank to effect repairs. In any little accident such as
this, the principal danger seems to be caused by the men themselves,
who, instead of sitting perfectly still, get excited and rise from their
seats, and as the canoe sways about, they disturb the equilibrium, and
one is fortunate indeed if an upset does not occur; therefore, the first
thing for the patron to do in any accident is to shout at the men to keep
their seats, and, if necessary, enforce his orders by any means at his
command. To-day the “marigueys,” “carapanas,” and mosquitoes made their
appearance again, the lower part of this river having been very free
from these pests; but as the nights have got much warmer, owing to the
cessation of the south wind, the increased temperature may have brought
them out.
August 2nd. The morning start is now obliged to be deferred until full
daylight, as the numerous shallows and other obstructions render it
impossible to travel in the dark. Just as we were starting we saw a small
canoe pass rapidly by us on the opposite side of the river. There were
three men in it, who were the first of the Yuracaré Indians that we had
seen. We called to them, but they would not answer or come over to us.
These Indians do not use bark canoes like the Caripunas and Pacaguaras
of the rapids, but dug-outs of a very narrow and long description, much
similar to those used by the Cayubabas of Exaltacion.
High mountains in the south now made their appearance, being probably the
ridge shown on the maps as running from the Chapari towards the Chilon
and the Rio Grande. The tops of these hills were in sight yesterday
afternoon, but this morning whole ranges come into view, following one
another far into the interior, the summits of those farthest off being
lost in the cloudy atmosphere.
On the banks of this upper part of the river, the large kind of bamboo
grows in abundance. This very useful tree is here called “taquarembo,”
while in Venezuela I recollect it is called “wacwa,” and this difference
of names given to things in Spanish-speaking countries causes great
confusion of ideas to travellers. Bamboo is not found on the Amazon or on
the Madeira, as it seems to require a dryer and higher land.
Soon after starting we arrived at the mouth of the river Coni, which
enters the Chapari on its right bank. The port of Coni, where we finally
leave our canoes and take to the road for Cochabamba, is about six
leagues from the junction of the Coni with the Chapari, which changes its
name above the junction to San Mateo. The Coni is a small river about
100 yards in width at its outlet, and so shallow that we had to drag the
canoes over the bar, which we had no sooner overcome than fresh shallows
obstructed our progress. Indeed, so unsuitable for any navigation is
this river, that the whole of this day and the two following ones, the
3rd and 4th of August, were occupied in one incessant struggle with the
shallows, so that the six leagues (eighteen miles) from the mouth of the
river to the port occupied us for three entire days. These shallows are
dignified by the name of the “cachuelas,” or falls, of the Coni, but they
are properly speaking “corrientes,” or rapids, running over long banks
covered with loose stones brought down from the mountains during the
floods; and as the whole course of this river is one constant succession
of these rapids, it is surprising that it has been selected by the
Bolivian traders instead of the Chimoré, to arrive at which the road from
Cochabamba would only have been some four leagues longer.
THROUGH BOLIVIA AND PERU.