It is fortunate that casserie is manufactured by an extremely slow,
laborious process, since the women, who are the drink-makers, in the
first place have to reduce the material (cassava bread) to a pulp by
means of their own molars, after which it is watered down and put away
in troughs to ferment. Great is the diligence of these willing slaves;
but, work how they will, they can only satisfy their lords’ love of
a big drink at long intervals. Such a function as that at which I had
assisted is therefore the result of much patient mastication and silent
fermentation--the delicate flower of a plant that has been a long time
growing.
Having now established myself as one of the family, at the cost of some
disagreeable sensations and a pang or two of self-disgust, I resolved
to let nothing further trouble me at Parahuari, but to live the
easy, careless life of the idle man, joining in hunting and fishing
expeditions when in the mood; at other times enjoying existence in my
own way, apart from my fellows, conversing with wild nature in that
solitary place. Besides Runi, there were, in our little community, two
oldish men, his cousins I believe, who had wives and grown-up
children. Another family consisted of Piake, Runi’s nephew, his brother
Kua-ko--about whom there will be much to say--and a sister Oalava. Piake
had a wife and two children; Kua-ko was unmarried and about nineteen or
twenty years old; Oalava was the youngest of the three. Last of all,
who should perhaps have been first, was Runi’s mother, called Cla-cla,
probably in imitation of the cry of some bird, for in these latitudes a
person is rarely, perhaps never, called by his or her real name, which
is a secret jealously preserved, even from near relations. I believe
that Cla-cla herself was the only living being who knew the name her
parents had bestowed on her at birth. She was a very old woman, spare
in figure, brown as old sun-baked leather, her face written over with
innumerable wrinkles, and her long coarse hair perfectly white; yet she
was exceedingly active, and seemed to do more work than any other woman
in the community; more than that, when the day’s toil was over and
nothing remained for the others to do, then Cla-cla’s night work would
begin; and this was to talk all the others, or at all events all the
men, to sleep. She was like a self-regulating machine, and punctually
every evening, when the door was closed, and the night fire made up, and
every man in his hammock, she would set herself going, telling the most
interminable stories, until the last listener was fast asleep; later
in the night, if any man woke with a snort or grunt, off she would go
again, taking up the thread of the tale where she had dropped it.
Old Cla-cla amused me very much, by night and day, and I seldom tired of
watching her owlish countenance as she sat by the fire, never allowing
it to sink low for want of fuel; always studying the pot when it was on
to simmer, and at the same time attending to the movements of the others
about her, ready at a moment’s notice to give assistance or to dart out
on a stray chicken or refractory child.
So much did she amuse me, although without intending it, that I
thought it would be only fair, in my turn, to do something for her
entertainment. I was engaged one day in shaping a wooden foil with my
knife, whistling and singing snatches of old melodies at my work,
when all at once I caught sight of the ancient dame looking greatly
delighted, chuckling internally, nodding her head, and keeping time
with her hands. Evidently she was able to appreciate a style of music
superior to that of the aboriginals, and forthwith I abandoned my foils
for the time and set about the manufacture of a guitar, which cost
me much labour and brought out more ingenuity than I had ever thought
myself capable of. To reduce the wood to the right thinness, then to
bend and fasten it with wooden pegs and with gums, to add the arm,
frets, keys, and finally the catgut strings--those of another kind being
out of the question--kept me busy for some days. When completed it was
a rude instrument, scarcely tunable; nevertheless when I smote the
strings, playing lively music, or accompanied myself in singing, I found
that it was a great success, and so was as much pleased with my own
performance as if I had had the most perfect guitar ever made in old
Spain. I also skipped about the floor, strum-strumming at the same time,
instructing them in the most lively dances of the whites, in which the
feet must be as nimble as the player’s fingers. It is true that these
exhibitions were always witnessed by the adults with a profound gravity,
which would have disheartened a stranger to their ways. They were a set
of hollow bronze statues that looked at me, but I knew that the living
animals inside of them were tickled at my singing, strumming, and
pirouetting. Cla-cla was, however, an exception, and encouraged me not
infrequently by emitting a sound, half cackle and half screech, by
way of laughter; for she had come to her second childhood, or, at all
events, had dropped the stolid mask which the young Guayana savage, in
imitation of his elders, adjusts to his face at about the age of twelve,
to wear it thereafter all his life long, or only to drop it occasionally
when very drunk. The youngsters also openly manifested their pleasure,
although, as a rule, they try to restrain their feelings in the presence
of grown-up people, and with them I became a great favourite.
By and by I returned to my foil-making, and gave them fencing lessons,
and sometimes invited two or three of the biggest boys to attack me
simultaneously, just to show how easily I could disarm and kill them.
This practice excited some interest in Kua-ko, who had a little more of
curiosity and geniality and less of the put-on dignity of the others,
and with him I became most intimate. Fencing with Kua-ko was highly
amusing: no sooner was he in position, foil in hand, than all my
instructions were thrown to the winds, and he would charge and attack me
in his own barbarous manner, with the result that I would send his foil
spinning a dozen yards away, while he, struck motionless, would gaze
after it in open-mouthed astonishment.
Three weeks had passed by not unpleasantly when, one morning, I took
it into my head to walk by myself across that somewhat sterile savannah
west of the village and stream, which ended, as I have said, in a long,
low, stony ridge. From the village there was nothing to attract the
eye in that direction; but I wished to get a better view of that great
solitary hill or mountain of Ytaioa, and of the cloud-like summits
beyond it in the distance. From the stream the ground rose in a gradual
slope, and the highest part of the ridge for which I made was about
two miles from the starting-point--a parched brown plain, with nothing
growing on it but scattered tussocks of sere hair-like grass.
When I reached the top and could see the country beyond, I was agreeably
disappointed at the discovery that the sterile ground extended only
about a mile and a quarter on the further side, and was succeeded by a
forest--a very inviting patch of woodland covering five or six square
miles, occupying a kind of oblong basin, extending from the foot of
Ytaioa on the north to a low range of rocky hills on the south. From the
wooded basin long narrow strips of forest ran out in various directions
like the arms of an octopus, one pair embracing the slopes of Ytaioa,
another much broader belt extending along a valley which cut through the
ridge of hills on the south side at right angles and was lost to sight
beyond; far away in the west and south and north distant mountains
appeared, not in regular ranges, but in groups or singly, or looking
like blue banked-up clouds on the horizon.
Glad at having discovered the existence of this forest so near home, and
wondering why my Indian friends had never taken me to it nor ever went
out on that side, I set forth with a light heart to explore it for
myself, regretting only that I was without a proper weapon for procuring
game. The walk from the ridge over the savannah was easy, as the barren,
stony ground sloped downwards the whole way. The outer part of the wood
on my side was very open, composed in most part of dwarf trees that grow
on stony soil, and scattered thorny bushes bearing a yellow pea-shaped
blossom. Presently I came to thicker wood, where the trees were much
taller and in greater variety; and after this came another sterile
strip, like that on the edge of the wood where stone cropped out from
the ground and nothing grew except the yellow-flowered thorn bushes.
Passing this sterile ribbon, which seemed to extend to a considerable
distance north and south, and was fifty to a hundred yards wide, the
forest again became dense and the trees large, with much undergrowth in
places obstructing the view and making progress difficult.
I spent several hours in this wild paradise, which was so much more
delightful than the extensive gloomier forests I had so often penetrated
in Guayana; for here, if the trees did not attain to such majestic
proportions, the variety of vegetable forms was even greater; as far
as I went it was nowhere dark under the trees, and the number of lovely
parasites everywhere illustrated the kindly influence of light and air.
Even where the trees were largest the sunshine penetrated, subdued by
the foliage to exquisite greenish-golden tints, filling the wide lower
spaces with tender half-lights, and faint blue-and-gray shadows. Lying
on my back and gazing up, I felt reluctant to rise and renew my ramble.
For what a roof was that above my head! Roof I call it, just as the
poets in their poverty sometimes describe the infinite ethereal sky by
that word; but it was no more roof-like and hindering to the soaring
spirit than the higher clouds that float in changing forms and tints,
and like the foliage chasten the intolerable noonday beams. How far
above me seemed that leafy cloudland into which I gazed! Nature, we
know, first taught the architect to produce by long colonnades the
illusion of distance; but the light-excluding roof prevents him from
getting the same effect above. Here Nature is unapproachable with her
green, airy canopy, a sun-impregnated cloud--cloud above cloud; and
though the highest may be unreached by the eye, the beams yet filter
through, illuming the wide spaces beneath--chamber succeeded by chamber,
each with its own special lights and shadows. Far above me, but not
nearly so far as it seemed, the tender gloom of one such chamber or
space is traversed now by a golden shaft of light falling through some
break in the upper foliage, giving a strange glory to everything it
touches--projecting leaves, and beard-like tuft of moss, and snaky
bush-rope. And in the most open part of that most open space, suspended
on nothing to the eye, the shaft reveals a tangle of shining silver
threads--the web of some large tree-spider. These seemingly distant yet
distinctly visible threads serve to remind me that the human artist is
only able to get his horizontal distance by a monotonous reduplication
of pillar and arch, placed at regular intervals, and that the least
departure from this order would destroy the effect. But Nature produces
her effects at random, and seems only to increase the beautiful illusion
by that infinite variety of decoration in which she revels, binding tree
to tree in a tangle of anaconda-like lianas, and dwindling down from
these huge cables to airy webs and hair-like fibres that vibrate to the
wind of the passing insect’s wing.
Thus in idleness, with such thoughts for company, I spent my time, glad
that no human being, savage or civilized, was with me. It was better to
be alone to listen to the monkeys that chattered without offending; to
watch them occupied with the unserious business of their lives. With
that luxuriant tropical nature, its green clouds and illusive aerial
spaces, full of mystery, they harmonized well in language, appearance,
and motions--mountebank angels, living their fantastic lives far above
earth in a half-way heaven of their own.
I saw more monkeys on that morning than I usually saw in the course of
a week’s rambling. And other animals were seen; I particularly remember
two accouries I startled, that after rushing away a few yards stopped
and stood peering back at me as if not knowing whether to regard me as
friend or enemy. Birds, too, were strangely abundant; and altogether
this struck me as being the richest hunting-ground I had seen, and it
astonished me to think that the Indians of the village did not appear to
visit it.
On my return in the afternoon I gave an enthusiastic account of my day’s
ramble, speaking not of the things that had moved my soul, but only of
those which move the Guayana Indian’s soul--the animal food he craves,
and which, one would imagine, Nature would prefer him to do without, so
hard he finds it to wrest a sufficiency from her. To my surprise they
shook their heads and looked troubled at what I said; and finally my
host informed me that the wood I had been in was a dangerous place; that
if they went there to hunt, a great injury would be done to them; and he
finished by advising me not to visit it again.
I began to understand from their looks and the old man’s vague words
that their fear of the wood was superstitious. If dangerous creatures
had existed there--tigers, or camoodis, or solitary murderous
savages--they would have said so; but when I pressed them with questions
they could only repeat that “something bad” existed in the place, that
animals were abundant there because no Indian who valued his life dared
venture into it. I replied that unless they gave me some more definite
information I should certainly go again and put myself in the way of the
danger they feared.
My reckless courage, as they considered it, surprised them; but they had
already begun to find out that their superstitions had no effect on me,
that I listened to them as to stories invented to amuse a child, and for
the moment they made no further attempt to dissuade me.
Next day I returned to the forest of evil report, which had now a
new and even greater charm--the fascination of the unknown and the
mysterious; still, the warning I had received made me distrustful and
cautious at first, for I could not help thinking about it. When we
consider how much of their life is passed in the woods, which become
as familiar to them as the streets of our native town to us, it seems
almost incredible that these savages have a superstitious fear of all
forests, fearing them as much, even in the bright light of day, as a
nervous child with memory filled with ghost-stories fears a dark room.
But, like the child in the dark room, they fear the forest only when
alone in it, and for this reason always hunt in couples or parties.
What, then, prevented them from visiting this particular wood, which
offered so tempting a harvest? The question troubled me not a little; at
the same time I was ashamed of the feeling, and fought against it; and
in the end I made my way to the same sequestered spot where I had rested
so long on my previous visit.
In this place I witnessed a new thing and had a strange experience.
Sitting on the ground in the shade of a large tree, I began to hear a
confused noise as of a coming tempest of wind mixed with shrill calls
and cries. Nearer and nearer it came, and at last a multitude of birds
of many kinds, but mostly small, appeared in sight swarming through the
trees, some running on the trunks and larger branches, others flitting
through the foliage, and many keeping on the wing, now hovering and
now darting this way or that. They were all busily searching for and
pursuing the insects, moving on at the same time, and in a very few
minutes they had finished examining the trees near me and were gone; but
not satisfied with what I had witnessed, I jumped up and rushed after
the flock to keep it in sight. All my caution and all recollection of
what the Indians had said was now forgot, so great was my interest in
this bird-army; but as they moved on without pause, they quickly left me
behind, and presently my career was stopped by an impenetrable tangle of
bushes, vines, and roots of large trees extending like huge cables
along the ground. In the midst of this leafy labyrinth I sat down on a
projecting root to cool my blood before attempting to make my way back
to my former position. After that tempest of motion and confused noises
the silence of the forest seemed very profound; but before I had
been resting many moments it was broken by a low strain of exquisite
bird-melody, wonderfully pure and expressive, unlike any musical sound I
had ever heard before. It seemed to issue from a thick cluster of broad
leaves of a creeper only a few yards from where I sat. With my eyes
fixed on this green hiding-place I waited with suspended breath for its
repetition, wondering whether any civilized being had ever listened to
such a strain before. Surely not, I thought, else the fame of so divine
a melody would long ago have been noised abroad. I thought of the
rialejo, the celebrated organbird or flute-bird, and of the various ways
in which hearers are affected by it. To some its warbling is like the
sound of a beautiful mysterious instrument, while to others it seems
like the singing of a blithe-hearted child with a highly melodious
voice. I had often heard and listened with delight to the singing of the
rialejo in the Guayana forests, but this song, or musical phrase, was
utterly unlike it in character. It was pure, more expressive, softer--so
low that at a distance of forty yards I could hardly have heard it.
But its greatest charm was its resemblance to the human voice--a voice
purified and brightened to something almost angelic. Imagine, then, my
impatience as I sat there straining my sense, my deep disappointment
when it was not repeated! I rose at length very reluctantly and slowly
began making my way back; but when I had progressed about thirty yards,
again the sweet voice sounded just behind me, and turning quickly, I
stood still and waited. The same voice, but not the same song--not
the same phrase; the notes were different, more varied and rapidly
enunciated, as if the singer had been more excited. The blood rushed to
my heart as I listened; my nerves tingled with a strange new delight,
the rapture produced by such music heightened by a sense of mystery.
Before many moments I heard it again, not rapid now, but a soft
warbling, lower than at first, infinitely sweet and tender, sinking to
lisping sounds that soon ceased to be audible; the whole having lasted
as long as it would take me to repeat a sentence of a dozen words. This
seemed the singer’s farewell to me, for I waited and listened in vain to
hear it repeated; and after getting back to the starting-point I sat for
upwards of an hour, still hoping to hear it once more!
The weltering sun at length compelled me to quit the wood, but not
before I had resolved to return the next morning and seek for the spot
where I had met with so enchanting an experience. After crossing the
sterile belt I have mentioned within the wood, and just before I came to
the open outer edge where the stunted trees and bushes die away on the
border of the savannah, what was my delight and astonishment at hearing
the mysterious melody once more! It seemed to issue from a clump of
bushes close by; but by this time I had come to the conclusion
that there was a ventriloquism in this woodland voice which made it
impossible for me to determine its exact direction. Of one thing I was,
however, now quite convinced, and that was that the singer had been
following me all the time. Again and again as I stood there listening it
sounded, now so faint and apparently far off as to be scarcely audible;
then all at once it would ring out bright and clear within a few yards
of me, as if the shy little thing had suddenly grown bold; but, far or
near, the vocalist remained invisible, and at length the tantalizing
melody ceased altogether.