EL RIO META
"Yendo de la manera que refiero
Habiendo muchos dias navegado,
Dieron en la gran boca del estero
De Meta sumamente deseado:
Alegrose cualquiera compañero,
Pensando ser concluso su cuidado,
Pues aunque de poblado no ven cosa,
La tierra se muestra mas lustrosa."
--Juan de Castellanos. [117]
"Having traveled many days in the manner above described, we finally
reached the mouth of the much desired Meta. Every one rejoiced,
thinking their gravest solicitudes were at an end. And although no
human habitations were visible, nevertheless the land was of a bright
and cheerful aspect."
Thus, in sonorous octava rima, does the illustrious historiographer of
Tunja [118] give expression to the joy which Alonso de Herrera and his
companions experienced on their arrival at what they fondly hoped was
the goal of their long and daring expedition. It was now more than a
year since they had left the mouth of the Orinoco. Before starting on
their adventurous journey, they had to construct flat-bottomed boats
and make other preparations indispensable for a voyage so replete
with danger and of such uncertain duration.
Herrera was the second of the conquistadores to reach the Meta by
the Orinoco. He was drawn thither by the reports of vast amounts of
gold existing in the province of the Meta. But the reports proved
to be as misleading in his case as they had been in that of so many
other valiant leaders of expeditions in search of another Mexico or
Peru. He had scarcely reached what he was led to believe was the land
of gold and precious stones when, in a fight with Indians, his life
was cut short by a poisoned arrow.
Unlike Herrera, we were glad of our arrival at the Meta, not because we
were in hopes of finding treasure in its neighborhood, but because we
were at last sure that our boat would not be commandeered for military
purposes. True, we had been told at Urbana that there was nothing to
apprehend on this score, but we were not entirely satisfied with the
assurances given. When, however, we had entered the Meta, we were in
Colombian territory and away from Venezuelan telegraphs and dispatch
boats. After this we had no further anxiety, for we had every reason to
believe that we should arrive in due course at our destination--Orocué.
Although Herrera's voyage to the Meta took place as early as 1535, he
was not the first Spaniard to explore this part of South America. Diego
de Ordaz, a captain under Cortes in Mexico, had preceded him to this
region by four years. Instead of continuing his journey up the Meta,
as he had been advised by his Indian guides, who assured him that
toward the west he would find an abundance of gold, he endeavored
to go towards the south on the Orinoco. He found his plans thwarted
by the great rapids he encountered--probably those of Atures or
Maipures--and was compelled to return without having accomplished
anything more than making a general reconnoissance of the country
through which he had passed.
I refer especially to the expedition of Diego de Ordaz because it was
the first of those famous expeditions made on the great rivers of the
New World by the conquistadores. He anticipated Orellana's marvelous
voyage down the Amazon by nearly ten years.
I have also another reason--a personal one--for alluding to
it. Twenty-five years before my arrival at the juncture of the Orinoco
and the Meta I had made the ascent of Popocatepetl and explored the
same crater from which, more than three and a half centuries before,
Diego de Ordaz, to the great amazement of the Indians, had taken out
sulphur for the manufacture of gunpowder. When scaling this lofty
volcano, I had frequently thought of the courage and endurance of this
dauntless Spaniard in accomplishing a task which was then far more
difficult than it is now. According to Herrera it was then in action,
and the smoke and flames rendered the ascent next to impossible. To
the Indians the crater was the mouth of hell in which tyrants had to
be purified before they could enter the abode of the blest.
But difficult and hazardous as was the ascent of Popocatepetl, the
voyage up the Orinoco was, in the days of Ordaz, far more so. Not
so to-day, when the trip can be made in a steamer with comparative
ease and comfort. But it did seem strange--passing strange--that
we two should have visited two such unlikely places and so widely
separated from each other in time and space. It was almost like having
a rendezvous with an old friend. I confess that I not only thought
of Ordaz, but imagined that I felt his presence.
The great conquistador should have been permitted not only to wear
a burning volcano on his armorial bearings--as was allowed him
by Charles V--but he should also have been granted the privilege
of having depicted on his coat of arms one of the great rapids of
the Orinoco--La Puerta del Infierno--for instance, which he had so
successfully passed. His achievements have been eclipsed by many of
his contemporaries, but in enterprise and daring he is second to none.
As I have said, we were glad--very glad--to reach the Meta, but I
personally felt a pang of regret on leaving the Orinoco. Nothing would
have pleased me more than to have continued on the waters of this
great river until we should have reached the wonderful Cassiquiare,
which connects the Orinoco with the great Rio Negro and with the
still greater Amazon. I consoled myself with the thought that
possibly I might be able to make this journey later on, and then
probably extend it through the Madeira, Mamoré, Pilcomayo and Parana
to Buenos Ayres. This had long been a fond dream of mine. Will it
ever be realized? In the language of one of my Spanish companions,
Dios verá--God will see--for it is not impossible.
I say it is not impossible, because a part of the journey--from the
Orinoco to the Amazon--has often been made and is still frequently
made every year by traders, missionaries and others. And contrary to
what is often asserted, it is not an undertaking of any particular
difficulty or danger. The same may be said of the journey from the
Amazon to the Parana.
There is reason to believe that the first to make the journey between
the Amazon and the Orinoco, by way of the Cassiquiare, were Lópe de
Aguirre, the traitor, and his companions, who went from Peru to the
northern coast of Venezuela in 1561. The first white man to pass from
the Orinoco to the Rio Negro by the Cassiquiare was the missionary,
Padre Román. He made the round trip from his mission near the mouth
of the Meta to the Rio Negro in about eight months, and at a time
when some of his associates--Padre Gumilla among the number--were
endeavoring to prove that there was no connection between the Orinoco
and the Amazon, and that, consequently, a journey from one to the
other by boat was impossible. [119]
After Padre Román's time the journey between the Amazon, the Orinoco
and vice versa was a very ordinary occurrence for missionaries
and traders. It was made in 1756 by the Spanish commission sent to
settle the boundary line between Brazil and Venezuela, by Humboldt
and Bonpland, Michelena y Rojas and numerous other explorers who have
left us accounts of their travels.
Since the missions have been suppressed the Indian population between
Urbana and San Fernando de Atabapo has greatly diminished and, as
a result, the traveler at times finds great difficulty in securing
boats and rowers. In Humboldt's time the trip was comparatively
easy. There were flourishing missions along the entire course of his
travels--through New Andalusia and Barcelona, through the llanos of
Venezuela, along the Orinoco from Angostura to Urbana and from Urbana
to the Brazilian frontier on the Rio Negro.
Now all this is changed. If he could return to the scene of his
famous explorations he would not be able to locate even the site
of many of the missions where he was so kindly entertained and of
whose hospitality he writes in terms of such unstinted praise. From
Ciudad Bolivar to San Carlos on the Rio Negro--a distance of nearly a
thousand miles--he would not find more than one or two at most. Even
San Fernando de Atabapo, that in Humboldt's time was the capital of
a province and an important missionary centre, is to-day without a
pastor. A priest from Ciudad Bolivar goes to this distant place--more
than seven hundred miles away--once a year to look after the spiritual
welfare of the few inhabitants that still remain there. The other
missions, of which the illustrious savant gives us such interesting
accounts, have long since disappeared, and the places they occupied
are now covered with a dark, impenetrable forest growth. Most of these
were suppressed at the time of the War of Independence, or died out
during the countless revolutions that have since desolated the country.
In the kindly and hospitable padres in charge of these missions,
Humboldt always found counselors and friends, and in some of his
longest and most difficult journeys they also proved to be his best
and most intelligent guides. It was through them, too, that he was
able always to obtain food, boats and boatmen--three essentials that
the traveler of to-day often finds it extremely difficult to procure.
Shortly before entering the Meta we passed through the Raudal de
Cariben, a swift and foaming cataract, which rushes between immense
masses of black granite that stand like sentinels on both sides of
the river to warn the navigator against the perils of further advance.
The forms of the rocks are bizarre in the extreme. Some of them are
columnar in structure and resemble the sombre pillars of a Hindoo
temple. Others are more fantastic in shape and would easily pass
for a Sardinian noraghe in ruins. From one point of view the rocks
present the appearance of a dismantled fortress with its bastions,
parapets and embrasures; its glacis, scarps and counter-scarps.
But the most singular spectacle of all is a formation on the right
bank of the river that seemed, for all the world, to be a petrified
battleship--just such a man of war as might have been fashioned by the
hammer of Thor and used by a race of Titans. The celebrated Garden of
the Gods in Colorado does not exhibit more grotesque or diversified
rock formations than does the Raudal of Cariben and it is entirely
devoid of that wonderful setting given the Orinoco by the luxuriant
tropical forest and a cataract that resembles in many respects the
rapids above the Falls of Niagara.
One is not surprised to learn that the Indians have woven many legends
about this cataract, which is almost as picturesque as are those
of Atures and Maipures further up the river. And still less is one
surprised to read of the accounts given by the early missionaries
of the difficulties and perils attending the passage of these
rapids. For small craft, especially canoes, it is necessary to keep
them near the shore and punt them, or pull them along by ropes. With
our stern-wheeler we never felt that there was any danger, but our
progress was exceedingly slow. At times we were actually at a stand
still and once or twice it looked as if we were going to be carried
down stream, so great was the force of the current. But finally,
after a long and determined struggle, we passed the cataract in
safety. To be frank, we all experienced a feeling of relief when we
saw that all the reefs and remolinos--whirlpools--were behind us,
and that we were again once more in placid and safe water.
"Este raudal es muy maluco," [120]--this cataract is very bad--said
our pilot to us after the strain was over. "It is much more difficult
to steer a boat through it than through La Puerto del Infierno,
near Ciudad Bolivar." Fortunately for all concerned, he knew his
business well and was as conscientious as he was skillful. He had
been navigating the Orinoco and the Meta for nearly twenty years
and was thoroughly familiar with every feature and peculiarity of
both of them. He had never had an accident and was justly proud
of his record. He had the eye of a hawk and could judge of the
relative depths of the water by differences of color that were quite
imperceptible to the ordinary observer. Only once, during our entire
journey, did we graze a sandbar, and that was only for a moment. But
it was quite sufficient to make a young Ethiopian among our crew
think that his last day had arrived, and that we were surely going
to the bottom. Greatly frightened, he turned to us and remarked,
"It am very unwholesome to travel in dis ribber. Dat am certain."
It was at the mouth of the Meta, according to certain alarmists whom we
had met in Ciudad Bolivar, that we should be exposed to grave danger
from savages. A band of murderous Guahibos, led by a certain sambo
[121]--a refugee from the llanos of Venezuela--had for some time,
we were assured, been stationed at this point, where they attacked
every vessel that passed by, and where they had already robbed and
killed a large number of people who had ventured too near the outlaw's
lair. The first intimation of their presence, we were told, would be
a shower of poisoned arrows from the dense underbrush where the enemy
would be concealed. But this report, like so many others regarding
the dangers of our journey, proved to be unfounded. There was not
a Guahibo, much less a sambo leader to be seen anywhere. Everything
was as quiet as on the proverbial Potomac.
Speaking of the Meta, Padre Gilli says: "Its width is greater than that
of a dozen Tibers, and in the summer season, when the wind is high,
the waves become very large." [122] Far from being an exaggeration, as
might appear to the reader, this statement is rather an underestimate
of the reality, at least as regards its breadth. In places it is fully
two miles wide--almost as broad as the Orinoco near the delta. And
this is not because of the shallowness of the river. According to
Humboldt, its mean depth near its mouth is thirty-six feet, and it
sometimes attains to more than twice this depth.
One of the chief affluents of the Meta from the north is the river
Casanare. We were much interested in this on account of its historical
associations. It was down this river that Don Antonio Berrio, the
son-in-law of the famous adelantado, Gonzalo Jimenez de Quesada,
came on his celebrated expedition from Bogotá to Trinidad. He was the
first white man to undertake this long journey, and, considering the
difficulties of travel at that time, through an unknown land, and often
through the territory of hostile savages, his finally attaining his
destination was, indeed, a wonderful achievement, comparable, in some
respects, with that of Orellana down the Amazon a few decades before.
For a long time the Casanare river was the favorite route of the
missionaries who went from Bogotá to evangelize the various tribes
who dwelt in the valley of the Meta and in the valleys of many of its
chief tributaries. Indeed, for a long time some of the most flourishing
missions in New Granada were in the country through which we are now
passing. But after the religious orders in charge of the missions were
withdrawn or suppressed, the Indians returned to their native wilds,
and gradually reverted to their original savage condition.
Much as we tried, we could not discover even a vestige of any of the
former missions on the Meta. And not only have the former villages and
towns disappeared, but even the Indian tribes who, at one time, were
so numerous on both sides of the river, seem to have vanished also. We
sailed an entire week on the Meta without seeing or hearing a single
human being. In some cases the Indians have, for greater security,
retired into the depths of the forest. In others, war and disease have
done their work and whole tribes, as in other parts of South America,
have been exterminated. The names of the mission villages and towns
along the Meta still figure on the maps, but the traveler is unable to
find the slightest trace of even the sites on which they were located.
About the least favorable place in the world for cultivating literature
would, one would think, be in a rude hut in an Indian village on the
Meta. And yet, strange as it may seem, one of the most interesting
and valuable works that have ever been written on the missions of
South America, on the manners, customs, and languages of the various
Indian tribes of the plains and forests of Colombia, was produced on
the banks of the Meta.
Its author was the zealous and scholarly Padre Juan Rivero, who
spent sixteen years as a missionary in this part of the New World. He
wrote many works on doctrinal subjects in their own language for the
benefit of the Indians. Besides this he gave to the world what are
probably the most useful grammars in existence of several of the more
important languages and dialects spoken by the various tribes among
whom he labored with such marked success.
The work, however, to which I specially refer, is his Historia de las
Misiones de los Llanos de Casanare y los Rios Orinoco y Meta. [123] It
has been the basis of many other works on the same subject--Gumilla's
El Orinoco Ilustrado for example--but, notwithstanding the numerous
books that have been written since then on the Indians of the
Orinoco and its tributaries, Rivero's is still facile princeps,
and must always be consulted by one who desires accurate knowledge
regarding the condition, character, rivalries and wars of the divers
savage tribes to whom he preached the gospel of peace and brotherly
love. Besides this, he gives us exact information concerning the
geography of the country through which he passed and affords us
entertaining accounts of its fauna and flora. He supplies us, too,
with rare and curious data of great scientific value to the historian
and ethnologist, and gives us the benefit of his unique experience as
to the best means of civilizing and Christianizing the savage hordes
that in his day--1720 to 1736--wandered over the plains and through
the woodlands of northern South America.
It was indeed in consequence of the recognized importance of his work,
as a contribution to the solution of certain social and economical
difficulties, that confronted the Colombian government some decades
ago, that it was finally published in 1883, after lying in the dust
in manuscript for nearly a hundred and fifty years.
For several years some of the Indians of eastern Colombia had given
great trouble to the whites in the more distant settlements. Robberies
and massacres and atrocities were becoming daily more frequent and
the numerous savage hordes threatened to extend their incursions
toward the villages and towns of the interior. The inhabitants were
in consternation and called upon the government to devise immediate
means for their safety and protection. The authorities were willing to
do anything in their power but did not know what steps to take. They
had to deal with a foe about whose character, numbers and home they
were almost entirely ignorant.
It was then that someone, by a happy inspiration, suggested calling
in as adviser one who knew more about the Indians than any of the
officials of the government, one who had long lived among them and had
won their confidence and affection, one, consequently, who would be
better able to counsel in the emergency that confronted the government
than any one else that could be named.
The adviser and expert was one who had been dead nearly a century
and a half--the sainted missionary Padre Juan Rivero. He could not
testify orally, but his great manuscript work on the Indians was in the
archives of Bogotá, and it was decided to print it at once, and in this
wise give the public the benefit of the great missionary's advice and
utilize his knowledge of a wild and untractable race that had already
become a serious menace to the peace and prosperity of the country.
When published, the book was found to be so modern in many of the views
expressed, so well adapted to supply information then sorely needed,
that it appeared to be written expressly to meet recent difficulties
and throw light on questions that modern legislators and political
economists had been discussing, but without sufficient knowledge or
the necessary data. Both the data and the knowledge were furnished
by Padre Rivero of happy memory.
In the preface to his work the author tells us of the difficulties
under which he labored in its production. "The banks of the Meta,"
he writes, "have been the workshop in which this work has been
forged. Here the inconvenience of the house in which I live, the
concourse of Indians with their importunate demands, the visits of
the heathen Chiricoas, who are the most noisy chatterers conceivable,
and various other disturbances, which would require time to recount,
have been the retirement which I have enjoyed, and the quiet which
has been allowed me for such an undertaking." [124]
Speaking of the Indians who inhabited the llanos and the banks of
such rivers as the Casanare and the Meta, he declares they were as
numerous as the sands of the seashore and the stars of heaven. During
more than three weeks spent in the valley of the Meta, we saw but one
small encampment of wild Indians--Indios bravos--about midway between
Cariben and Orocué. They greeted us in a friendly manner and seemed
to be a very harmless people. They were Guahibos, those merciless
savages who, we were assured, would be lying in ambush awaiting our
arrival, prepared to assail us with a shower of poisoned arrows,
preparatory to serving us up at one of their cannibalistic feasts.
As to the monkeys, skipping from tree to tree along the Meta, and
exciting the admiration of the traveler by their antics and grimaces,
he avers that their number is an embarrassment to the arrows directed
against them. Yet, although we were daily on the lookout for these
interesting animals, as well as for others popularly supposed to exist
in countless numbers along the rivers and in the forests of Venezuela
and Colombia, we never got a glimpse of even a single specimen of
any of the quadrumanous tribes. [125]
Padre Rivero was probably the first to give an account of that curious
custom--the Couvade--which prevailed among the Indian tribes with
whom he was acquainted. As is known, this extraordinary custom has,
at one time or another, obtained in all quarters of the globe--in
Asia, Africa, in Europe as well as in North and South America. Marco
Polo found evidence of it during his travels in the Orient. It is,
however, in South America that it is most prevalent and where the
prescriptions connected with it are most scrupulously observed. And
it was the early missionaries who have furnished us with the most
interesting data regarding this widespread custom, and which, according
to recent travelers, is still as prevalent in certain parts of South
America as it was generations ago.
"It is a ridiculous thing," says Rivero, "of which I am about to
speak, but it is nevertheless a reality. It is this. When a woman
gives birth to a child, it is the husband that is to receive the
care and attention given on such occasions and not the miserable
woman. Scarcely is the child born, when the husband, with the behavior
of one who has escaped from a grave mischance, goes to bed complaining
as if he were ill. The wife then bestows on him the most tender care,
as if on this the welfare of the home depended. As a reason for these
superstitious practices and ridiculous ceremonies, they assert that,
if during this time they should go walking, they would trample on
the head of the infant; if they should chop wood, they would cleave
the child's head; if they should shoot birds in the mountain, they
would infallibly shoot the newly born. And so is it with other foolish
things of a similar character which they firmly believe." [126]
The time during which the father must keep to his bed, or hammock,
varies from a few days to several weeks. In some tribes it is longer
than in others. During this season and even for months afterwards
some articles of food are quite tabooed. He must then abstain from
certain kinds of birds or fish, "firmly believing that this would
injure the child's stomach, and that it would participate in the
natural faults of the animals on which the father had fed. If, for
example, the father ate turtle, the child would be deaf and have
no brains, like this animal; if he ate manatee, the child would
have little round eyes like this creature." Again, if he eats the
flesh of a waterhaas--Capybara--a large rodent with very protruding
teeth--the teeth of the child will grow like those of this animal;
or if he eats the flesh of the spotted labba, the child's skin will
become spotted. Among some tribes the father is forbidden to bathe,
to smoke, or to use snuff, or even to scratch himself with his finger
nails. In their place he must employ "for this purpose a splinter,
specially provided, from the mid-rib of a cokerite palm."
Dobrizhoffer, a noted missionary in Paraguay, in his very interesting
History of the Abipones, is even more explicit about this superstitious
practice. "No sooner," he says, "do you hear that the wife has borne
a child, than you will see the Abipone husband lying in bed, huddled
up with mats and skins, lest some rude breath of air should touch
him, fasting, kept in private, and for a number of days abstaining
religiously from certain viands. You would swear it was he who had had
the child.... They are fully persuaded that the sobriety and quiet of
the father is effectual for the well-being of the new-born offspring
and even necessary.... And they believe, too, that the father's
carelessness influences the new-born offspring, from a natural bond and
sympathy between both. Hence if the child comes to a premature end,
its death is attributed by the women to the father's intemperance,
this or that cause being assigned. Among these would be that he did
not abstain from meat, that he had loaded his stomach with waterhog,
that he had swum across the river when the air was chilly, that he
had neglected to shave off his long eye-brows, that he had devoured
underground honey, stamping on the bees with his feet, that he had
ridden till he was tired and sweated. With ravings like this the crowd
of women accuse the father with impunity of causing the child's death
and are accustomed to pour curses on the unoffending husband." [127]
The whole subject of the couvade opens up many interesting questions
for the ethnologist, and its careful study may be productive of much
valuable information regarding the early races of mankind. For the
student of linguistics and folklore, there is still among the little
known tribes of Eastern Colombia a broad and rich field for research
concerning the languages, customs and traditions of these people,
and the works of the early missionaries are replete with the most
precious data respecting them. [128]
As we quietly sailed up the broad forest-clad Meta, we could not help
harking back to the distant past, when, ever and anon, along its banks
were to be seen the smiling homes and villages of happy Indians under
the watchful eye and protecting arm of their "father priest," and
comparing it with the present desolate and deserted land that for days
at a time does not exhibit the slightest trace of a human habitation.
Then, in the beautiful language of Colombia's great lyric poet,
D. José Joaquin Ortíz, "One clime and one region was not sufficient
for the ardor that inflamed the breasts of the holy disciples of
Christ. They will go to enkindle the pure flame of love in the breast
of the savage, at the same time teaching him the arts of peace in
the immense solitudes which are fertilized by the Arauca, and the
Meta and the Casanare and the torrential Upia. They will scale the
ever-precipitous throne of the deafening storm, and will finally hear
the canticle sounding in praise of the redeeming cross, in as many
tongues and by as many tribes as people my native land from the West
to the East."
And then, too, was to be seen one of those charming gatherings so
beautifully pictured by our own Longfellow in "The Children of the
Lord's Supper"--"Thus all the children of the Mission hasten, at the
sound of the bell, to gather about the cross, which is raised on high,
and to approach near the venerable man who with his silver locks towers
above so many infantile heads. Oh, neither Plato nor Socrates, famous
in the annals of knowledge, after long years of continuous vigils,
ever knew what these poor, ingenuous children learnt from the tremulous
lips of the old man at the foot of a tree-trunk in the forest." [129]
Much, however, as we were disposed to linger on the glories of the
past, and to regret the absence of what, in days gone by, possessed
such an intense human interest, we were not insensible to the marvelous
natural beauties of river and forest that defiled before our admiring
gaze from morning until night.
At one time it is a colossal Bombax ceiba [130] that claims our
attention. This tree is remarkable alike for the height it often
attains and for the wonderful expanse of its branches. To support
such a giant of the forest, Nature has made a special provision. It
is supplied by large buttresses, from six to twelve inches thick and
from ten to twenty feet above the ground, which project like rays
from all sides of its lofty trunk. Were it not for these peculiar
stays the tree would be uprooted by the first violent wind to which
it might be exposed.
At another time it is a huge fig tree that we admire, or a tall
and graceful Candelero, so named from its resemblance to an ornate
candlestick. In both cases we observe the same peculiar, buttressed
roots that are so characteristic of the ceiba and some other giants
of the forest.
But more wonderful far than the ceiba is a tree called by the natives
by the expressive name of Matapalo--Tree-Killer. It is a species
of fig tree, known to naturalists as the Ficus dendroica. It is at
first but a feeble, climbing shrub, sometimes resembling a vine, but
it soon spreads itself over the tree on which it has fastened itself
and eventually encloses it in a tubular mass. It is a veritable boa
constrictor of the vegetable world, for it sooner or later crushes
the life out of its victim.
"After the incarcerated trunk has been stifled and destroyed,
the grotesque form of the parasite, tubular, corkscrew-like, or
otherwise fantastically contorted, and frequently admitting the
light through interstices like loopholes in a turret, continues to
maintain an independent existence among the straight-stemmed trees
of the forest--the image of an eccentric genius in the midst of a
group of sedate citizens." [131]
Another remarkable tree seen in the tropics is the cow tree, the
palo de vaca, or arbol de leche--the milk tree of the natives. Its
sap resembles milk in taste and appearance, and is extensively used
as an aliment, especially by the negroes and mestizos. In referring
to this strange specimen of plant life, Humboldt remarks: "Amidst
the great number of curious phenomena which I have observed in the
course of my travels, I confess there are few that have made so
powerful an impression on me as the aspect of the cow tree.... It is
not here the solemn shades of forests, the majestic course of rivers,
the mountain wrapped in eternal snow, that excite our emotion. A few
drops of vegetable juice recall to our minds all the powerfulness and
the fecundity of nature. On the barren flank of a rock grows a tree
with coriaceous and dry leaves. Its large woody roots can scarcely
penetrate into the stone. For several months of the year not a single
shower moistens its foliage. Its branches appear dead and dried; but
when the trunk is pierced there flows from it a sweet and nourishing
milk. It is at the rising of the sun that this vegetable fountain is
most abundant. The negroes and natives are then seen hastening from
all quarters, furnished with large bowls to receive the milk, which
grows yellow and thickens at the surface. Some empty the bowls under
the tree itself, others carry the juice home to their children." [132]
After leaving the Orinoco we made no attempt to travel at night. The
ever-changing bed of the river, the sand banks, the large trunks
of trees that were hurried along by the current, eddies and rapids
and rocks and islands unnumerable, made sailing at night quite
impossible. For this reason, at nightfall we sometimes moored at the
river's bank, attaching our boat by a rope to the nearest tree, but,
more frequently, in order to escape mosquitoes and other insects,
we dropped anchor in mid-river.
The night was always tranquil, and we were never disturbed by any of
those noises--the howling of monkeys and the cries of jaguars--which,
in tropical forests, are usually supposed to be so pronounced a
feature. Nor were we ever troubled by mosquitoes during our entire trip
of two weeks from Ciudad Bolivar. And never did we deem it necessary to
take the precaution of putting up our mosquiteros--mosquito nets--to
protect ourselves from the plaga--plague--which we had been assured
would be a nightly visitant during our entire journey.
We had been told, too, that the intense heat of the atmosphere would
be another cause of continual suffering--day and night. But we did not
find it so. At no time did the thermometer rise higher than 86° F.,
and it frequently sank as low as 66° F., when we were glad to put on
wraps of some kind. We observed that a variation of a few degrees was
more appreciable than the same variation in our northern latitudes. A
drop of two or three degrees below 70° F. produced a greater sensation
of cold than a fall to 50° would produce in New York.
As a matter of fact, one need not remain long in the tropics before
he becomes affected by very slight changes of temperature. And another
fact is soon impressed on the observer, which is that the heat in the
tropics is not so much greater than that in more northern latitudes,
as measured by the thermometer. It is the almost uniform temperature,
day and night, the whole year through, that eventually becomes so
depressing and so difficult to endure.
At no time, either on the Orinoco or the Meta, did we ever
see the thermometer rise within fifteen degrees of the intense
heat one frequently experiences during the summer in New York and
Washington. The nights, although usually warm, were never unpleasant. A
sheet was generally sufficient covering, but we sometimes found it
necessary to use a blanket. Only once were we annoyed--and that for
but a short time--by insects, and that was because we moored near
the bank under large, overhanging trees, which seemed to be alive
with certain bugs of a very noxious odor.
Once or twice during each day it was necessary to stop to take on
wood, which was usually ready and piled up on the bank. Sometimes,
however, the owner would demand more than the captain was willing
to give, and that meant that the crew was then obliged to go into
the forest and cut fuel sufficient to take us to the next wood-pile
further up the river. Fortunately, we were not often obliged to cut
the wood ourselves. Each time we did so meant an extra delay of three
or four hours.
Besides stopping for wood, it was at times necessary to call
for provisions, fruits, chickens, eggs, and a certain queso á
mano--hand-made cheese--of which the Llaneros are very fond and which
we found very palatable.
On one occasion our supply of beef became exhausted, and it was
necessary to stop--about noon--at a hato along the river to get a
heifer for our next meal. Unfortunately, the owner of the ranch was
not at home. He was out among his herds several miles distant. Our
steward, nothing disconcerted, started in search of him, but before
he had found the proprietor of the herd, and had gotten the desired
novilla--heifer--on board, it was dark. There was then nothing to do
but tie our boat up near the house in which we had spent most of the
afternoon, and wait until the following morning before continuing
our journey.
At first, it would appear that such delays would prove very annoying,
but this was very far from being the case. On the contrary, it was
most interesting, as it gave us an opportunity of getting acquainted
with the people, and of familiarizing ourselves with their mode of life
and occupations, and enjoying many interesting conversations with them
about matters in which they were most concerned. We always found them
very hospitable and very entertaining. They always gave us a cordial
welcome to their humble home, and rarely allowed us to depart without
giving us something from their simple store. Sometimes it was a brace
of chickens, at other times a basket of fruit, a calabash of eggs,
or generous piece of queso á mano--which was made by the mistress of
the house herself.
Here we were among people who lived the simple life, and appeared all
the happier for it. We saw no evidences of suffering anywhere. The
only thing that seemed to concern them was the instability of the
government. True, Colombia had been in the enjoyment of peace for
several years past, but every now and then some gossip-monger would
circulate reports about another uprising in some part of the country,
and about the imminent danger to which the men were exposed of being
drafted into the army, and of being torn away from their families,
to whom they are devotedly attached.
Occasionally, while the crew was cutting wood, we were able to make
a collection of orchids, of which there are along the Meta many
wonderfully beautiful species. At one time our deck was a veritable
bower of all kinds of orchids of the most brilliant colors and of the
strangest imaginable forms. Some of them possessed a most delicate
fragrance, while others emitted a delightful perfume that spread over
the greater part of our deck.
Linnæus knew only about a dozen exotic orchids, and expressed it as
his opinion that when the world was fully explored by botanists,
it might probably yield a hundred species all told. How surprised
he would be if he could now return to the world and find that the
species of this curious plant are actually counted by thousands! To
English horticulturists alone some thousands of species are known. Even
some of the many genera of this extensive order contain hundreds of
species. Of odontoglossums there are more than a hundred species
catalogued. Of oncidiums more than two hundred and fifty species
have been described. Of dendrobiums between three and four hundred
species are known, while the genus Habenaria counts more than four
hundred species. Then there are the countless hybrids--and their
number is rapidly increasing--that, during the last few years, have
been produced in the conservatories of Europe and America.
Orchids are found in all parts of the world; in the marshes and groves
of the lowlands and in the lofty plateaus of mountain ranges. But it
is in the warm and humid regions of the equator that they occur in
the greatest variety and profusion. Twenty years ago the number of
species known in Venezuela alone exceeded six hundred. In Colombia the
number is probably greater. It is here, too, that some of the choicest
specimens have their habitat. From this country tens of thousands
of plants are shipped annually to the florists of Europe and the
United States. As an illustration of the extent of this industry it
suffices to state that a single firm has under cultivation no fewer
than one hundred thousand Odontoglossums, for of this species alone
hundreds of thousands of plants are marketed annually. Other species
are scarcely less popular. To supply the ever-increasing demand for
them, there is now a small army of men continually engaged in the
tropical forests in the work of collecting and preparing them for
shipment. We met several of them in both Venezuela and Colombia.
In the forests along the Meta we could within a small area easily
have collected more orchids than were known to Linnæus. They were
everywhere--in the forks of trees, on their branches, on decaying
trunks, on the lianas stretching from one tree to another, and, forming
with the flowering epiphytes [133] with which they were laden, the most
beautiful tapestry, beside which the most exquisite Gobelin masterpiece
would pale into insignificance. In other places they grew on bare,
precipitous rocks, where they were quite inaccessible, on prickly
cactus plants, near beautiful cascades, or clumps of arborescent
ferns. We found them flourishing near the ocean shore and near the
limits of perpetual snow on the crests of the Cordilleras.
Everywhere they were attractive and worthy of study--some on account
of their bizarre forms, mimicking insects and butterflies, others on
account of their delicate fragrance, and others still on account of
their gorgeous colors, which fairly rival those of the rainbow.
The odors of orchids are almost as diverse as their colors and
forms. While most of them have an agreeable scent, there are some
that have an unbearably fetid odor. Some emit a faint and delicate
perfume; others possess a fragrance which, although delicious, is
almost overpowering. In some the fragrance is perceptible only in the
morning, in others solely in the evening. Some have a scent like that
of violets, others like that of musk or noyeau, and others again like
that of angelica or cinnamon. More wonderful still, "some species,"
we are told, "give out different scents at different times, such as
Dendrobium nobile, which smells like grass in the evening, like honey
at noon, and has in the morning a faint odor of primroses." [134]
It was a fortnight, almost to the hour, since we had left Ciudad
Bolivar, when, one bright day, as the sun was approaching the zenith,
our captain, pointing to a tongue of land in the river ahead of us,
said, in a cheerful tone of voice, "A la vueltá esta Orocué." Orocué
is beyond that point.
And so it was. In a few minutes more we had the town in full
view. We had finished another stage of our journey and that, too,
without an untoward incident of any kind whatsoever. The entire
voyage had been made with comfort and pleasure, and we actually
regretted to leave the boat on which we had spent so many delightful
and happy hours. It was indeed an experience of a lifetime, one of
enchanting panoramas, such as can be witnessed only along the great
water courses of the equator. The flora, the fauna, the people, the
lands, so rich in romance and so celebrated for the achievements
of the conquistadores--those of the cross as well as those of the
world--all fascinated us and enchained our interest during every moment
of our wakeful hours. Yes, it was a memorable, never-to-be-forgotten
experience, one of those experiences that necessarily exalt the lover
of Nature and bring him near to Nature's God.
All the inhabitants in Orocué--men, women and children--were gathered
on the bank to witness the arrival of our little steamer. So rarely
does anything larger than a small sailboat come here that the
arrival of a steamboat is regarded as an event of paramount interest
and importance. Most grateful to us, for it was so unexpected,
was the welcome accorded us by a number of the leading citizens
of the town. They had been advised by telegraph of our coming,
and had prepared most comfortable quarters for our reception and
entertainment. Escorting us to our temporary home--which was not
only well furnished but a model of neatness--we were told, with true
Castilian politeness, accompanied by an air of simplicity and sincerity
that made us feel at home from the first moment, "Aquí están Uds. en
su casa. Estamos todos á sus órdenes." "Here you are in your own home
and we are all at your disposition." The keys of the house were then
handed us, and with them we were accorded the freedom and hospitality
of generous, never-to-be forgotten Orocué.