APPROACHING THE ANDES
"Aqui la selva secular, ornada
De festones de variada enredadera
De bellos y vivísimos colores,
Y la extensa pradera
De fraganciosas flores alfombrada,
Forman el templo augusto que levanta
La creacion a Dios, á quien ofrece
Deliciosos perfumes por incienso,
Y por ofrenda el fruto delicado
Que el estival calor ha sazonado."
"Here the forest secular, decked with festoons of divers climbers,
of beautiful and brilliant colors, and the broad meads carpeted with
fragrant flowers, form an august temple, which creation raises to God,
to whom it offers delicious perfumes for incense, and, as an oblation,
brings the delicate fruit matured by the summer's sun."
In these words of the Bolivian poet, D. Manuel José Cortés, might
aptly be described the extensive forests and plains of which Orocué
is the centre. Everywhere is that same exuberance of vegetation and
profusion of vari-colored bloom that are so characteristic of the
basin of the Meta. While lost in silent admiration of the countless
floral beauties that on every side met our delightful gaze, we could
but compare the scene to a ruined Eden,
"Where the first sinful pair
For consolation might have weeping trod,
When banished from the garden of their God."
In the garden adjoining our house were citrus trees laden with
golden fruit, bananas of many varieties and a large mango tree, whose
branches were bending under the weight of its richly tinted, luscious
drupes. Near by was a noble old ceiba, while but a short distance away
was a tall Jacaranda--of the trumpet-flower family--literally enveloped
in a reddish-violet mantle of papilionaceous flowers, and filling the
air round about with perfume not unlike that of the orange blossom or
the jasmine. Everywhere we went some new floral display was awaiting
us. All along our path we found an unending variety of laurels and
myrtles; trees and shrubs and herbs of the Rubiaciæ family. There
were splendid representatives of the genera Cassia and Mimosa, and
clumps of the ever-present moriche, together with other species of
palm equally attractive and majestic. Frequently these were joined
by delicate festoons of liana, many of which were weighted down with
orchids and epiphytes of the rarest beauty and fragrance.
Orocué is the capital of the district of that name in the National
Territory of the Meta, and the seat of a prefecture. It is located on
the left bank of the Meta, on an eminence about thirty feet above the
surface of the river, and sufficiently high to guarantee it against
inundations during the rainy season. Being less than five degrees from
the equator, the climate is warm but, during our stay, it was never
uncomfortable, and at no time did the thermometer ever rise above
82° F. The population is about six hundred. The place is healthful,
and malignant fevers are rare. The streets are wide, and some of the
houses are well-built and comfortable. Most of them are constructed of
bamboo plastered over with clay. The roof is thatched with the broad
leaves of the moriche palm or preferably with those of the palma de
cobija, also known as the palma de sombrero--hat palm. This is what
scientists call Copernicia [135] tectorum, and is preferred to any
other leaf because it is not readily inflammable. Such a roof lasts
ten or twelve years, and is impervious to water. During our sojourn in
Orocué it rained regularly for several hours every day and, although
the downpour at times was very heavy, never once did we observe a
single drop of water to pass through the roof. Everything in our
rooms remained as dry as if the roofs had been made of tile or slate.
Many of these bamboo-palm houses are constructed without the use of
a single nail. Studs and cross beams, laths and rafters, are tied
together and held firmly in place by bejucos, those wonderful natural
cords and cables which are found in such profusion in every tropical
forest, and which, in the hands of the natives, serves such an endless
variety of purposes.
Some years ago the town possessed what the inhabitants considered a
large and beautiful church. It was constructed of the same materials as
the other buildings of the town and occupied a conspicuous position on
the plaza. In consequence of recent revolutions and other disturbances,
it had been greatly neglected, and, at the time of our visit, was
rapidly falling into ruins. The people had not had a pastor for some
years, but were hoping to have one soon. They, however, received every
few months the ministrations of a priest from a neighboring mission,
and longed for the time when they could have a resident pastor and
see their church restored to its pristine condition.
There was a small school for boys, attended by about twenty young
mestizos, but none for girls. There was a movement on foot to secure
the services of some nuns to teach the girls, and the mothers of
the children awaited their arrival with the greatest impatience. The
monjas--nuns--have a wonderful influence over the children, and young
and old are thoroughly devoted to them.
Orocué has an aduana, or customhouse, and is the centre of a
flourishing grazing district, in which there are numerous hatos and
fundaciones, [136] containing from two to twenty thousand head of
cattle. Cattle, hides and rubber, together with the coffee, which
is brought from the foothills of the Andes, constitute the principal
articles of export. [137]
The neighboring Indians manufacture large and beautiful hammocks from
the leaves of the Cumare and other palms and bring them here and
exchange them for anything that may strike their fancy. Although I
had brought a German hammock with me, I procured one of these Indian
chinchorros, and found it during the remainder of my journey in South
America the best investment I could have made. Nothing contributed
more to my comfort when I desired a siesta, and when I wished to
escape the filth and insect pests to which, in my wanderings, I was
so frequently exposed.
Of the many objects brought to Orocué for barter by the Indians few
had greater interest for us than the weapons employed by them in the
chase and in war. Among these the chief ones were their poisoned
arrows and blowguns. A friend made us a present of some of them,
but owing to the inconvenience of transporting them, we were unable,
much to our regret, to take them with us.
For a long time the mystery connected with the virulent poison,
known as curare, urari woorali, etc., with which the Indians poison
their arrows, remained unsolved, notwithstanding the efforts of
men of science to determine its source and composition. Early
travelers gave the most fantastic accounts of its composition and
manufacture. According to them it was a concoction more uncanny than
that prepared from
"Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork and blind worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing."
Indeed, so carefully did the Indians engaged in its manufacture
guard the secret of its preparation that it was not until a few
decades ago that the true character of this deadly compound was first
understood. Boussingault suspected but did not prove the existence of
strychnine in curare. [138] Humboldt was probably the first to suspect
its true nature. [139] It is now known that neither snake's teeth nor
stinging ants form its active principle, as was formerly supposed,
but that its venomous properties are due to the presence of curarine,
a bitter crystalline alkaloid obtained from the plant Strychnos
toxifera, or other plants of this genus, found throughout equatorial
America. Its virulence is manifested only when it is administered
through the skin. It then paralyzes the motor nerves, and, if the
poison be sufficiently strong, it produces death by suffocation.
The Indians in Orocué, as everywhere else along the Meta and Orinoco,
were a subject of never-ending study for us. Most of the inhabitants
of Orocué are Indians or mestizos, and it would be difficult to find
anywhere a gentler or more peaceful people. The town was founded by the
Salivas Indians, whose nasal language the early missionaries found so
difficult to master, but whose gentle nature and amiable disposition
were ever the subject of the highest eulogies. Remnants of this tribe
are still found in this territory, as are also representatives of
the Piapocas, Tunebos, Yaruros, Cuivas, and the once powerful yet
friendly Achaguas.
The tribe, however, that counts the greatest numbers, is the
Guahibos, whom certain imaginative travelers would have us believe
are as fierce as pumas or jaguars. The truth is, however, that,
although some of them are more or less nomadic in their habits, and
decline to live with the racionales--whites--they are, as a rule,
peaceful and industrious. Sr. Jorge Brisson, an engineer for the
Colombian government, who a few years ago thoroughly explored this
country--the Casanare--speaks of them as being muy agricultores y
muy trabajadores--hard-working tillers of the soil.
That they are peaceful and harmless is evidenced by the fact that the
owners of the scattered conucos along the Meta are rarely, if ever,
disturbed by these much maligned Indians. In many of the isolated
habitations, which we visited on our way up the river, we found only
women and children. The men were occupied elsewhere, and were sometimes
absent for weeks at a time. This, certainly, would not be the case
if the Guahibos were the cruel, relentless savages they are so often
represented to be. Not once in our journeyings up the Meta and its
affluents did we hear of any atrocities committed by these Indians,
or even of any complaints against them, although we took particular
pains to inform ourselves about the matter. All the reports about
their robberies and murders were confined to those we had heard a
thousand miles down the river and from people who probably never saw
a Guahibo in their lives, and who would not recognize one if they
were to see one.
It is true that now and then a cow or a calf may disappear from some
of the Conucos and fundaciones and that their disappearance is always
credited to the Indians. Even if this suspicion were verified, an
occasional theft of this kind--all the circumstances considered--should
not be so surprising. We do not need to go beyond the boundaries
of our own country to find cases of cattle stealing. And the poor
Indian, often cheated and wronged, may, without being a casuist,
easily persuade himself that he is justified in seeking occult
compensation. This is often his only safe method of making reprisals
for damage done him in person and property, and he would be more than
human, if he did not occasionally resort to it if he thought he could
do so with impunity.
"The fact is," says Brisson, "the poor creatures have heretofore been
very badly treated by those who claim to be civilized, and flee in
terror when they see a white man. The question now is not to civilize
them but to win their confidence. The problem would easily be solved
if this delicate task were confided to the missionary priests. They
would bring it to a successful issue much sooner than could government
officialdom." [140]
Contrary to what is often imagined, the Indians who visit the
settlements along the Meta and the Orinoco are always decently if
but scantily clad. In their forest homes, however, their raiment
usually consists of a simple lap-cloth. On occasions of feasting
or public rejoicing they make an addition to their toilet. This
consists in painting their bodies with various dyes, but chiefly
with the yellowish-red annatto, which is obtained from the pulp of
the fruit of the arnotto tree, Bixa Orellana. They frequently cover
their persons with the most fantastic designs. Indeed, it is only
when thus decorated that the true children of the forest consider
themselves properly dressed. They would be ashamed to appear before
strangers otherwise. [141]
"Tigers and serpents," observes Mr. Brisson, "are bug-bears of the
same family as Indios bravos"--savages. It is certain that the
tiger--jaguar--is fond of heifers and calves. But herdsmen will
tell you, that in order to get rid of one, it is at times necessary
to follow him for a fortnight before being able to find and kill
him. This is sufficient to prove that the tiger is never the first
to attack a man in the llanos of Casanare, where it has food in
abundance. "Serpents are met with only casually." [142]
I was glad to find one writer, who is so familiar with the country
as is Sr. Brisson, to speak thus of the wild beasts most dreaded and
of the still more dreaded Indios bravos, for it harmonized perfectly
with my own experience.
We were one day talking with our host in Orocué about the stories
told by travelers and writers regarding the jaguars of the South
American forests. He smiled, and said, "I have lived in this country
thirty-five years. I have several hatos in various parts of the
country, which I visit frequently. In doing this I am obliged to
travel much through the forests and plains. I have often journeyed
up and down the Orinoco, and the Meta from Trinidad to Bogotá, and,
believe me, during all these years, I have never seen but one jaguar
and that was in passing." How different his experience from that of
those who, after a short excursion into the interior of South America,
where they rarely leave the beaten track used for centuries, have,
nevertheless, such wonderful adventures to relate; such miraculous
escapes from savage beasts and more savage Indians!
Our host was a Venezuelan of Spanish descent, and a splendid type of
the old Spanish school. He had spent a part of his youth in Germany,
and was a man of education and refinement. He was untiring in his
delicate attentions to us during our sojourn in Orocué, and made
us quite forget that we were so far from home and what we so often
fancy are the indispensable necessities of civilization. He had
been eminently successful in business. Besides owning the largest
business house in Orocué--which is a distributing point for the great
Casanare territory--he is the proprietor of several of the largest
hatos in the country and counted his cattle by tens of thousands. In
addition to all this, he has various other interests that yield him
a handsome income. He enjoys the reputation of being a millionaire,
and the reputation is apparently justified.
How he could content himself to live in this isolated quarter of the
world--"six months from everywhere," as one of his clerks expressed
it--when he could enjoy all that money could command in the capitals
of the Old or the New World, was a mystery to us, and yet he seemed to
be perfectly happy here, and to have no desire to live elsewhere. Was
it the ever dominant feeling that "There is no place like home,"
that made him prefer Orocué to Paris or London? Quien sabe?
The only Europeans living here were three Germans. Two of them had
arrived but a few months before our visit, while the third had
been here for nearly twenty years. This latter was also as much
attached to Orocué as was our host. The year before he had visited
his family and friends in Hamburg and Berlin. "But," he said, "I had
heimweh--got homesick--for Orocué, and came back much sooner than I
intended. The noise and bustle and hurry and high-pressure of Europe
were quite unendurable, and I was more than delighted when I got back
to dear old Orocué." He, too, had realized that there is no place
like home. And he, also, like our host, was educated and cultured;
was interested in science and literature and passionately fond of
music. He had several musical instruments in his house--among others
a piano--on all of which he was a skillful performer.
"What wonderful men these Germans are!" I said to myself, when I saw
these three men in the prime of life burying themselves away off
here in the wilderness, so far away from friends and country. But
this is not an unique instance of young Germans going to distant
lands to engage in business and to contribute thereby towards that
wonderful development of trade and influence for which the Vaterland
is becoming so famous. In every part of Venezuela which we visited,
we found it the same. The greatest and most successful business houses
are in the hands of Germans.
In all parts of South America you will find Germans, and find them,
too, successful in their enterprises, and often getting more than
their share of the trade of this vast continent. But they deserve
success, for they have earned it, and know how to make sacrifices
when they are necessary to attain it, or to reach the goal for which
they are striving--to become the dominating commercial power of South
America. If the United States would display but a tithe of the energy
and enterprise exhibited by Germany, it would not now occupy in the
southern continent the humiliating position it does among the great
mercantile nations of the world, and among our friends of the great
Latin American republics. It is not too late to retrieve our loss,
but, to do so, we must change our policy and our methods of doing
business, and conduct them along the lines recommended by such alert
and far-seeing statesmen as Blaine, Root and Roosevelt.
After a delightful week spent in Orocué we were ready to start
for Barrigon or Puerto Nuevo on the Rio Humea, an affluent of the
Meta. To go there by a bongo [143] during the rapidly rising water,
would require from fifteen to twenty days. It would be necessary
to pole it--or pull it along by ropes in certain places--the entire
distance. Besides this, owing to its limited quarters, such a boat
would be extremely uncomfortable. Fortunately for us, and thanks
to the kind offices of our host, we were able to have the use of a
fine and commodious petroleum launch, which would convey us to our
destination in a week.
It was with genuine regret that we said Adios to the good people
of Orocué and to the kind friends who had made our sojourn there so
pleasant and profitable. They were all at the landing to see us off,
and speed the parting guests with the touching words, Vayan Uds. Con
Dios--May you go with God. To these fervent words of farewell came
from our little crew the cordial response, Y con la Virgen, and with
the Virgin Mother.
Our captain was a bright and courteous and most obliging young
Colombian from Bogotá. The pilot was a Venezuelan half-breed from the
town of Barcelona. This "son of Barcelona," as he described himself,
had fled from his native country, on account of the continued
revolutions, to seek peace in Orocué. The cook was also a mestizo,
while his assistant was a strong, broad-shouldered Guahibo, who,
far from being an unfeeling savage, was one of the kindest and most
thoughtful persons one could meet. He was ever ready to serve us
and was never more happy than when he observed that his delicate
attentions were fully appreciated.
The launch's commissariat consisted of a liberal supply of
tasajo--salt, dried beef--cassava bread, coffee, panela [144] and
various kinds of fruit. Anticipating our needs at this part of our
journey we had, before leaving the Port-of-Spain, laid in a supply of
claret and canned goods of various kinds. Aside from the butter and
condensed cream and some of the fruit preserves, the canned goods were
a disappointment. Although they were guaranteed to be fresh from the
factory, they were unfit for use. What we really enjoyed more than
anything else, and always found fresh and wholesome, was our supply
of coffee, sugar and crackers. For our café in the morning nothing
more was desired.
Coffee was always served on the launch, when we were
ready to start on the day's journey, which was usually at
sunrise. Desayuno--breakfast--we took at about ten o'clock. For this
we always landed, as it was more convenient and more agreeable to
do our cooking on shore than aboard. It was, indeed, quite romantic
to have one's breakfast served under a broad-spreading ceiba, or in
the midst of a clump of stately palms, or in the shade of a group of
graceful bamboos. And not the least picturesque feature about it was
Antonio--our ever-active and obliging Guahibo.
Whenever possible, we stopped for desayuno and comida--dinner--at a hut
or cottage on the river's bank. We ordinarily passed several of them in
the course of the day, for the banks of the upper Meta count many more
inhabitants than does the lower part of the river. Usually there was
only a single cottage, but occasionally we passed a caserio consisting
of five or six cottages. But whatever the number they were always of
the simplest construction possible. Sometimes the house was nothing
more than a palm-thatched shed, composed solely of a roof, with eaves
extending almost to the ground, resting on short supports. Sometimes
the owners of these humble habitations were Indians, sometimes
mestizos. But whether Indians or mestizos, we were cordially received
and invited to make ourselves comfortable in the best hammock in their
possession. With them the hamaca is the one indispensable article
of furniture in every dwelling, even the poorest. It takes the place
of our rocking-chair, sofa and bed. According to the Colombian poet,
Madrid, the hammock was invented by the Indians--
"Gente
Dulce, benigna y mansa,"
--a race suave, gentle and benign--and even when all else fails them
they have their hammock to comfort them in misfortune, banishing
their trouble in its oblivious embrace. The poet, like many others,
evidently shares the Indian's fondness for the hammock, as the best
verses he ever wrote was his poem La Hamaca. [145]
There were several reasons for stopping at one of these native huts
when we could conveniently do so. We were thus enabled to get fresh
fruit, eggs and chickens, and have them cooked as well. We had no
complaint to make of our own cooks, but we soon discovered that the
Indian and mestizo women were far better. I shall never forget our
surprise and pleasure at the manner in which a young Indian woman
prepared for us roast chicken, and that, too, in a remarkably short
time. I never tasted a more tender or better flavored fowl in the
best restaurants of New York or Paris. And she had no stove or oven
in which to roast it. Her sole utensil was a wooden spit over a
few coals surrounded by three stones about seven or eight inches in
diameter. And all was as clean as it was enjoyable.
All the furniture of the house is as primitive as the fireplace on
which the meals are cooked. Often the only utensils of metal are a
pot, or kettle, and a machete, which takes the place of a knife in
cutting. When the hammock is not used one sits on the ground or on a
log that serves as a bench. Occasionally we were offered the carapace
of a large turtle in lieu of a chair. When the hammock is not used,
an ox hide, or a rush mat, or a large palm leaf serves as a bed. Often
the poor people sleep on the bare ground.
Aside from the single metal kettle above mentioned, all other
culinary utensils are made from the fruit of the calabash tree. It
is the species known to botanists as Crescentia Cujete and is
called by the natives totumo. The fruit is used at various stages
of its growth according as it is employed for making small or large
utensils. The younger and smaller fruits are fashioned into spoons,
those of medium size serve for drinking vessels, while the largest
full-grown fruits--often eight inches in diameter--are used for dishes
and platters. [146] They also furnish a kind of musical instrument
resembling the castanet. But marvelous to relate, they are also
employed for lanterns of a most original kind. After the shell is
pierced with a large number of small holes it is filled with those
wonderful Cocuios--fireflies--that are found in such numbers in the
tropics. Such a lantern seen at a distance is not unlike the familiar
Chinese lantern, and, considering the nature of the illuminant,
gives a surprising amount of light.
A house, such as the one just described, is the lodging place of
the dogs, and poultry, and not infrequently of the pigs also. The
poultry roost upon the crosspieces immediately under the roof. The
other animals occupy their own corner, and no one seems to be molested
by their presence. Benzoni, in speaking of the habits of the Indians
he saw, remarks in his quaint fashion: "They all sleep together like
fowls, some on the ground and some suspended in the air." [147]
Every house is surrounded by a number of fruit trees. Among these the
platano and the banana are the most conspicuous, and are never wanting,
for they supply a large part of the food of the inhabitants of the
tropics. Equally important are maize and yuca. [148] The latter is
used for making bread. In certain parts of the tropics no other kind
of bread is obtainable. To me it has a very insipid taste, somewhat
like that of bran or cellulose. Schomburgk considered that it had a
deleterious effect on the stomach, but there are few, I think, that
share his view. Certain it is, that its use as food is universal in
the tropics, and it is one of the three plants--yuca, maize and the
platano--that one is always sure to find in every conuco--even that of
the poorest Indian. These three articles are his staff of life. The
natives also eat fish and flesh of various kinds, it is true, but as
the three plant products named are quite sufficient to sustain life,
and as they require little care after they are once planted, many
people make little or no effort to secure other kinds of food. They
are content with little and seem to enjoy the living of the simple
life fully as much as some of our friends in the North enjoy talking
and writing about it.
Often, too, where one would least expect it, one will find beautiful
flower gardens around the most unpretentious habitations. Of the
flowers that we in the North are most familiar with--not to mention
countless peculiarly tropical species--those we most frequently
observed were roses, jasmines, dahlias, pinks, violets, dracenas,
gladioli and gardenias. The large rose bushes, or rather rose
trees--they are so huge--one sometimes sees in the hot, dry climate
of the tropics are truly remarkable. They sometimes attain a height of
twenty feet, and one may count on a single bush as many as a thousand
buds. From such a bush one may pluck a hundred beautiful roses every
day in the year without any apparent diminution in the number on the
parent stem.
While journeying up the Orinoco and Meta, we several times tried our
luck at fishing, but our efforts were always attended with the most
ignominious failures. Outside of a few minnows we caught absolutely
nothing. One of our crew once caught a fish about two feet long
resembling a pickerel and this was the only time that we ever tasted
fresh fish all the time we were on the river.
No sooner had the hook sunk into the water than the bait was
taken. There was a momentary nibble, and presto! the bait had
disappeared. On investigation we found that we had to deal with
the terrible Caribe--that voracious little fish about which so many
extraordinary stories are related. In crossing rivers the natives
dread the attacks of this serrasalmonine marauder more than they do the
gymnotus, the stingray or the cayman. They have very sharp, trenchant
teeth, usually swim in schools, and, when attracted by blood, will
attack men and the larger animals without hesitation. And so fierce
and rapid is their combined action that their attack usually means
death to the victim.
We had often heard and read of their snapping fishhooks in twain but
had classed this statement among the stories of the monkey-bridge
class--stories that entertained us during our early school days, and
which, I doubt not, still perform the same function for the rising
generation in certain parts of the world.
But, while pondering our ill success with rod and line, we discovered
one evening, after vainly trying for an hour to get at least one
specimen of the finny tribe--and exhausting all our bait in the
attempt--that our hook--a good-sized one, too--was snapped in two
as neatly as if it had been cut by a pair of pliers. We examined the
part of the hook that remained attached to the line and we found that
it was actually cut, not broken on account of defective material.
On further inquiry, I found that several men of science who had
visited these parts, and had, presumably, investigated the matter, had
positively stated that the Caribe was capable of severing fishhooks
with the greatest ease. Thus Mr. H. M. Myers does not hesitate to
affirm that the Caribe is "able to sever ordinary hooks as if they
were but slender threads," [149] and Dr. Carl Sachs declares that
"even thick steel fishhooks do not withstand their teeth." [150]
Both in the Orinoco and in the Meta we saw quite a number of
porpoises--toninas, the Spaniards call them--quite as large and as
playful as any we ever saw in the ocean. The natives say they are the
friends of man, and defend him from caymans when he happens to be in
the river. [151] One thing is certain and that is that caymans and
crocodiles both quickly make their escape when the porpoise appears. It
is probably, because the sluggish and indolent caymans, ferocious
as they are by nature, have an instinctive dread of the noisy and
impetuous evolutions of these delphinine cetaceans, especially when
they move in schools.
We were often surprised by the large flocks of ducks, of many
different species, which we saw along the Meta. They seemed to be
most numerous near sunset when, occasionally, they flew across the
river by thousands. So great, indeed, was their number at times that
we could compare them only with the immense flocks of pigeons that,
during our boyhood days, used to darken the sky during their season
of migration. Many of these ducks, as articles of food, compare
favorably with our mallard and canvasback. Truth to tell, the only
time we regretted not having a shotgun with us was when we saw these
clouds of edible birds passing over our heads within easy reach. This
was particularly the case when our food supply was running short, or
when we desired a change of diet, or something different from carne
frita--fried beef that has been salted and dried--and sancocho. [152]
Among the singing birds peculiar to the tropics are two that deserve
special mention. There are the campanero or bellbird, and the flautero
or flute bird.
Of the bellbird, Waterson writes as follows: "He is about the size of
a jay. His plumage is white as snow. On his forehead rises a spiral
tube nearly three inches long. It is jet black, dotted all over
with small white feathers. It has a communication with the palate,
and when filled with air, looks like a spire; when empty it becomes
pendulous. His note is loud and clear, like the sound of a bell.
"With many of the feathered race, he pays the common tribute of a
morning and an evening song; and even when the meridian sun has shut
in silence the mouths of the whole of animated nature, the campanero
still cheers the forest. You hear his toll, and then a pause for a
minute, then another toll, and then a pause again, and then a toll,
and again a pause. Then he is silent for six or eight minutes and
then another toll, and so on. Acteon would stop in mid-chase, Maria
would defer her evening song and Orpheus himself would drop his lute
and listen to him; so sweet, so novel, and romantic is the toll of
the pretty snow-white campanero." [153]
So closely indeed does the note of the campanero resemble the
sound of a bell that the traveler can easily fancy that there is a
chapel in the depths of the forest, and that the faithful are being
called to prayer. The bellbird has a near relative in the herrero,
or blacksmith bird, whose note is like that produced when an anvil
is struck by a hammer.
The flautero, or flute bird, is quite small and of a grayish color. Its
notes are surprisingly sweet and mellow, and closely resemble those
of a sweet-toned flute, whence its name. One who hears this feathered
songster for the first time would easily believe that he is listening
to a skillful flute player, and not to the song of a tiny bird. The
refrain of its song is fairly well expressed in the following notes:
Unfortunately for us, we were often obliged to listen to sounds that
were not so agreeable as those of the flautero or campanero. These
were the raucous, discordant, never-ending noises produced by frogs
and toads. In Orocué they always began their cacophonous serenade
at nightfall, and kept it up uninterruptedly until the following
morning. I could then realize that Padre Rivero had good cause for
regarding them as among the greatest nuisances with which he had
to contend. Their confused, strident notes--base, tenor, contralto,
soprano--kept up the entire night were, he assures us, enough to split
one's head. Some of these amphibians we heard at Orocué were on the
opposite side of the river from us, more than half a mile distant. They
were in very truth what Lowell has so well characterized as
"Old croakers, deacons of the mire,
That led the deep batrachian choir."
The wonderful depth and fertility of the dark, loamy soil in the valley
of the Meta was ever a source of wonder to us. Along the river banks
it usually formed a layer of four or five feet, and not infrequently
seven or eight feet. And the vegetation was everywhere an evidence of
this fertility. At Platanales, a conuco at which we spent a night, we
saw a grove of several acres of the largest and most prolific bananas
and plantains we had ever encountered anywhere. At another conuco,
farther up the river, where we stopped for breakfast, we saw several
acres of corn that was rapidly maturing. And what corn! Never did
I in Kansas or Nebraska see such ample stalks or so large ears and
grains. It was a revelation to us, and exhibited in a most striking
manner the wonderful, future possibilities of this marvelously fertile,
yet unknown land.
Near every dwelling, however humble, along the Meta, we observed
a large cross made of tastefully and often artistically plaited
palm leaves. The material was yet quite fresh and the crosses had
evidently been erected only a few days before we passed by. In design
and workmanship they reminded us of those seen in parts of Italy on
Palm Sunday. On inquiry, we found that they had been erected on the
third of May, the feast of the Invention of the Holy Cross.
"Why is this cross placed here?" I asked of an Indian woman, while she
was preparing our desayuno. "Para que no nos pegue el chubasco,"--in
order that the chubasco--wind squall--may not strike us, she replied
without hesitation. I asked many others at divers places the same
question and invariably received a similar reply.
These poor people were not able to erect the beautiful shrines one
so frequently sees in the Catholic countries of Europe, and so their
simple faith found expression in these palm-leaf crosses, on which
they had evidently put their best and most careful work, of which
they often seemed justly proud.
On passing by a particularly large and beautiful cross of this kind my
mind reverted to a shrine near the lighthouse of Savona, an ancient
town near Genoa. Here there is a statue of the Madonna, twelve feet
high, under which are inscribed two Sapphic verses, expressing in
rhythmic numbers the same idea that was uppermost in the mind of
the good Indian woman when she braided and placed in position this
symbol of redemption. The verses were composed by Gabriello Chiabrera,
"the prince of Italian lyric poets," who was a native of Savona. They
are remarkable in that they are both "good Latin and choice Italian,"
and have the same meaning in both languages. They read as follows:
"In mare irato, in subita procella,
Invoco te, nostra benigna stella." [154]
The only place of any importance between Orocué and Barrigón is
Cabuyaro, a small town of about two hundred inhabitants. It cherishes
the hope of becoming the eastern terminus of the long-projected
railroad from Bogotá to the Meta. This would no doubt be a good
terminal point, as the town is favorably located, and the river is
sufficiently deep to permit the passage of good-sized vessels. As at
the other towns we passed, the steamer may moor within a few feet of
the river's bank.
Cabuyaro, however, is not the only place ambitious to become the
terminus of the Bogotá Eastern railroad. It has several rivals,
some of which are little more at present than rude huts in the
wilderness. Among these is Barrigón, which also rejoices in the
high-sounding name of Puerto Nuevo. It has, certainly, an advantage
over Cabuyaro in that it is much nearer the capital. When this
railway, which has been in contemplation for many years, shall have
been completed, it will be possible to go from Bogotá to the Meta in
ten hours. At present it takes six days to make the trip, and a very
trying and tiresome one it is.
While our cooks were preparing comida--dinner--we visited the town. As
we were passing a neat-looking house on the plaza, next to the church,
a woman standing at the door, surrounded by her family, observing
that we were strangers, insisted on our partaking of the hospitality
of her home. She gave orders at once to have dinner prepared for us,
and was deeply disappointed when she learned that our captain had made
arrangements for us to dine elsewhere. She then said: "You must do us
the honor of taking at least a cup of coffee in our humble home. We
cannot let you depart without something." Before she had finished
speaking, one of her daughters, a bright, modest girl of about sixteen,
had started to boil the water, and in a short time we were served
with as good coffee as we had ever tasted anywhere during our journey.
The kindness and simplicity of these good people were admirable. They
were much interested in our journey, and could not understand what
could induce us to undertake such a long trip. They were most eager
to hear about our own country, and showed an intelligent interest
in persons and things that quite surprised us. Soon a number of
their neighbors called and each one was duly presented to the
viajeros--travelers--and served also with a cup of the aromatic
beverage which our hostess knew so well how to prepare. Although we
had become accustomed to the generous hospitality of the good people
we had everywhere met along the Meta, the cordial reception given us
by the people of Cabuyaro during our short stay among them impressed
us in a special manner, and made us feel that it is particularly
among primitive peoples, among those in the depth of the forest, or
in the solitude of the desert, that hospitality is not only regarded
as a duty but is also esteemed a pleasure.
How often, when partaking of the simple fare of our kindly hosts
in tropical America, were we forced to compare their never-failing
hospitality with that of the Greeks of Homeric times! Then nothing was
too good for the honored guest, for he might be a god in disguise,
or, if not a god, he was at least a friend of the gods. Like the
early Christians, who treated their guests as if they might be angels
who had come upon them unawares, our Meta hosts always gave us the
best at their disposition, and expressed their regret that they were
unable to do more. Their home was ours as long as we chose to remain,
and their every act showed that they were pleased to be honored--as
they expressed it--by the strangers' visit. [155]
Before leaving Orocué, we had telegraphed to Villavicencio to have
saddle and pack mules ready for us on our arrival in Barrigón, which,
as planned, was to be the morning after our arrival at Cabuyaro. As,
however, we had been delayed a day by trouble with the engine,
and loss of our anchor, we could not hope to reach our destination
without traveling all night. Fortunately, there was a full moon and
a cloudless night. And our crew, the captain notably, were ready and
willing, regardless of their own comfort, to do anything in their
power to enable us to reach Barrigón at the appointed time.
Never shall I forget our last night on the Meta. C. and I were
sitting on the prow of our launch, which was moving merrily along
the broad river--as broad as ever, apparently--which, under the
bright rays of the moon, shone like molten silver. There was no
murky vapor to obscure the fair face of the queen of night, or dim
her glowing form. Surrounded by the myriad stars of heaven, she
reigned supreme. Then, more truly than ever before in our lives,
could we say with Saint Augustine, that we saw "the moon and stars
solace the night." [156]
The air was balmy and impregnated with sweetest perfumes and rarest
balsamic odors, wafted from the dark, impervious forest walls that rose
in silent majesty on either shore. The sleeping mimosas that had folded
their leaves for the night, the ethereal jambos, figs, and laurels,
the dark crowns of the jaca and the manga, the slender shafts of bamboo
tufts, the dim crests of the palm, trellised vines and liana festoons,
defiled before us in rapid succession, and, in the shades of night,
assumed the most fantastic shapes and magic combinations.
As we glided along the glassy stretches of the river there was nothing
to mar the perfect stillness that pervaded the scene, except the
muffled pulsations of our engine, too feeble to wake an echo from the
neighboring banks. The time, the place, the freshness of earth and
the splendor of heaven lent themselves to reverie, and stirred the
fancy to unwonted activity. Frequently on the Orinoco we had amused
ourselves by watching the odd and whimsical shapes assumed by the
clouds, especially before or after a chubasco, or at the time the sun
was dropping below the horizon. Then the imagination, quickened to
action, would discover, in the rapidly changing clouds, animal forms
varying from the bear and the eagle to the griffin and the dragon.
And so it was now. At one time we could see, in a curiously arranged
clump of trees and vines, the ruins of a Rhenish castle, at another
the shattered towers and merloned walls of an enchanted palace. Now
it was a rustic chapel by the wayside, and a moment later, as we
peered into the darkness of the inner wold, and noted the huge dark
tree trunks, it was the massive pillars of a Hindoo shrine. Here it
was a Druid trysting-place, there a mermaid's grot and there again
a dryad's bower or the home of a fairy queen. That Titania was not
far distant was evidenced by the swarms of fairies--matter-of-fact
scientific men would doubtless call them Pyropheri--fireflies--that,
like a thousand stars, flitted through the bloom and the foliage,
illuming with their soft radiance the favorite haunt of fairyland.
How we enjoyed the mystery of these vast solitudes! How exquisite the
ever-changing chiaroscuro; the wondrous play of light and shade; the
warmth, depth and softness of the noble pictures that, at every turn,
ravished our delighted gaze! How it all elevated the soul and enjoined
recollection of spirit! The impression was in an eminent degree like
that experienced beneath the sombre arches of a Gothic cathedral. And
why not? Were we not beneath the starry vault of heaven, in the depth
of the dark, majestic tropical forest, in the most inspiring temple
of the Most High?
When in Orocué, we were told that, on a bright, clear day, the
Andes were visible from that place. But owing to the clouds and
the mists and the forests that had constantly obstructed our view,
we had not yet gotten even a glimpse of this world-famed chain of
mountains. Of course, we had seen one of its spurs in the coast
range of Venezuela. But this range was not the Cordillera of our
boyhood dreams. We longed to see that massive chain that extends in
unbroken continuity from Panama to Patagonia. And day by day, as we
moved westward, our wistful eyes were ever peering through broken
forest or over grass-covered glade, to catch the first view of La
Cordillera de los Andes.
While silently sitting on the prow of our launch admiring the
countless, ever-changing beauties of that marvelous moonlight
night--our last on the Meta,--giving free rein to our fancy, and
shifting our course as the meandering river demanded, behold! Suddenly
like a vision, the Andes stood before us in all their majesty and
glory, looming up to the very heavens. So instant was the apparition
that, for a while, we were quite speechless from admiration and
awe. "The Andes!" one of us ejaculated, and we were then completely
under their magic spell. So agreeable was our surprise and so great our
emotion that for a time it was impossible to find words to express our
feelings of delight and wonder. We realized, as probably never before,
what a feeble instrument language is for conveying one's innermost
thoughts, and how inadequate to express what deeply stirs the soul.
Our adjectives and exclamations were little more than the Indian's
grunt, and less devotional than the Moslem's phrase, "Allah is
great!" Coming from the cold and tame nature of the North to that of
the glorious and marvelous equator, we were like Plato's men, bred in
cavern twilight, and then suddenly exposed to the bright effulgence
of the noonday sun. We saw things wonderful and unspeakable, but all
our superlatives were inarticulate and feeble, matched with the scene
before us.
"But what are those lights on the mountain summit, a little to the
left?" inquired C., finally breaking the long-sustained silence. On
the very crest of the Cordilleras and extending for a considerable
distance, was a large number of brilliant lights, like so many electric
arcs. It was as if the long rows of arc lamps that illumine the Bay
of Naples, as one sees them from an incoming steamer, were raised
skyward far above the cone of Vesuvius; or as if the resplendent
"White Way" of New York were lifted into cloudland.
At first we thought it was a forest fire, but it was so different
from the unsteady, yellowish-red flame of burning trees and
vegetation. We had seen such fires along the Orinoco and Meta--as
well as elsewhere--and were quite familiar with their appearance. It
could not be due to volcanic action, for there were no volcanoes in
that direction, unless of extremely recent origin. Besides, the lights
before us were quite different from the fitful reflections that molten
lava produces from swirling masses of vapor. Might they not actually be
the electric lights of Bogotá or of some other city of the Sierras? No,
for Bogotá was on the west slope of the mountain range, and there was
no town of any size on the eastern declivity. Still less could the
lights be due to reflection from the sun, for it had set hours before.
What then was this "midnight gloom still blossoming into fire"? Our
curiosity was excited to a high degree, but the apparition seemed to
defy all attempts at explanation. We thought of the gleaming light
seen by Robert Bruce from the turrets of Brodick Castle, in the isle
of Arran, before his landing in Carrick.
We recalled a similar phenomenon, observed by Humboldt on the Cerro
del Cuchivano in Venezuela, in which he thought the luminous display
observed might be due to the burning of hydrogen and other inflammable
gases. [157]
The Indians who live among or near the mountains, relate many wonderful
stories about strange lights that are occasionally seen on or in the
vicinity of the loftier peaks. "It is a curious thing," writes Im
Thurn, regarding a phenomenon of this kind, seen in the mountains of
British Guiana, "that, as I have seen, there actually is an appearance,
as of fire, to be seen sometimes up in these mountains, nor was I
ever able to form any theory as to its cause." [158]
Sir Martin Conway records a more remarkable case of this
character. "Long after the sun had set and darkness had come on,
Illampu glowed red like fire, and all the people in town saw it. Such a
sight none had ever beheld. In great terror they ran to the church and
the bells were rung. They thought the end of the world had come." [159]
My own conclusion regarding the luminous phenomena, that occupied our
attention for at least an hour, during the night to which I refer, is
that they were of electric origin. The mountain in front of us seemed
to be a vast condenser from which the electricity was escaping by a
silent glow or brush-discharge on an immense scale. The color and the
steadiness of the lights, as well as their durability, were evidence
of this. They were probably of the same nature as the corposant of
St. Elmo's fire, sometimes seen on the spars or yards of a ship. [160]
We slept little that last night on the Meta. Earth and sky were so
beautiful, and there was so much to engage our attention that it was
a late hour before we sought repose.
Early in the morning we left the Meta and entered the Humea, passing
the Rio Negro on our left. In Europe or America these two affluents
of the Meta would be considered good-sized rivers. Both of them are
navigable for some distance, but like hundreds of other rivers in
South America, are practically unknown, except to those who live in
their immediate vicinity.
About nine o'clock our pilot blew a loud, prolonged blast on his
conch which served him for a horn or call-instrument, and, looking
ahead of us, we saw gathered on the banks the entire population
of Barrigón--a negro woman, her three daughters and a young man,
likewise a negro. We expected, of course, to see also our mules and
our arrieros--muleteers--but they were nowhere visible. They evidently
had not arrived. To describe our disappointment and dismay would be
impossible. We felt as if we were about to be marooned, or left in
a penal colony. What did it all mean?