A NEW HOUR—MARABUNTAS—SINKING OF THE BURA—ROCK FORMATIONS—ARA
HUMMING-BIRD—FALLS OF YANINZAEC—JABIRU—CABUNI RIVER—SHOOTING
FISH WITH ARROWS—PACU—AN INDIAN CAMP—GREEN-HEART BREAD—INDIAN
LIFE—A PAIWORIE FEAST—DUCKLARS—CURRI-CURRIS—SUN BITTERNS.
“Thirteen o’clock,” was the extraordinary and invariable announcement
with which McTurk roused the slumbering Indians at daybreak. The origin
of such an unwonted hour has always been wrapped in mystery to me, but it
sufficed that the men understood it, and, a few minutes after the cry had
resounded through the camp, coffee was ready, hammocks taken down, boats
loaded, and we commenced another day of river travel. Our nights under
the purple-hearts had been cool and pleasant, and had prepared us for a
day which turned out to be one of incessant falls and rapids. The crews
were hardly ever out of the water, and the sun poured down with such
power that even the well-tanned backs of the Indians were scorched and
blistered.
Between the wooded islands acres of rock rose two or three feet above the
water, revealing the most curious formations and indentations, varying
in size and shape from perfectly rounded bullet moulds to smooth oval
cauldrons. About half-past ten we stopped for breakfast, and whilst it
was being prepared I wandered around the island with my gun in search
of game, but found nothing. I was not quite unrewarded however, as on
passing under a low-hanging bough I received a sharp and painful nip,
as if a pair of red hot pincers had taken a piece of flesh out of my
back. At first I thought a snake must have stung me, but to my relief on
looking back I saw it must have been done by a “marabunta,” whose nest
was hanging near.
The sting of these Guiana wasps is extremely painful, and it was
predicted that fever would probably set in; although it caused a good
deal of inflammation, however, I was none the worse, but avoided
marabunta nests in future. When paddling, the Indians were continually
annoyed by large bumble-bees, which buzzed about their heads, and
sometimes followed the boats for more than a mile; I do not know what
attracted them, but as they did not trouble me I could afford to laugh at
the frantic efforts of the men to drive them off.
That evening we camped on the left bank of the mainland near a creek,
whose cold stream was very refreshing after the warm river water we had
been drinking. Here McTurk and some of the crew suffered from slight
feverish attacks, but a good dose of quinine set them up again, and next
morning they were ready to proceed. On this day we met with an accident
which might have occasioned a very serious loss. Two of the boats had
been hauled safely up a long rapid, down which the water was rushing
with great velocity, but the large one—the Bura-buraloo—was struck by a
wave and commenced to sink; the crew, instead of slackening the rope,
held on, and only loosened it when it was too late, as the boat drifted
a short way down and sank. Fortunately it was not deep, and in less
time than it takes to relate we had reached her, and rapidly unloading
conveyed her contents to the neighbouring rocks. Then commenced such
a drying as probably had never been witnessed on the Mazaruni before.
Tarpaulins were laid, and the wet rice, soaked biscuit, and drowned peas
spread over them.
The flour was not much damaged, as the water had made a cake round the
inside of the barrel which kept the rest dry. The greatest loss we
sustained was in the brown sugar, as not more than half was saved, and
that in a semi-liquid state. This was a misfortune, as the Indians were
intensely fond of sugar, and it formed part of their daily rations;
indeed without it their wretchedly made coffee would have been barely
drinkable. Knives, forks, and spoons were swept away, and had I not had a
small travelling case with another set we should have been badly off. Our
guns, clothes, and hammocks happened to be in the boat, and all were in
a sad plight, but the sun shone so hot and strong that, though it drove
us from the rocks to the shade of an island, everything gradually dried,
and after a detention of about four hours we were enabled to proceed. Our
camping ground that night was near some rocks whose formation was more
extraordinary than that of any we had hitherto seen, resembling the bones
of mammoths, and the fossil teeth and jaws of gigantic animals of the old
world.
The following day, after ascending a few rapids and traversing the wide
stretches of almost still water that lay between them, we stopped for
breakfast at a pretty spot where a dry water course between two islands
formed a dark cool lane, overhung by the meeting branches. Wandering up
this I disturbed a beautiful Ara humming-bird,[44] which I recognised by
its two long tail feathers, and the flash of red and golden green. He
flew from a dead tree—which had been split down the middle, probably by
some wandering Indians to obtain honey, as I found the glutinous remnants
of an enormous comb—and then returned to it, but I could not catch
another glimpse of him, although I searched long and ardently, as I was
anxious to obtain a specimen of this gorgeous little creature.
Near this place we shot some fine macaws, whose long scarlet and blue
tail feathers were quickly made into head-dresses by the crew. With
the exception of parrots and cranes, we had not seen up to the present
time a great variety of birds; the most numerous were orioles, trogons,
and toucans. The latter were a never-failing source of amusement, as,
with slow and jerky flight like that of a woodpecker, the ungainly
birds crossed and recrossed the river, uttering their monotonous cry,
“Tucáno, tucáno.” The commonest of this species was the large one called
by the Indians “bouradi,” whose enormous bill is of the most brilliant
and variegated tints of red, yellow, blue, and black. The crested
cassique[45] was another common bird, and the only one which uttered
musical sounds; it was very delightful to hear one of them pouring forth
his rich and ventriloquial notes, and with raised crest and outspread
golden tail singing love-songs to his mate as she swung in her aerial
hammock.
Some of the pouch nests of these birds that we saw must have been nearly
three feet in length, and, as they are invariably suspended from the ends
of most slender boughs, they are safe from the rapacious maws of monkeys
and other marauders. As a further precaution against danger, it is said
that they always build on trees where the dreaded marabuntas have their
nests, and in return for the protection thus afforded feed their young on
the larvæ of their patron insects.
We were now approaching what we had heard were the most formidable
cataracts in the river, namely, those of Yaninzaec, and hardly had we
with difficulty dragged the boats up one set of rapids before we heard
a roar of water that betokened a great fall. A turn in the river then
brought us in full view of a most picturesque scene. Forming a crescent
were five separate cataracts, fifteen or twenty feet in height, and
divided from one another by wooded islets. The river rushed with great
force over the rocky barriers, and the foam flakes were carried past us
in large white masses, or before reaching us were caught in the back
eddies and lay like snow-banks under the green bushes.
When we first appeared, a great jabiru[46]—or negro cap, as it is
sometimes called on account of its black head and neck—was stalking
about under the falls; and above, on a ledge of rock overhung by the
golden flowers of the cedar-bush, three white egrets stood and looked in
amazement at our unexpected intrusion, then gathering up their long legs
flapped off to a distant tree.
After a lengthened investigation as to how we could reach the top of
the falls, we discovered the Indian “portage;” so, after landing, we
unloaded the boats, carried the baggage over the rocks for a distance of
about one hundred yards, and then camped. That night I was awakened by
the patter, patter of heavy rain on the leaves overhead, and discovered
that McTurk—who always provided for my comfort before he thought of his
own—had stretched the only available tarpaulin over my hammock, and that
he himself was crouching under a tree trunk trying to keep his hammock
dry. On these journeys a dry hammock is of the utmost importance, as,
if it once gets wet, it takes a long time to dry, and fever is the
inevitable result of sleeping in a damp one.
The rain forced us to commence our day’s work even earlier than usual,
and so by seven o’clock we had carried the boats over the “portage” on
our shoulders, had loaded them, and were again wading through the rapids
above the falls of Yaninzaec. Shortly afterwards we passed on our left
the Cabuni River, which here empties itself into the Mazaruni, and then
another baggage portage became necessary. Then two more cataracts were
overcome, and on the following day we arrived at a fine stretch of river
comparatively free from rapids. On that day we were gladdened by the
first sight of hills, but still the scenery remained tame and monotonous.
Only here and there was the all-pervading green, stained by the young
dark-crimson leaves of the wallaba trees, and but for the slim matapolo
palms scattered in places, and the hot sun, we might have been anywhere
rather than in the tropics.
Only when we landed and on penetrating the forest could we appreciate
the strange forms and luxuriant growth of the tropical vegetation. Then
we saw the great moras and Bertholletias strangled in the folds of
some gigantic creeper, and with their branches laden with arums and the
curiously indented leaves of the pothos family; twisted bush-ropes and
lianes of all descriptions linked the trees together and chained them
to the earth, and while the ground was free from heavy growth, a chaos
of intermingling plants and foliage formed a dense canopy overhead. In
many places on the river, and especially near the rapids, we had seen the
dams which the roving Indians had made for the purpose of catching fish,
but we had not seen any of the natives; now, however, we knew that we
were at last approaching them, for on the rocks around one of the dams
we discovered some freshly beaten hai-arí roots which had been used for
poisoning the water.
Fishing with poison is a favourite method with the Indians, as they
thereby obtain the greatest quantity of fish with the least possible
exertion. Dams are built on the rocky ledges with loose stones, and
with spaces left open for the fish to enter; the roots of the hai-arí—a
leguminous creeper—are beaten on the rocks with heavy clubs until they
are in shreds, which are then soaked in water; the yellow acrid juice
thus obtained is finally poured into the ponds after the inlets have
been stopped. In a few minutes the fish appear on the surface, floating
aimlessly about as if intoxicated, and are either shot with arrows, or
knocked on the head with clubs. Enormous numbers are sometimes killed
in this manner. The flesh of the fish so destroyed, receives no more
deleterious qualities than does that of the forest game which the natives
shoot with arrows poisoned with the deadly “wourali.” For preservation, a
barbecue is erected, and the fish are smoked over a fire.
In the open river, other means have to be adopted for obtaining fish,
and the usual method is with the bow and arrow. Indians are not only
wonderfully quick in seeing fish, but also possess great skill in
shooting them, and, when it is remembered that allowance has to be made
for refraction, the resistance of the water, and the movements of the
fish, it is surprising how successful some of them are. McTurk, who was
no mean performer himself with the bow, told me of most extraordinary
shots that he had witnessed. Amongst our crew we had no very brilliant
marksmen, and we had to depend in a great measure for our supplies on the
Indians whom we chanced to meet. Seven or eight different kinds of arrows
are used, and each has its own particular name. One of the most curious
has its iron or bone point only slightly fixed to the shaft, and to it
is attached a long string which is neatly wound round the stem. When the
fish is hit the point detaches itself, the line runs off, the floating
arrow shows the position of the fish, and the Indian at once gives chase.
All the arrows are very long, some that we used being between five and
six feet in length, and made from the stem of a certain reed.[47]
Several delicately flavoured fish are found in the Mazaruni, but the most
delicious of all is the pacu,[48] which feeds on a species of lacis that
grows abundantly near falls and rapids. They are very shy, but their red
gold colour renders them easily discernible in the clear pools. Owing to
the extent of water-poisoning which had preceded our ascent of the river,
we had only obtained one of these fish, but now, as we were approaching
the Indian camp, we hoped to obtain a good supply of both fresh and
smoked.
Suddenly we espied a solitary Indian paddling with might and main to
get away from us; we gave chase, but in his light woodskin he speedily
distanced us. Then at the end of a long stretch of river we saw what
appeared to be a line of animals swimming across. It proved to be a
string of canoes, whose occupants, frightened at the appearance of the
white men’s boats, had left their fishing ground and were making all
haste to their camp. This we soon reached, and found about twenty men,
women, and children squatting on the rocks like brown monkeys, and
evidently very nervous about the strangers. They proved to be Acawais,
and could certainly not be complimented on their good looks. They were
short of stature, had olive complexions, and hair like a black mop.
The women added to their charms by a few pot-hooks tattooed into the
corners of the mouth, and by staining their limbs with blue stripes,
which at a distance gave the idea of tight-fitting drawers. But their
dress was strictly one of imagination, a few square inches of bead
apron—queyou—taking the place of the old original cestus. The men were
attired in the buck-skin suits in which they were born, with some pieces
of straw in their nose and ears, and instead of a bead apron they wore a
strip of calico called a “lap.”
The poor things looked very thin and half-starved, and we learn that
owing to the drought the cassava crop had been a poor one, and they had
been reduced to eating a wretched sort of bread made from the grated
nuts of the green-heart, and now had descended the river on a fishing
expedition. Moore in one of his poems asks:
“Know you what ’midst such fertile scenes
That awful voice of famine means?”
To such a question these Indians might answer “yes.” A more improvident
race does not exist; as long as they can satisfy their immediate wants
they are content. They seldom live on the banks of the large rivers, but
build their huts—two or three of which often constitute a village—near
some retired creek. There they plant a little cassava, and when that is
exhausted they pack their household goods on their backs, and, as they
express it, “walk” _i.e._, they wander about wherever fancy leads them,
pitching their camp sometimes for a day, and sometimes for weeks in one
place. In an indolent fashion they will hunt and fish, and, when they
have no game, live on wild berries; occasionally when they have anything
to sell they will paddle leisurely down to the Settlements and paddle
back in the same easy manner. Time is no object to them, except when a
paiworie[49] feast and dance are on the _tapis_. To be present on such an
occasion they will travel great distances, in an incredibly short time,
they will ascend and descend rivers, cross mountains, penetrate forests,
and die from exhaustion rather than forego the effort necessary to obtain
a drink of paiworie. Our friends had no fresh fish, but we obtained a
few dried pacu, averaging five or six pounds each, and some fish arrows,
of which we were in want, in exchange for fish-hooks and a little salt.
Indians are very fond of salt, and as they can only obtain it in trade it
forms a good article of barter.
We did not camp that evening until we had placed some distance between
ourselves and the natives, as, when the latter think that anything is to
be obtained from white men, they will follow and keep near them as long
as they can, although the direction may be the opposite to that in which
they themselves were originally travelling.
The next day the river was freer than usual from rapids, and we were
enabled to replenish our larder, which up to the present had been sadly
deficient in fresh meat. Some golden red howling monkeys—baboons the
men called them—were our first acquisition, and the chase they gave us
through the forest, though very amusing, covered us with garrapatas—large
ticks—and the equally annoying bête rouge. The latter insect is of a
bright scarlet, and so small as hardly to be distinguished, but it causes
great irritation, and if the skin is scratched it ulcerates, and like all
other sores and wounds in the tropics is difficult to heal. Then we shot
two young alligators each about three feet in length; it was strange that
although on the Mazaruni we saw several baby alligators, yet we never
saw any large ones. Of game birds we bagged a paui, curassow,[50] and
two maroudis, a species of wild turkey. The Indians say that the maroudi
obtained its bare red throat by swallowing a fire-stick which it mistook
for a glow-worm.
Two sorts of water-birds, were very plentiful, namely: ducklars[51]
and curri-curris.[52] We did not often fire at the former, unless we
were very badly off for fresh meat, as, irrespective of their ability
to carry off an incredible amount of the largest shot, they are fishy,
ill-flavoured birds. But the curri-curris, so called from their peculiar
cry, are by no means to be despised, and probably being aware of their
eatable properties generally disappeared into the thick bush, just out of
range. These birds are of an olive and bronze colour, feed snipe-like on
worms, and have a heavy flight, similar to that of an owl.
Sometimes we startled a little sun-bittern, and occasionally we crept
near enough to watch him in his motions whilst fascinating an insect;
then his body would writhe and twist, his slender neck undulating like a
serpent’s folds, but all the time with head quiet and eye steadily fixed
on his victim; finally there was a quick darting movement, and there was
no more insect. Our day’s sport was brought to a conclusion by spearing a
very large electric eel. It was Saturday night, and according to custom
McTurk’s cry of “Grog-oh” speedily brought the crew to receive their
weekly glass—dose they called it—of brandy, and this well-earned medicine
infused such life into their tired bodies that we were kept awake for a
long time by the monotonous strains of an old fiddle with which they were
“making dance.”
The next day we remained in our camp below Turesie cataract, and as
somebody shot a deer, and somebody else a maroudi, we had a grand Sunday
dinner consisting of:
SOUP.
Macaw.
FISH.
Smoked pacu and Electric eel.
SIDE DISHES.
Curried monkey, Maroudi à la Turesie.
JOINT.
Haunch of Venison.
BAKES.
Dumplings, Sea biscuit.
Coffee and Eno’s Fruit Salt _ad lib._