A FISH HUNT ON LAND—STINGRAYS—THE “CARIBISCE”—TABLE
MOUNTAINS—A RIVER GOD—DESERTED VILLAGES—CURIPUNG RIVER—INDIAN
ENCAMPMENT—INDIAN SUPERSTITION—THE “PEAIMAN”—DURAQUA—EATING
CUSTOMS—ARRIVAL OF LANCEMAN—TRIANGLE OF MOUNTAINS—MACREBAH
FALLS—START ACROSS COUNTRY.
It has been well said that mountains are privileges, blessings; Ararats
whereon the dove of thought may alight when weary of the deluge around.
And truly after the level country we had been traversing, it was an
unutterable relief to gaze on the strange forms and picturesque colouring
of the cliffs and crags that rose up around us. Though in height they did
not approach the sublime order of mountains, yet their forest slopes,
broken with clefts and chasms, and their perpendicular flat-topped
walls, streaked here with clinging shrubs, and there glistening with
falling water, were more suggestive of the wonderful land changes, yet
more mysterious than the rounded and lofty forms of some grand Sierras.
They resembled Cyclopean monuments scattered through the graveyard of a
universe.
On the day after passing the Merumé river, we saw two natives carrying
some large fish; as soon as they caught sight of us, they took to their
heels and fled over the sandbank on which they had been walking towards
the bush. As we were in want of fish we called to them, but the more we
called the faster they ran. Then Mazaruni gave evidence of his value,
as with a grunt of indignation at the silly fear of his countrymen, he
jumped into the water and speeded after the fugitives. It was a most
laughable chase and won eventually by Mazaruni, who returned triumphantly
with his heavily-weighted captives. They gladly sold us two of their
pacus, but would not part with more, as they required them for their own
camp, which was pitched somewhere up the Cabeparu creek, near which we
were. Shortly afterwards, we captured two more pacus that had lately been
shot, and they afforded us a more amusing hunt than even those of the
previous week.
On account of the number of electric eels and stingrays it was dangerous
work jumping carelessly out of the boat, and in the last hunt one of
the crew touched a ray with his foot but fortunately without receiving
any injury. In appearance a ray is rather like a frying-pan, and its
lance-like tail, fringed with a series of barbs, is a most terrible
weapon. The wound it inflicts causes great agony and is always followed
by severe inflammation. It frequents shallows, where it lies half buried
in the sand, and its yellow colour renders it difficult to distinguish.
The flesh is eatable, when you can get nothing else, and we speared many
of them with a bayonet fastened to a long pole, or shot them with arrows.
Some were of enormous size and defied both arrow and spear.
The next day we met a party of Indian hunters dressed in the costume
of the chase, _i.e._, in feathers, and armed blow-pipes and bows, but
they had no game. We found out from them where we could obtain a certain
liane called “mamurie,” which we were in search of in order to make
“quakes” for our overland journey. We therefore camped early that day
on the left bank of the river, and the men were sent into the woods to
look for the required vine. As we ascended the river from Teboco, we had
noticed in some distant hills a remarkable rocky peak which is called
“the Caribisce,” from the legend stating that it is an Indian hunter who
was turned into stone for daring to ascend the mountain. To-day from
our camp, we saw in the direction from which we had come, east, another
curious peak rising like a gigantic thimble from a flat table-mountain.
The name of this is Sororieng, _i.e._, Swallow’s Nest, and it is an
object of much dread to the superstitious Indians. Not far from it was
the rugged outline of Ishagua, and far away in the south-west we saw the
misty range of the Curipung mountains.
We had chosen a pretty spot for the camp, where on the high bank big
moras and solemn ceibas cast a pleasant shade over rocky pools, deep and
clear, in which small and large fish played near the surface. Among them
McTurk thought he recognized a lucanani[68] and fished zealously for a
couple of hours, but without success. I suggested that perhaps the fish
saw him; he was dressed in scarlet flannel knickerbockers, and in his
Scotch cap he wore the macaw’s tail feathers, that even the greediest
fish could hardly have mistaken for a fly—at all events we got no
lucanani that day. But the fisherman was delightfully picturesque.
Then we strolled through the dark forest, where great butterflies,
with wings whose outer side was of a dull brown, whilst the under part
was of metallic blue, flapped heavily along. Blue morphos, too, of a
most lustrous sheen glanced here and there, and danced through the
foliage like the will-o-the-wisp. Besides these there were not many
other species, some pretty swallow-tails and heliconias being the chief
representatives of the diurnal lepidoptera.[69]
Under the fallen trees were several species of brilliant beetles, and
occasionally a great golden green buprestis[70] whizzed past us. This
beetle is very common, and its wings are used by the Indians for armlets
and anklets. The few flowering plants that we saw were yellow; an
oncidium, the mahoe, cedar-bush, ginger-wort, and other cannas, all were
yellow. The prettiest leaf was that of a crimson-veined caladium, the
bulb of which had probably been dropped by an Indian on his way through
the forest. The natives are fond of this plant, often bringing it back
with them from their journeys to the settlement and using it medicinally.
When the crew returned they brought a good supply of “mamurie,” and in
addition one had a large land-tortoise, another had some toucans, whilst
a third had seen some wonderful animal or other, but of course had no gun
with him. The rest of the day was spent in basket-making.
Just before sun-down the noisy monkeys commence their usual chorus;
cranes and egrets betook themselves to their resting places; macaws
and parrots crossed the river, uttering their harsh good-nights, and
were answered by “pourri,” who had not forgotten when they, too, wended
their evening flight over the waters; and finally, with a rush of wings
and with weird minor cries, the green ibises—curri-curris—flew by and
disappeared in the gloom—
“And far away in the twilight sky
We heard them singing a lessening cry,
Farther and farther till out of sight,
And we stood alone in the silent night.”
When we left next morning, the Giant’s Thimble was just touched by the
rising sun, and after we had crossed a fine reach of river, we had a
fresh mountain view. In the distance it looked like a single mountain,
much broken and castellated in the centre, and with table ends. Mazaruni
informed us that the central position was called Tapusing and the flat
Aricanna; so probably they were two mountains, one standing in front of
the other.
Soon afterwards we passed a peculiar rock in the middle of the river,
somewhat resembling a human figure; the Indians thought it was a river
god watching for pacu. Strange rock formations had been the rule rather
than the exception in all parts of the river, and owing to its unusual
shallowness, we had been able to notice the action of the water on the
various developments, such as granite, porphyry, green stone, gneiss,
&c., below the ordinary low-water mark. Hitherto we had seen no Indian
village on the banks of the river, although we had passed the sites of
several deserted settlements, which were easily to be recognized by the
forest-clearing and the new growth of bush. To day we were glad when
Mazaruni told us that we were approaching the village of Masanassa, and
soon, on the left bank of the river and opposite a small island, we saw
a number of woodskins and evident signs of habitation. Long before we
reached the landing we had been descried by the natives, who flocked
to see us and escorted us to the principal house, which stood on a
high bank, with a neat approach of flowering shrubs, plantains, ochro,
peppers, papaws, cotton, and fruit trees. The house was merely a large
shed with wattled walls. From the beams were suspended twenty-five
hammocks, so that it was evident that three or four families occupied
the same house. In the centre were two large paiworie troughs, and
scattered about the floor, or resting on a platform overhead, were
the various cassava-making implements, calabashes, tastefully fretted
“pegalls”—covered baskets in which the women keep their paints and
knick-knacks—quaint, low stools, parrots, accouries, and a few snarling
dogs.
In appearance and dress the inhabitants were the same as we had before
seen, only the men had put on their finest and largest necklaces,
made of the teeth of monkeys and peccaries, and of wild-boars’ tusks.
To some of these necklaces were attached long cords with tassels of
toucans’ breasts, and various bird-skins. Some of the women were engaged
in chewing cassava, whilst others were occupied in the pleasanter
employment of cotton-spinning and hammock-weaving. The villagers were not
particularly enthusiastic in their reception of us, and one man, with
a fierce countenance horribly painted in red, lay in his hammock in an
open shed outside the house, and scowled ferociously at our intrusion,
but it was plain that his enmity arose from a too copious indulgence
in paiworie. The chief of the house was named Lanceman, and though his
knowledge of speaking English only amounted to “yes,” yet he understood
a few words, and seemed an intelligent man. To his care McTurk confided
the baggage—tin boxes, &c.,—that would be troublesome to carry during
our overland journey, and also sufficient provisions to last us on our
return from his house to the settlement. He also promised to accompany us
himself to Roraima, and on the following day to bring to our camp, on the
Curipung, as many men as were willing to assist us as carriers.
In two hours after we left we arrived at the Curipung River, in whose
broad mouth the water had shrunk to one narrow channel, just deep enough
to admit our boats. Just above, however, it widened out into a stream of
about fifty yards in width, and on its left bank we camped. On the other
side of this creek, and bordering the Mazaruni, was a large stretch of
white sand, and on its edge a number of Indians, who had come down on a
fish-poisoning excursion, were encamped. Above all other localities, an
Indian is fond of an open, sandy beach whereon to pass the night. In the
ground he sticks a few poles from which to suspend his hammock, and if
the weather is rainy, a few palm leaves form a sufficient shelter. There
in the open, away from the dark, shadowy forest, he feels secure from the
stealthy approach of the dreaded “kanaima;”[71] the magic rattle of the
“peaiman”[72] has less terror for him when unaccompanied by the weird
rustling of the waving branches; and there even the wild hooting of the
“didi”[73] is bereft of that intensity with which it pierces the gloomy
depths of the surrounding woodland. It is strange that the superstitious
fear of these Indians, who are bred in the forest and hills, should be
chiefly based on natural forms and sounds. Certain rocks they will never
point at with a finger, although your attention may be drawn to them
by an inclination of the head. Some rocks they will not even look at,
and others again they beat with green boughs. Common bird-cries become
spirit-voices. Any place that is difficult of access, or little known,
is invariably tenanted by huge snakes or horrible four-footed animals.
Otters are transformed into mermaids, and water-tigers inhabit the deep
pools and caves of their rivers. Yet with all their superstition, I doubt
whether any of them would object to set out on a journey on a Friday,
or whether any would place faith in “lucky numbers,” and I am sure none
would refuse to join a dinner party of thirteen.
We passed a whole day at our camp on the Curipung, and completed as many
“quakes” as we could out of the material, in all numbering forty-two,
each capable of holding about fifty-five or sixty pounds. Here we shot a
“great mâam,”[74] whose flesh proved superior to anything we had tasted.
The anatomy of this bird is peculiar, as it may be said to be nearly all
breast; the flesh before cooking is of a light green, and when cooked
is white and delicate. In size it is about the same as a pheasant, and
its shrill plaintive whistle, which gradually increases in volume, is
a never-failing forest-sound both night and morning. There is another
but smaller bird of the same species. We also bagged two or three
“duraquauras”[75]—partridges—which were almost as good on the table as
the “mâam.” The notes of this bird, from which it takes its name, are
usually the first heard in the morning and frequently before dawn.
In spite of repeated assurances from Lanceman that he and his Indians
would be ready to accompany us early on the following morning, they
failed to appear at the appointed time. Some of the natives from the
sandbank encampment were willing to join us, so we accepted their
services and loaded one of their woodskins, so as to lighten our
own boats, and then started. Soon after we left the river widened
considerably, but became so shallow that for over an hour we had to walk
and drag the boats, and even the woodskin. Then it became deeper, and
maintained an average breadth of sixty or seventy yards. The banks were
thickly clothed with a jungle growth, above which locust and cork-trees
reared themselves. Here and there a great Brownea,[76] with brilliant
red flowers or fiery legumes, stretched out, Briareus-like, a hundred
arms wreathed with deeply cut arums and parasitical plants, and over
the water drooped the feathery foliage of an amherstiæ, with beautiful
rose-tinged flowers having long crimson stamens. Sport was easier to be
obtained here than on the large river, and we had plenty of amusement
spearing rays and shooting sun-bitterns, hanuras,[77] white egrets, and
sometimes a beautiful Quaak heron.[78] The latter is a very graceful
bird with plumy crest, and curly neck and breast feathers of a lovely
lavender colour. Nothing was wasted, for most of our civilized Indians
found no flesh amiss, and apparently enjoyed the leg of a heron as much
as they did the breast of a mâam. But two of our Acawais would not
eat the delicious pacu, although they did not refuse the ray, or the
electric-eel. In North America, too, the Comanche Indians will not eat
fish that have scales, but are fond of those that have none.
The different tribes of Guiana have various ideas regarding what food is
fit and what food is unfit to be eaten. For instance, the Caribs will not
touch large fish, nor will they eat pork. The Macusi consider the flesh
of cattle unclean, but do not object to that of peccary and wild boar.
The Warraees think roast dog a great delicacy, therein resembling the
Cheyennes of North America. On this river we missed the little silver
fish running swiftly over the top of the water, the bats that flew out of
every dead tree near the water’s edge as we passed, and even the bumble
bees that had been our constant companions on the Mazaruni. But their
place was supplied by sociable king-fishers, many of which kept in our
society for hours, awaiting our approach on some bare bough, and then
skimming over the water just ahead of us. Ducklars, too, and curri-curris
stood less on ceremony, and scarcely waited for an invitation to dinner.
We stopped for breakfast near a village—two houses—where fifteen or
twenty people assembled to look at us. A successful wild-pig hunt had
just provided them with a quantity of meat, a small portion of which
we wished to purchase. They, however, declined to part with any of it,
unless we gave in return a much larger supply of salt than we could
afford; so we had to go without it. “Gentle hospitality,” quoth the
Sanscrit sage, “dwelleth not in palaces. Rather seeking, shall ye find
her in the tent of the desert.” Before we left, a woodskin, containing
Lanceman and six other Indians caught us up, and we proceeded together.
The river scenery was now more picturesque, and mountain forms, with
outlines ever changing as we moved, gathered round us. Our course
was so winding that sometimes the same mountain appeared on one side
of us and sometimes on the other. Towards evening we obtained a very
pretty view. Beyond where the river narrowed a little, two mountains
stood almost together, the nearer—Wattaparu—flat-topped, and with
bare, perpendicular walls, loomed up grandly and in striking contrast
with the other—Aricanna—whose rounded base was crowned with a curious
pinnacle, the whole being thickly wooded from top to bottom. The one
was all shining silver-grey, the other of a rich purple bloom. But with
the mountains had come the rain, and it was as much as we could do by
perpetual bailing to keep the boats above water. At length we camped on a
sandbank, and for the first time since we left Georgetown built a house.
As we might now expect constant rains, in all our future camps the
building of a shelter was our first care. The huts were necessarily
substantial, in order to sustain the weight of our hammocks. Four stout
forked poles were worked into the ground, and formed the corner posts;
these were connected by strong poles, and in the centre of the narrower
ends of the parallelogram two more thick forked poles were erected high
enough for the tarpaulins, which were thrown over the connecting beam
to form a sloping ceiling. All the fastenings were made with bush-rope,
which was as pliable as cord. Rafters placed across the connecting
side-beams formed a dry platform in wet weather for the “quakes,” guns,
&c. After a little practice, it was astonishing how quickly the shelter
was set up. In spite of our house the night was not a pleasant one, as
owing to our exposed situation the rain beat in terribly through the open
sides. It passed though, and before daybreak the tarpaulins were down and
the boats reloaded. The course of the river was more tortuous than on the
preceding day, and it seemed as if we should never reach the other side
of Wattaparu, so frequently did we pass and repass it. In some places
fallen trees obstructed our passage, and these had to be cut away; and
in others enormous boulders, formed of coarse conglomerate and diorite
rising from the bed of the river, gave us but scanty space to squeeze
through.
At last we reached a mountain triangle. In front was Wairinu, a splendid
table-mountain with bold perpendicular wall, and castellated like some
gigantic fortification of the most perfect stone masonry. On our left was
Pacaru, surmounted by a high cone and with massive slabs of rock jutting
out from its side. On the right rose Wuruima with its outline similar to
Pacaru. Everywhere there was a beautiful blending of rock and forest,
the rocks varying from red overhanging buttresses to grey perpendicular
heights, furred at intervals with shrubs, and the forest which covered
every available spot with dark green foliage was brightened in places
with a few patches of colour, and the lighter tints of palm and wild
plantain leaves.
On reaching the Seroun creek, near which the Indian path leads across
the country, we found the water too shallow for an ascent, so crossing
to the right bank of the Curipung, we camped on some high ground below
the falls of Macrebah. Nowhere had we found so picturesque a camping
ground. Under the trees was a broad beach of the whitest sand, at whose
foot ran the dark river, foam-flecked from the beautiful falls over which
the water rushed in three successive cataracts, flanked and broken by
enormous boulders. Mountains surrounded the little valley through which
the river flowed, and their wonderful precipices and curious forms were a
never failing source of attraction. As this was the terminus of our river
travel in boats, we soon set to work filling and weighing the “quakes;”
the weight assigned to each man being forty-five pounds of provisions,
which together with his own bundle and a few et ceteras altogether
amounted to about sixty pounds, no inconsiderable weight to carry, when
the temperature and the difficulties of the route are considered.
For our future progress McTurk arranged the following plan. All the
hands, except two, who were unwell and were to be left at Macrebah in
charge of the boats, were to take part in the overland journey to where
we rejoined the Mazaruni. Then all the original crew, except six of the
best men, were to return to Macrebah, and with the two sick ones make the
home journey to the settlements in two of the boats. The other boat, “the
Adaba,” was to be left on a raised platform, which was built under the
trees, to take us back on our return from Roraima. As we had forty-two
quakes and only twenty-two men to carry them, Lanceman started off in
a woodskin to a neighbouring Arecuna village, to try and get more. He
succeeded in obtaining five, so we saw that we should be compelled to
make short daily journeys, and after each to send back relays of men to
bring on the extra quakes.
Our preparations occupied us for a day and a half, during which time
our Indians also cut a short track through the woods from the opposite
bank of the river to join the Seroun path, thereby avoiding a tedious
and rock-encumbered walk up the shallow creek. As it would require two
trips to remove all our baggage to the first day’s halting place, McTurk
started early in the morning with the intention of sending back the
necessary number of men for the remaining quakes on the following day.
I remained behind, so as to superintend the departure of the second
detachment, and guard against any unnecessary delay.