AMATEUR BARBERS—AN INDIAN EXQUISITE—MOUTH OF THE CAKO—CAMP
ON VENEZUELAN TERRITORY—TRUMPETERS—MOUNT CAROUTA—REASON
FOR ASCENDING THE CAKO—MARIMA—INDIAN GUIDE—GLIMPSE OF
RORAIMA—THE ARUPARU CREEK—COTINGAS—SAVANNA INDIANS—A WATER
LABYRINTH—AMUSING SCENES—END OF NAVIGATION.
As the Captain did not arrive at the appointed time with the woodskins,
we amused ourselves with some amateur hair-cutting, which so delighted
the natives that many of them insisted on being shorn of their long black
tresses. These they carefully gathered, and after wrapping them in leaves
buried in some retired part of the forest, so that no Kanaima should get
hold of them and exercise his incantations to the destruction of their
late owner. Here we discovered that Mazaruni, who was extremely plain,
was excessively conceited, and was never tired of gazing at himself in
a small hand-glass, and arranging the straw ornaments in his nose and
ears in what he considered the most becoming fashion. Whenever a woodskin
appeared in which there were any ladies, he would immediately retire to
his hammock and change his dress, _i.e._, take out the old straws and
insert new ones, carefully placing them at the proper angle. Then with a
few fresh touches of blue and vermillion he brightened himself up, and
felt that he was a dandy of the first water. By the time the barber’s
duties were completed the Captain arrived with his woodskins, which were
quickly loaded, and we proceeded up the river.
Stepping into a woodskin for the first time is a delicate undertaking. If
the foot is placed on one side a capsize ensues, and in the exact centre
the bark bends so that the feeling is that you are trusting yourself to
a sheet of brown paper. The only safety is in stepping in lightly and
quickly, and at once sitting down in the bottom of the boat, breathing
only when you are perfectly balanced in the middle of it. A little
practice, however, soon gives confidence, and you are able to use your
gun as well as in an ordinary-sized craft. The paddlers sit one at each
end, the man in the bows having to keep a sharp look out for rocks or
snags, which would pierce or upset the frail shell in a moment.
In about three hours we reached the mouth of the Cako, and looking up
that river saw in the distance a fine table-mountain called Carotipu. We
found the Cako to be a fine river, about one hundred yards in width, and
with moderately high banks. We ascended a short distance, and then camped
on the left bank—the Venezuelan[84] side—in order to be free from several
Indian parties who had erected their “banaboos” on the opposite shore.
But our precaution was of no avail, as when we were comfortably settled
and had cleared the bush around, over came the Indians and quietly
established themselves in our midst. One or two of the women had pleasing
countenances, but their striped and too sturdy limbs and sack-like forms
entirely destroyed the first impression of feminine beauty. I think
it was Alphonse Karr who said, “La nature a fait la femelle, et la
civilization a fait la femme!”
Most of the men were powerfully made, but their painted and unintelligent
faces were not improved by the black pellets which, according to custom,
they all held between their lips. This vegetable pellet—I do not know
what it is composed of—is the Indian substitute for the betel-nut of
the Malays, the cocoa-leaf of the South Americans, the opium of the
Chinese, the tobacco of Europeans, and in outward appearance is not an
improvement on any of them. When the natives heard that we wished to buy
provisions, they brought us all they could, but it only amounted to a
small quantity of cassava bread, a few pumpkins, and three or four roots
of sweet cassava.[85] The latter not being poisonous require no special
preparation, and when the roots are roasted they are very palatable.
Our next object was to buy some woodskins, as the owner of those that
had brought us from the Mazaruni did not wish to part with them. On the
day after our arrival five were offered to us, and these we purchased
for four small flasks of powder. As ten shillings was not much to give
for five boats, we promised the natives that on our return they should
receive them back again.
Powder is eagerly sought by the Indians, as many of them have long
single-barrel guns—buck-guns they are called in Demerara—that they
have obtained in trade, and their opportunities of getting ammunition
are exceedingly limited! They are very fond of fire-arms, and our
breech-loaders were a never-ending source of wonder to them. Of late,
we had heard the most appalling sounds issuing from the forest;
sometimes they resembled the bellowing of a cow who had lost her calf,
and at others were like the howls of a wild animal. At last one of the
perpetrators was shot, and it proved to be a small bird known in Guiana
as the “calf bird,” which has a bald head and plumage of an olive colour.
McTurk told me that these birds are common on the Pomeroon River, and
that once a newly arrived Englishman, who had been out shooting one day,
returned in haste to camp, with the intelligence that he had heard such
a terrific bellowing and roaring that he was certain a band of tigers
were fighting with some other animals. McTurk and others hastened to the
scene, and shot three calf-birds. Considering that it comes from a bird,
the noise is certainly the most astounding I have ever listened to. We
shot some trumpeter[86] birds, which also make a very peculiar sound.
They live in flocks, run swiftly over the ground, and look like a number
of diminutive ostriches. They are graceful creatures, with long velvety
necks, beautiful blue and purple breast-feathers, and back and wings of a
silver grey. The Indians call them Waracabas, from a fanciful resemblance
in their notes to the cry of the Waracaba tigers, which hunt in packs.
Having spent nearly two days in camp, with the vain hope of securing a
guide to Roraima, we determined to start early on the following morning.
The natives promised to bring more cassava on the morrow if we could
only wait another day, but with an Indian the morrow is as indefinite
a period as “mañana” with the Spaniards, or “bookra” with the Arabs.
The five woodskins—the two largest each containing three persons, and
the smaller, two—were loaded down to the water’s edge when we set out,
but we soon reached Captain David’s house, and there we left the three
quakes of provisions for our return journey. The course of the river was
pretty and very winding, continually opening out fresh views of distant
mountains. We rounded the northern extremity of Mount Carouta which was
thickly wooded, except under its high central dome, where the precipitous
rock was quite bare. Nearly all the mountains that we had hitherto
seen, were extremely precipitous on the northern and eastern faces, but
on the western side there were generally patches of heavy forest even
where, to the eye, it looked most perpendicular. We hoped that Roraima
would present the same forest growth, and by ascending the Cako River we
thought we might arrive opposite the western slope of the mountain.
We knew little about the course of the river, as no information could
be obtained from the Indians, and we were probably the first white men
who had ever ascended it. As it was probable that the river rose in the
mountain range near Roraima, we intended to follow it as far as we could,
and then strike off across country. From what Captain David told us, we
were much afraid that owing to the scant population along the river banks
we should be unable to find a guide. Still we determined to push on, and
in the event of failure, to return to the mouth of the Cako and make
another attempt to reach Roraima by the Cukuie River.
After passing Carouta, we saw in our front the flat-topped mountain of
Ibropu, and soon after we camped on the right bank of the river, opposite
a path leading to Camarang, on the Mazaruni. We erected our shed on a
high jutting promontory above a white sand beach, and after unloading the
woodskins carried the quakes up the bank. It was fortunate we did not
leave them below, as in the morning there was no sand to be seen; the
river had risen, and the beach was covered to a depth of three or four
feet. As we approached Ibropu, we caught sight of a fine waterfall that
descended from its eastern slope, and the stream which it formed entered
the Cako near a very pretty island. Here, two fine Muscovy[87] ducks flew
over our heads, and, as they ran the gauntlet, each boat in succession
greeted them with a volley, but unsuccessfully. Shortly afterwards,
I discovered five more swimming near the shore, and by dint of quiet
paddling and taking advantage of a bushy point we crept within range, and
with two barrels I bagged four of them. They were very large and heavy
birds, differing from the tame Muscovy only in having less coral about
the bill. They are difficult to approach, and though we frequently saw
them alight on the high trees, and from afar distinguished them by their
white wing-coverts, yet by the end of the day we had only obtained six.
It is said that these ducks build their nests on lofty trees, and, when
the young ones are sufficiently grown, the parents carry them down to
the swamps to educate them. Those we shot were uncommonly tough, but
duck and pumpkin were such rare delicacies that, had the former been of
cast-iron, I think we should have enjoyed them.
We passed along the east side of Ibropu, then the ever-winding river
turned south, and we saw a high table-mountain which we fancied must be
Roraima, but the view was only for a moment, and then a veil of clouds
concealed it. Afterwards we found out that the mountain we had seen
was Marima, which is situated to the north-east of Roraima. We paddled
along fine stretches of river, here getting a snipe, there a duck, and
sometimes a curri-curri, and at last camped on the left bank. Before it
was dark we heard the sound of a horn blown lustily from the river, and
soon a woodskin appeared containing a man, woman, and child. It turned
out that they lived near Roraima, and having heard from Captain David
that we wanted a guide had hastened after us. The man’s name was Abraham,
which was about the only common biblical name that we had not encountered
among our various crews at some time or other. He declined to camp with
us, but preferred going farther on, as he said that close by was the cave
of a celebrated “water-māmā,” near whom it was dangerous to sleep.
The Indians firmly believe in the reality of these mermaids, or
“water-māmās,” as they are called in Dutch Creole; and where they are
supposed to have their caves or nests, there great danger awaits the
traveller. Some are related to be extremely beautiful and possessing
long golden hair—like the Lorelei—and whoever casts his eye on them is
seized with madness, jumps into the deep water, and never returns. Others
are hideous, snakes being twined about them, and with their long white
talons they drag boats under the water and devour their occupants. On the
Orinoco and Amazon similar creatures are supposed to exist, but these
are capable of drawing their prey into their mouths at a distance of a
hundred yards. In order to avoid such a calamity, the natives always blow
a horn before entering a creek or lagoon in which one of these monsters
may be living; if it happens to be there, it will immediately answer the
horn and thus give warning to the intruder.
When we awoke in the morning it seemed as if the “water-māmā” had
indeed bewitched us. The river, which on the previous night flowed
quietly beneath the bank on which we were encamped, had disappeared. The
woodskins were high and dry on a ledge of rocks that extended for some
distance up and down the bed of the stream. There, on the other side of
the rocky plateau we discovered the lost river, which had fallen three
feet during the night, and had lost nearly the same volume of water
that it had gained after the recent rains. About a mile farther on we
found Abraham waiting anxiously for us, and glad that we had survived
the perils of the night. On this day we caught some beautiful views of
Roraima whenever the clouds lifted, and towards noon we left the Cako and
turned into a broad creek on its right bank called the Aruparu. By so
doing we feared—as eventually proved to be the case—that we should not
reach Roraima from its western flank, but as our guide assured us that it
was the only way he knew of, we thought it best to follow his advice.
The creek scenery was pretty, but monotonous; the clay banks were clothed
with thick bush, with here and there masses of yellow blossoms and the
pink tassels of the Brownea. There were also many shrubs known as the
“witê,” whose long velvet pods contain beans covered with a very sweet
but insipid pulp. A drawback in picking them was that every pull brought
down showers of stinging ants, which, as well as parrots, are very fond
of that fruit. Sometimes we passed an Indian banaboo that had lately
been occupied, and at others the new jungle growth showed where a small
village had once existed. At the mouths of the smaller streams, which
flowed into the creek, there was generally a barricade of sticks and
poles made by the natives for securing fish, but most of the streams were
dry and the barricades of ancient date. In the mud and sand were endless
tracks of tapirs and the “water-haas”—capybara—and occasionally a splash
and rustle told where we had disturbed one of the latter, but we were
seldom near enough for a shot.
Ducklars were very numerous, and as we turned each corner, there they
would be sitting in rows on the branches of fallen trees awaiting our
approach; then a dive and an ungainly flutter to start them, and away
they would go to the next bend in the river. But after the Muscovy ducks
the men looked with disdain on the fishy ducklar, and those that were
shot that day remained uneaten. On many subsequent occasions they looked
back with regret on the despised and wasted ducklars. Now and then we
heard the “kwet-kwet” of the beautiful scarlet cotinga, and once the
brilliant but harsh-voiced pompadour[88] flew across in front of us. Not
seldom the narrowing stream was over-arched by the bending trees, and
under their dark shadows the splendid blue morphos and still more lovely
butterflies of a sparkling violet hue floated lazily. At one place where
the forest seemed clearer we ascended the bank, and were gratified by the
sight of a savanna, which with a diversity of wood and hill stretched off
to some distant mountains.
Owing to the muddy nature of the banks and the thick bush, it was late
that night before we could find a camping ground, but at last we came
to a spot where some Indians had already erected their sheds. They were
wild-looking creatures, hideously painted and stained, and the hair of
the men was longer than that of the women. They were stalwart and tall,
and had come from their homes in the savanna country to this fashionable
watering-place for fishing and bathing. They shook their heads and
groaned when they heard that we were going to Roraima, and recommended us
to turn back and not act foolishly.
An amusing incident occurred here. Our primitive acquaintances kept us
awake for some time with their monotonous sing-song talk, and shortly
after I had dropped asleep McTurk awoke me with the intelligence that he
was going to have his bath, as day was breaking. I got up at once, as it
appeared to be getting light, and we bathed and dressed, and sat in our
hammocks waiting coffee. After some time day did not appear to advance
much, and to our astonishment we saw the moon slowly rising over the
trees. In our anxiety to make an early start we had mistaken moonrise for
daybreak, and had got up at about half-past twelve a.m.
Hitherto the creek had been free from all impediments and was deep enough
to float large boats, but soon after we left our sleeping quarters the
ominous stroke of an axe told us that Abraham was cutting a passage
through a fallen tree. For the rest of the day our journey was like going
in a canoe through a forest that had been cut down and left. Here, a
great tree trunk permitted the passage of the woodskins underneath, but
without their loads; there, an enormous limb necessitated the unloading
and lifting over of the boats; in some places a sunken log had sufficient
water flowing over it to float the woodskins, but only after their
contents had been discharged; in others an opening had to be cut through
tangled branches and stems. We were never in the boats for five minutes
at a time; it was a perpetual jumping in and out, loading and unloading,
lifting and hauling, pushing and carrying, cutting and squeezing.
Frequently, the arch formed by the overhanging trunk seemed high enough
to allow the woodskin and its contents to pass under, but when well in
the centre a jam would occur, and we would find ourselves crouching in
the bottom of the boat unable to move hand or foot, and water rapidly
coming in over the sides. It was most amusing, and I never enjoyed a
good laugh at McTurk’s expense without immediately finding myself in a
similar position. The great strain on the woodskins caused two of them to
split, and only by rapidly conducting them to shore did we save them from
sinking. By filling the cracks with bark, linen, and paper, they were
soon made serviceable again.
The windings of the creek were extraordinary; often after following a
southerly direction for a mile or more, we would turn north for the same
distance, and come out on the other side of the narrow promontory only
a few yards from where we had started. The same thing would be repeated
east and west, and the patient stream seemed never tired of twisting
itself into a hundred folds and then untwisting.
Just before dark, we arrived at a place past which it would be impossible
to proceed, and Abraham informed us that we had reached the end of the
creek journey. So we landed and built our house.