OLD GRANNY’S DESCRIPTION OF THE PATH TO
RORAIMA—TREE-BRIDGES—MONKEY-POTS—BUSH-ROPES—CASHEW
COTTAGE—SAVANNA INDIANS—MAZARUNI—MAGNIFICENT PALMS—BIXA
ORELLANA—COTENGA RIVER—FALLS OF OOKOOTAWIK—VILLAGE OF
MENAPARUTI—MARIKA RIVER—THE SORCERER AGAIN.
About half a mile higher up the creek lived Abraham’s mother, and there
we intended to leave sufficient provisions for our return journey and
whatever articles we could not carry with us.
Our first care on the day following our arrival was to hide the woodskins
in the forest, so that they should not be appropriated by any passing
Indians. Then we followed a trail through the bush which brought us to
the hut. A very old lady with long white hair received us, and began
to moan and beat her breast wildly. We asked what she was doing, and
discovered that she was relating the difficulties of the path to Roraima.
Over level country she travelled smoothly and in low tones, but when she
came to the mountains that had to be crossed, then her voice rose, she
shrunk to the ground, raised herself on tip-toes, waved her arms, struck
her chest, uttered strange cries, and the higher and steeper the mountain
the louder and shriller became her screams.
Already our superstitious carriers had lent too ready an ear to the
terrors of Roraima as depicted by the son, and now the mother seemed
disposed to add her store of legends and tales of witchcraft for general
information. We therefore arranged our quakes as quickly as possible,
rethatched her crazy shed so as to preserve from the weather the numerous
articles we deposited on fresh rafters and were ready to start. Before
we left she made the entire party blow three times on her back for good
luck, but whether the luck was for her or for us we never found out. It
was an odd farewell, but as it pleased old granny—as we called her—we
were content.
Our path did not differ much from that of our previous foot-journey,
but the creeks and streams were more numerous and the crossings often
extremely difficult. Our bare-footed and trained carriers walked easily
enough over the narrowest logs, but for us, with boots and weighed down
with gun, bag and cartridges, it was different. Generally the water was
too deep to wade through, and the only way of crossing was by means of
a slippery trunk as narrow as a tight-rope, and many feet above the
stream. Sometimes when the slender bridge was suspended at an angle, the
crossing was more dangerous than amusing, as a fall would probably have
been on to the sharp snags and branches that threw their points out of
the deep pools underneath. As in our former walk, the ground was covered
with dark blue gloxinias and a pretty creeping plant whose glossy leaves
were delicately veined with pink; near the streams grew cannas and thick
masses of the umberilla grass[89] varied with soft-textured marantas.
Palms were more plentiful than before, and we saw varieties that we had
not previously met with. We saw also the curious “monkey-pot” tree[90]
with its strange bowl-shaped fruit and wooden covers. Purple-heart and
the crab-oil tree[91] were not uncommon and strange nuts constantly fell
around us.
Many of the bush-rope forms were very curious, differing in size and
shape from a boot-lace to a ship’s cable. Here, like the strangling
serpents of Laocoon, they hold a great tree in their huge folds, and
there a delicate vine had formed a complete network around some forest
giant until it was as helpless as a fly in a spider’s web. Very terrible
are these lace-like parasites which cling at first in their helplessness
to some lordly trunk and then slowly extend their treacherous embrace
until their support is shut up in a living grave. The poor tree dies, and
its destroyers live and thrive on the dead body of their benefactor. Few
flowers relieve the monotony of these dark forests, and it is strange
that here, where birds have such brilliant plumage, flowers should be
almost unnoticeable. Nor do they atone by perfume for their want of
colour, as with the exception of a faint breath of vanilla, or of the
fragrant blossoms of a lecythes, no odour of flowers greets the senses.
The forest was not dull, as besides the tolling bell-birds, numerous
kites and hawks added their harsh cries; nearer at hand little
humming-birds were perpetually lisping “tweek-tweek” or a gay fire-bird
calling out “quark.”
Once we heard a flute-bird,[92] whose mellow ventriloquial notes were
of wonderful sweetness, and as they floated around the sound was that of
an Æolian harp struck by the wind on the tree tops. The exquisite tone
reminded me of the “Siffleur montagne,” which I once heard singing in the
woods of Martinique. But in the forest all birds’ sounds are pleasing,
and even the harsh-throated parrots and macaws are pleasant to listen
to. What does the bell-bird say when he tolls out “quiâ-ting” or the
pompadour cotinga when he screams “wallababa” or the duraquara when he
greets the dawn with his own name? Something surely, and though we cannot
understand it, it is clear to the initiated. Those two parrots holding
such confidential intercourse must understand one another, and that
touching monologue of the flute-bird cannot be uttered in vain! Forest
music must be, like Tzigane music, without laws and dogmas, and though
subtle and mystic, yet distinct and easily comprehended by those who
utter it.
After some hours of steady walking, during which we had been gradually
ascending, we arrived at a small clearing in the centre of which stood
a circular house, thatched and wattled. A fine cashew tree shadowed
it, and in a twinkling we were enjoying the refreshing fruit which an
agile Indian who had climbed up, shook down for us. Cashew Cottage was
unoccupied, the family being in town or at some watering place, or more
probably “on the walk.” Abraham conducted us to a point which was a
little way off the path, but from which we obtained a fine mountain view.
We were facing the west, and close in our front ran the Marima[93] range,
sloping and forest-clad for the greater part, but towards its southern
extremity was an enormous square pile of sheer rock without even a shrub
on its smooth sides. Behind this and in the far blue distance another
perpendicular wall of rock was just visible; this was the northern end
of Roraima. Stretching far away to the north were other mountains, the
most conspicuous of which were the dome-shaped Serāpi and the flat-topped
Ilotipu. As far as the eye could reach the violet tinted ranges rose
one above the other, and threading its way between them we could trace
the course of the Cako River. As usual Roraima only showed itself for
a moment, for the white clouds fell slowly down and hid its sharp
profile. Then we resumed our journey, whose direction was now towards the
south-eastern end of Marima.
From Cashew Cottage two paths branched off into the forest. Abraham
chose the one to the right, and in about four hours we emerged on to a
high savanna plateau. In the centre of it were two conical huts, old
and deserted. Close to them lay several large troughs hollowed out of
tree trunks, but whether they had originally been intended for canoes
or to hold paiworie we could not determine. Not far from here we built
our shelter, as Abraham said that a stream ran through the forest below
us. When we sought it we found it was dry, but as McTurk was unwell and
feverish, owing to the numerous cuts, bruises, and sores gained during
our hard tramps, we thought it better to remain where we were and send
back for water to the nearest brook.
From the savanna we had a fine view all round. On one side were the
Marima mountains, and a picturesque fall which proved to be the head
waters of the Aruparu; and on the other, from the foot of a steep
precipice, a broad valley bounded by wooded hills extended far away to
the east in one unbroken surface of foliage.
In the evening a party of Indians arrived. They were on their way to
the Mazaruni, but some of them agreed to accompany us, and others said
that if we waited for a day they would bring us some cassava from their
home in the forest. We therefore promised to wait, and early next
morning despatched three men to bring some more quakes of flour from
old Granny’s house. Like other Indians we had met and questioned, these
people beat their breasts and uttered various cries when they told us of
the mountains to be crossed, and added their testimony to the spirits
of Roraima. Besides cassava, they brought us some cobs of Indian corn
and green plantains, which we paid for in small silver coins, as they
said if ever they went to the coast they should require money. They were
an inquisitive set, and our clothes and shoes astonished them beyond
measure. I admit that at that time my boots certainly were curiosities.
When we went to perform our ablutions in the rain water that the troughs
held, we were always followed by a squad of sight-seers who had never
seen soap or sponges, and who stood at a distance and laughed.
At this period Mazaruni was in his glory, for besides Sarah—Abraham’s
wife—three more women were added to our party by the arrival of the new
comers, and as they carried burdens as well as the men, he was always on
hand to assist them in any difficult places. And the difficulties were
many, for we found that the hardest part of our journey was before us.
Directly after leaving camp the path descended through the forest, over
the usual terrible but unavoidable roots, and in the course of time we
arrived at the Owtaro River, which we crossed just above a splendid set
of falls that were precipitated over a rocky wall, between two hundred
and three hundred feet in depth, into the valley below.
Soon afterwards we reached the foot of the Opuima Mountain,[94] and
commenced an ascent which fully accounted for the breast-beating and
wild outcries of the natives. By root-ladders and with the aid of trees,
which were themselves clinging with difficulty to the precipitous side,
we slowly wended our way to the top. The ascent seemed interminable, and
from sheer exhaustion I was frequently on the point of throwing away my
gun and cartridges. At length the struggle was over, and we sat down on
the summit to await the arrival of the plucky carriers. I should not
have been at all surprised if none of them had reached the top, as I am
certain that with the same weight they carried I should have been totally
unable to make the ascent. But they all arrived safely, not quite so
light-hearted as when they started, but ready to proceed after a short
rest. In many places the ground seemed covered with snow, from the
whiteness of a pretty lichen[95] which was specked here and there with a
yellow flower growing from the end of a long stalk.
On the hill slopes were many magnificent palms, one species of which was
finer even than the royal palm. The shapely stems were of great height,
and the beautiful fronds were over twenty feet in length. McTurk had
never seen the species before, but probably it is the Ceroxylon Andicola,
which is found high up on the Andes. Scattered about at their feet were
delicate ferns whose tiny pinnules quivered at the least breath, whilst
the huge fronds above them were unmoved by the passing breeze. It was a
rare treat to behold these two singularly contrasting examples of the
most exquisite grace and beauty known in the botanical kingdom. Here were
also shrubs of the Bixa orellana, whose seeds furnish the “arnotto” paint
so much used by the Indians.
At length we came to the Cotinga River, or, as the natives call it, the
Quiâ-ting. It is curious that both the English and Indian name of this
river should have reference to the bell-bird, although it is common in
the locality. Here the stream is deep and about thirty-five yards broad,
and a canoe which we fortunately discovered took us over in relays. On
the opposite side was an unoccupied shed and a provision ground, which
gave evidence that the desertion of the house was only temporary. Here
were some blocks of red jasper of a very smooth and delicate grain.
On re-entering the forest, our path ran parallel to the river, but at
some distance from it. Presently a bend in the river brought us to the
side of a very pretty fall, where the water swept over a long and deep
dyke, whose stones were as smooth and regular as if chiselled by hand.
The name of the fall was Ookootawik, and there we intended to camp, but
Abraham assured us that a large village was very near. So on we went,
terribly fagged and tired, and at last reached a scene of desolation.
In North America a similar scene would be called a “windrow,” for the
appearance was that of a forest overturned by a whirlwind or tempest.
Tree lay piled on tree, the roots of one interlaced with the branches
of another; there were ladders of trunks stepping up and up, and topped
by the gnarled branches of some great tree, which seemed to have been
whirled down from a height and to have lodged there. Many were black and
charred, and others snow-white and barkless, throwing up their scraggy
arms like skeletons. Of course all signs of a path had vanished, and over
this forest wreck we had to scramble and pick our way, trusting to the
horn of Abraham for the right direction.
Horn-blowing was a very useful accomplishment of our guide, as it kept us
straight and frightened away the various evil spirits, from a water-māmā
to a wood-demon.
Another stretch of forest and then we came out on to a savanna, across
which we saw the dome of Waëtipu—the sun mountain. Four hours after
Abraham had told us the great village was close at hand we arrived there.
The first house that we came to belonged to the head of the village; he
seemed highly delighted to see us, said his name was Captain Sam, that
he had been to Georgetown, that his house and everything in it was at
our disposal, but that we would be more comfortable in the stranger’s
house, which was on the other side of the savanna. Thither we hastened,
and found a very large, lofty, and well built open shed, and we were soon
more comfortably housed than we had been since our departure. Around us
were a few more houses, but they all had wattled walls, and none looked
so cool and clean as ours. Close by, at the foot of a sugar-loaf hill,
flowed the Quáting, and never was bath more enjoyed than ours that night
in its cool, clear water. The name of the village was Menaparuti, and
numbered probably about fifty souls.
Next morning we only waited long enough to buy some cassava, and then
started off again. On clear days Roraima is in view from the village, but
the morning was wet, and clouds covered all the mountains. We commenced
with a short but very steep ascent, and after following a wretched path
came to a mountain called Marikamura. Then we had a climb which, in
length, far surpassed that of the previous day; the rocky steps were
steeper, the root-ladders longer, the trunks which here and there formed
the path more slippery, and the ascent altogether more fatiguing. About
half way up we met an unpleasant-looking Indian who informed us that
he was a great “peaiman,” and the spirit which he possessed ordered us
not to go to Roraima. The mountain, he said, was guarded by an enormous
“camoodi,” which could entwine a hundred people in its folds. He himself
had once approached its den, and had seen demons running about as
numerous as quails. We asked him if they would be good broiled on toast,
and though he did not understand, he made an angry gesture and soon
disappeared. The tale of this monster carried us back to old classical
days, when the famous python hindered the march of Regulus.
From the summit we descended a considerable distance, and at length
camped on the right bank of the Marika River. This was a pretty stream,
the water foaming here among great boulders, and there flowing dark and
smoothly over slabs of stone. The high banks were clothed with helianthus
and cannas, and some beautiful ferns threw a green mantle of the most
delicate point-lace over the moist earth. Away from the streams the soil
was stony and poor, and the trees, instead of taking root, balanced
themselves by great buttresses and numerous stilted stems of the most
fantastic forms.
In the course of the day we had crossed many little savannas, strewn with
small hard pebbles, which so hurt the feet of our Indians that most of
them were compelled to make and wear bark sandals. On these savannas grew
a very peculiar grass which bore a strong resemblance to miniature mops,
as from the top of each stem fell a thick crop of hairy fibres. There was
also a very pretty flowering grass, like a half-opened snowdrop, with its
white outer petals extended to a long pale green point.
A wet evening made us retire early to our hammocks, and soon after, a
few shrill cries were heard issuing from the forest, and presently with
hair streaming wildly and shaking a rattle, the old sorcerer, whom we had
met on the mountain, passed hurriedly along the path towards Roraima.
He looked neither to the right nor left, and quickly disappeared in the
gloom. Then Abraham once more dilated on rock spirits and sorcery to the
timorous Indians, and the night passed slowly away in storm and rain.