SAVANNA—RORAIMA AT LAST—APPEARANCE OF THE
MOUNTAIN—WATERFALLS—HEAD OF THE QUATING—TRIBUTARIES OF THE
AMAZON AND THE ESSEQUIBO—KUKENAM—ITS FALL AND RIVER—THE
“PEAIMAN” AGAIN—FALLS OF EKIBIAPU—A CELEBRATION.
The sun was fiercely bright when, after an early start from our camp on
the Marika, our straggling party issued one by one from the dark, shady
forest on to an open savanna. A glad shout from the foremost announced
that our goal was in sight. Hastening up an intercepting hill we looked
down on an undulating savanna country, streaked here and there with
forest belts. On our right towards the north were the craggy heights of
Marima; on our left, beyond the terraced side of Waëtipu, the table-land
faded away in the silver-blue mountains of Brazil; and in front of us,
at the distance of a few miles, “walled round with rocks as an inland
island,” stood Roraima.[96]
At the foot of the mountain the hilly ground lay in patches of yellow
stony savanna, and dark strips of woodland rising in elevation as they
approached its base. Then came a deep forest-clad ravine whose farther
side sloped steeply up to a distance of about three thousand feet, and
springing directly out of this sea of green rose a perpendicular wall
of red rock, fifteen hundred feet in height. Hardly a shrub broke the
sheer descent of the shining cliff; scarcely a line of verdure marked
where clinging grasses had gained a footing on its smooth face. The
south-eastern corner was slightly rounded, and its tower-like appearance
increased its general resemblance to a Titanic fortification a few miles
in length, rising from a forest glacis.
The glancing rays of the sun struck the red sandstone layers which shone
like glass, and stood out in bold and bright relief above their green
base. A fly could hardly have rested on the slippery slabs, and this
was the mountain we had come so far to scale! The level summit-line was
backed by forest trees, which to us appeared like bushes, and from their
feet, like skeins of floss silk swaying in the wind, three waterfalls
descended and were lost in the woods below. But towards the northern end
of the mountain, a magnificent cascade, whose lip seemed to be below the
summit, sprang in a broad silvery arch right down into the green depths,
barely touching the rocky wall in its descent. This is the source of the
Cotinga River, or as the Indians call it Quáting-yama, _i.e._, head of
the Quáting. Eventually this river falls into the Amazon after mingling
with the Rio Branco and Rio Negro. Still farther north was another fall
whose waters formed one of the principal tributaries of the Cako River.
To the north-east of the mountain, and close to it, was a miniature
Roraima, and towards its south-western extremity was another mural
precipice, apparently just as impregnable. The mountain was Kukenam, and
from our position it seemed to be part of Roraima, but afterwards we
found that they were separated by a wide and wooded valley. From this
mountain, too, a splendid waterfall makes a clear leap of fifteen hundred
feet before it disappears in the green wilderness at its base. It issues
from the forest as the Kukenam River, and after joining the Yuruarti,
which also rises in the Kukenam mountain, forms the Caroni River, which
flows into the Orinoco below Ciudad Bolivar. Thus this extraordinary
group of mountains becomes the watershed of some of the tributaries of
three great rivers, viz.; the Amazon, the Orinoco and the Essequibo. No
wonder that the Indians named it “the ever-fruitful mother of streams.”
No wonder, too, that such a spirit-dreading race should regard the
weird and mysterious mountain with an awe which might almost be called
reverential, were it not entirely inspired by fear. They believe that the
magic circle which encompasses their “red-rocked night mountain,” cannot
be approached without danger, that he who enters it will never return,
and that the demon-guarded sanctuary on the summit will never be gazed on
by mortal eyes.
It is impossible to behold these smoothly chiselled mountains without
wondering how they have been shaped and moulded by Nature into their
present uniformity of feature. It could not have been by fire, as no
trace of volcanic action exists in them. Were it possible that the
present equatorial regions had passed through a glacial period, one would
think that by the polishing and grooving of glaciers alone could the
planed and sculptured rocks have attained their massive and perpendicular
outlines. But it is supposed that South America, in ages long past, was
divided into island groups, indicated as Wallace says, “by the great
area and low elevation of the alluvial plains of the Orinoco and Amazon.
A subsidence of less than two thousand feet would convert the highlands
of Guiana and Brazil into islands separated by a shallow strait from the
Andes.”
Hence it must be that the action of water has carved the island sides
into smooth perpendicular walls. For my own part, the idea would
cling to me that in the untold past the surrounding region was a high
plateau which by earthquakes and convulsions had been so shattered
and broken that nothing was left in its original position save these
mountain-monuments that lie scattered over its surface. It is also a
matter of no little surprise that in a country of almost perpetual rain
and moisture, which usually tend to produce rounded and broken hills and
mountains, the predominating features should be the perpendicular cliffs
and plateaus of dry and arid climes.
Our first full view of Roraima did not last long, for thick fleecy clouds
gradually rolled over its flat top, and then slowly unfolded themselves
down the red sides until they rested on the green slopes, presenting
the appearance of a carefully spread damask table-cloth. Near where we
had halted, we found the “peaiman” looking very disconsolate under the
shelter of leaves. For a consideration, he offered to charm away the evil
spirits that would beset us, and declared that without his assistance we
should be unable to cross the river that we saw below us. Not desiring
his society, we declined his aid and continued our walk.
In an hour we reached the river, and crossed it just above some fine
falls where it was about forty yards in breadth. The water was not deep,
but its red sandstone bed was as slippery as the smoothest ice, so that
it required much caution to avoid falling, and being swept over the
cataract, which was between forty and fifty feet in height. Where the
river was dry, a curious appearance was presented by the sandstone which
lay in perfectly even blocks like large red bricks. Abraham said that
the name of the river—Eki-biapu—was derived from these singular slabs
which are supposed to resemble the stones on which cassava is baked. In
the savanna, on the other side of the stream, we erected our shed, a
neighbouring grove supplying poles and the necessary fire-wood.
We celebrated our arrival by a grand clothes-washing, Charlie being chief
washer-man, whilst I did the ironing by placing the articles between
flat-stones and sitting on them. The day was finished by a grand banquet,
consisting of rice, “Worcestershire” sauce, and “bakes.” In bumpers of
sparkling “Eno’s Fruit Salt,” we drank to the successful issue of our
undertaking, and retired soberly to our hammocks for our first night’s
rest under the shadow of Roraima.