INDIAN VISITORS—A REWARD TO ASCEND RORAIMA—LAST VIEW
OF RORAIMA—HOW TO ASCEND RORAIMA—MENAPARUTI—A HUNTING
PARTY—CASSIREE—INDIAN PASTIMES—RUMOURS OF WAR—AMARYLLIS—QUATING
RIVER—CASHEW COTTAGE AGAIN—THE ARAPARU—FALSE ALARMS—OLD FRIENDS.
When engaged in repacking our diminished baggage, we were visited by a
hunting party of Arecuna Indians. They were taller and fiercer looking
than our Acawais who shrunk timidly away, and it was with difficulty
that we could induce our own Arecunas to approach the strangers and
interpret their language. Their long black hair was cut short and combed
over the forehead, and the part thus “banged” was painted red. Their
feet and knees were also painted red, and their faces were striped.
Some of them wore cross pieces of steel wire as a lip ornament, and one
was contented with a couple of common pins crossed in the same way. The
chief wore a peculiar bell-shaped and tasselled ornament in his under
lip, which he gave to me in exchange for two or three charges of powder.
For his necklace of teeth I offered him a very good hunting knife; this
he declined, but intimated his willingness to part with it for an old
cutlass whose value was about one-third of the knife.
McTurk offered them two guns if they would show us how to reach the
top of Roraima, but they beat their breasts, grunted, and with wild
gesticulations declared that there was no way of ascending to the summit
of the cloud mountain. If they had known of any way, the promise of a
gun would certainly have induced them to point it out. The chief had
a miserable “buck” gun, but the rest carried only bows and arrows and
blow-pipes.[106] The only bird they had shot was a duraquara which they
had obtained near their own village, that was a few miles off in the
savannas towards the east. We had noticed a few deer tracks, and once
McTurk had seen a large animal cross slowly over an opening in the high
ridge on Roraima, but he was unable to make out what it was. But game was
scarce, and the Indians said they could not get any before we left next
day, but they would return to their village and meet us on our journey
with vegetables and cassava.
True to their appointment, we found them waiting near our former camp at
Eki-biapu Falls, but the provisions they brought only consisted of some
old cassava as hard as rock, and a few unripe plantains. We had started
before sunrise in order, if possible, to reach the village of Menaparuti
on the same night; it was a long march, but with our lightened loads
we hoped to accomplish it. Before entering the forest we turned for a
last full view of Roraima. “Parting looks,” says the old Welsh proverb,
“are magnifiers of beauty,” and to us the grand red walls looked more
perpendicular, stiller, and more solemn than ever. Against the pure blue
sky the sharp outlines of the softly-coloured mountain stood out in
perfect relief, and the atmosphere was so clear that we fancied we could
hear the roar of the falls. What messages were those waters carrying to
earth? They alone knew the secret of Roraima, but their language, like
that of the birds, is understood only by themselves. They could tell what
we had vainly tried to find out, for we most assuredly failed to tear the
veil from the head of this mysterious Sphinx. We were disappointed—who
would not be?—at the time. But we did not regret those Roraima days;
to others, perhaps, we had apparently laboured fruitlessly; but not to
ourselves, for we had learnt far more by Nature’s lessons than can be
taught by books, had witnessed scenes that well repaid some weariness of
body, and had so enjoyed them that the spell of the mountains lingered
long after we had left them. It is far from an unpleasant reflection
to think that there are still a few unvisited spots in the world, and
as the summit of Roraima is one of them, it may be that before long
the fascination of travel will induce some toil-loving mortal to again
attempt its exploration.
If I have dwelt too long on the various points of our journey, it has
been with the idea that a knowledge of the difficulties to be overcome
and the assistance to be gained _en route_ may be of use to future
travellers. I do not think it possible to make the ascent of Roraima
except by a balloon, and the novelty of such an exploring tour would
give additional zest to the undertaking.
And now let me atone for my tiresome details by a quick journey home.
We reached the village of Menaparuti late at night, after a very long
day’s walk, and once more slung our hammocks in the fine open shed.
Here we rested a day in order to obtain a supply of cassava, which the
villagers prepared for us in abundance. They had no fresh meat, so a
hunting party went off to the woods in search of game. All they brought
back was a small mâam, and a large striped coatimundi,[107] whose flesh
was so pungent that it completely spoilt the bird which was cooking
in the same pot. The favourite beverage among the inhabitants was a
disagreeable-looking compound called cassiree; it was of a pink colour,
and being prepared in the same way as paiworie it was highly appreciated
by our men.
We were much amused by a number of village children who used continually
to pass our house on their way to the river. Slowly, in single file,
they marched past, the tallest leading, and the sizes diminishing until
the last was not the height of his bow. They never smiled, and were so
grave that they impressed one with the idea that they were little old
men starting on some dangerous expedition. Once we followed them, and
directly the small troop was out of sight of the houses, its members
changed immediately into children. They shouted and laughed, pushed each
other into the river, jumped into their tiny canoes and raced one against
the other, swam about and were as happy as schoolboys on a half holiday.
After their fun had lasted some time they all crossed the river, resumed
their solemn air, and disappeared in single file up a forest path on a
shooting foray. About an hour afterwards they returned triumphantly,
dragging another coatimundi which the little imps had managed to kill,
probably with a poisoned arrow.
From childhood to old age male Indians are seldom without a bow or a
blow-pipe in their hands, peccaries, pumas, and panis falling as easy
a prey to the man as toucans, pigeons, and small birds to the boy. To
get food is their principal object in life. They have few pastimes, but
enjoy a dance, or the “ha-ha” game.[108] In some tribes, when a youth
wishes to show his courage and powers of endurance of pain, he is shaken
up by his friends in a bag filled with Monouri[109] ants, which are the
most dangerous of their kind, the sting of one being sufficient to cause
fever. This is almost their only amusement. I do not think they were
much impressed with the intellectual recreations of the white men, as
when McTurk and I were playing our usual evening euchre, they could not
understand the object of throwing down pieces of painted paper only to
pick them up again. They thought the picture-cards were wonderful, and
that they were the portraits of foreigners.
We obtained a good many teeth necklaces from them, as they were inclined
to sell anything they possessed for powder or knives, but they had
no other curiosities worth the trouble of carrying. There was great
competition amongst the women as to who should dispose of the most
cassava; in fact they brought a great deal more than we could take, and
much of what we did pack soon became mouldy and uneatable, in consequence
of insufficient sun-drying.
The evening before we left, some natives from the Mazaruni spread a
report that we were to be attacked and killed by the Cako Indians, as
soon as we reached that river. We paid no attention to the rumour, but
our men were evidently much disturbed. We thought it highly improbable
that the timid and peaceful people we had seen should suddenly become
hostile; still the idea of an ambushed river and poisoned arrows was not
a pleasant one. It was just possible that traders in Venezuela, hearing
of our expedition, and being ignorant of its import, had instigated the
Indians to take offensive action, but it was very improbable, and we soon
forgot all about it.
Before dawn we were up and away, and ere the last house in the village
had disappeared, we heard the crowing of a cock. Had we heard it sooner
what a dinner we might have had! Indians never eat eggs or poultry, and
only keep hens as pets. On leaving the savanna, Abraham conducted us by a
different path from that by which we had come, stating that it was a much
shorter one, but he had not known of it before. In an old cassava field,
there were some beautiful golden red blossoms of an amaryllis, evidently
a garden-flower run wild.
We crossed the Quáting much higher up than previously, near a small
village called Nimapi. It was a pretty place, the houses being perched on
the side of the high hill on the left bank of the river, and surrounded
with plantains and fruit trees. There were also a few huts on the
right bank, and as in one of them there was a trough of paiworie, we
had to sentinel the door until the last man had crossed in the cranky
canoe which we used as a ferry-boat. From this village commenced an
ascent which equalled, if it did not surpass, in steepness any that we
had accomplished. The damp and slippery ground made it all the more
difficult, but in time we reached the summit. The path afterwards
branched into our old one near the Opuima mountain, which we descended in
wonderfully quick time. So long and rapid was that day’s march that we
slept that night at Cashew Cottage, having made the distance in half the
time that we had previously taken.
A large family party was assembled at the cottage, and from them we
received the intelligence that three of our woodskins had been taken
from their hiding place. This was worse news than the other, and when
about the middle of the next day we arrived at old Granny’s, a man was
at once despatched to find out the truth. He returned with the joyful
intelligence that all the woodskins were perfectly safe. Several parties
of Indians had stopped at the old lady’s hut during our absence, but
nothing that we had left had been touched, and the rice and coffee were
very acceptable to us.
After the late rain, the water in the Aruparu creek was deeper and our
descent was not so much impeded as our ascent had been. On the way down,
we replenished our larder with a fine water-haas, which was as large as
an ordinary pig. At last we arrived at the house of Captain Sam on the
Cako River, and there found that the story of the attack was an entire
fabrication, probably invented to induce us to remain longer at the
village, or to proceed by another—the Cukuie—route. Then again we entered
the Mazaruni River and landed at our former camp. Our old friend the
Pirate, who was cruising about in his canoe, came to bid us farewell, and
in his charge we left the woodskins to be returned to their owners.
Before starting on our last walk through the forest, we saw a woodskin
approaching, its paddles being plied vigorously by a man and a woman.
Mazaruni, at the prospect of another conquest, immediately began to
adorn himself, and as the boat drew near, our amusement was great at
recognizing old Granny and her son, Abraham, whom we had left at their
home on the Aruparu creek. The paddles, under the strength of the skinny
arms of the old lady, swept the water as powerfully as did those of her
robust son, and she did not appear to mind in the least the physical
exertion for which we pitied her. Indian women, although well treated by
their husbands, are so accustomed from their girlhood to the exercise of
physical endurance that what we consider must be a sad strain on their
powers is but a second nature to them even in old age.
Our friends had brought with them much of the flour and salt, and some
of the various articles that we had given them, and intended to proceed
farther down the river on a trading expedition. We gently blew on the old
lady’s back for good luck, and with a farewell to Abraham set off through
the dark forest.