THE APURE RIVER.
We tarried several days at La Portuguesa to afford our horses time to
recover from the fatigues of the previous rough journeys. We also
expected to incorporate there another drove, which having been kept
throughout the summer grazing in the ever-verdant meadows of this river,
were now in very fine condition. In the mean time, we were agreeably
occupied in hunting, fishing and dancing; the people of the neighborhood
being sufficient for our social entertainments.
Every morning we rode out to the savannas to hunt an ox for our meals.
The remainder of the day was occupied in scouring the adjacent woods and
plains after our steeds, who seemed as if conscious of the life that
awaited them beyond La Portuguesa; for it required all the ingenuity and
sagacity of the Llaneros to discover their hiding-places, and bring them
again to the corrals. The evenings were devoted to dancing and singing
by the light of half a dozen _candiles_, or lamps made of burned clay,
and filled with the grease of crocodiles. The habitations being
considerably scattered along the banks of the river, we employed a
number of runners for the purpose of bringing the company to the
_fandango_, as these nocturnal revelries are called, who came in canoes
or wading through the mud as occasion required.
And now, refined and courteous reader, picture to yourself a motley
assemblage, brought together without any regard to color, age, or
position, under an open shed or barracoon dimly lighted, and you will
form an idea of our _soirées dansantes_, which for merriment and
courtesy might with good reason have been the envy of the most polished
_reunions_.
The orchestra was composed of a guitar scarcely larger than the hand
that twanged it, a banjo of huge proportions, and a couple of noisy
_maracas_, rattle-boxes made from the shell of the calabash fruit, and
filled with the seed of a Marantha or Indian shot. No music is
considered complete without this accompaniment, which, as well as I
could judge, filled the place of castanets, or the less romantic “bones”
of negro minstrelsy. A wooden handle is attached to each, to enable the
performer to shake them to and fro, which he does with appropriate
gestures and contortions expressive of his different emotions. A
corresponding choir of singers, picked from our own suite, was attached
to the players. All Llaneros are passionately fond of music, and display
considerable talent, composing many beautiful songs of a national
character, called _tonos_ or _trovas llaneras_. Few in the country are
not gifted with the power of versification, and there are among them
many famous _improvisatori_. Whenever two of these are brought together,
a competition for the laurel crown is the invariable consequence. This
amicable strife sometimes occupies several successive hours, ending only
when one of the bards is fairly silenced by the other; the victor is
then declared the _lion_ of the fête and receives accordingly not only
the congratulations of his admirers, but also secures the smiles of the
most sparkling eyes in the company. It is really surprising to see men,
who cannot distinguish one letter of the alphabet from another, compose
and extemporize poetry which, although rude in character, is
nevertheless full of interest and significance. Most of their songs and
ballads refer to deeds of valor performed by their own heroes; while
others recount their love adventures, and daily struggles with the wild
and unsubdued nature which surrounds them. Their instruments, when
handled with skill, produce very harmonious sounds. The _bandola_ or
banjo bears no resemblance to the one in common use among the negroes of
the States. It is, in fact, a guitar of large proportions, shaped
somewhat like the lute of old. The guitar of the Llanos is the reverse
of its associate the banjo, being considerably smaller and with only
five strings, on which account it is called _Cinco_. Still, it is a very
noisy little instrument, all its cords being made to resound at once by
running the fingers of the right hand up and down over them, while those
of the left stop them at the right moment.
The dancers do not grapple with each other, as is the practice among
some of the more enlightened, but dance alone, joining hands
occasionally for a few moments, and then separating and whirling round
by themselves. First, a woman paces round the room in double-quick step,
looking for a partner; when a suitable one is found, a graceful waving
of the handkerchief summons him before her; then both go through their
evolutions until the woman chooses to withdraw. The man then with a
polite bow invites a second partner, and so on to the end of the first
dance. This is styled the _Galeron_, in which only the most skilful
dancers take part, as it requires great flexibility of joint and limb to
execute all the intricate and graceful posturings and swayings of the
body, constituting the principal charm of the performance. They have a
variety of other dances, such as _La Maricela_, _El Raspon_, _La Zapa_,
&c., all of which, however, are of the same character, the chief
difference being in the _double entendre_ of the stanzas sung as
accompaniment to the music. _La Maricela_, especially, is a very
exciting dance, from the satirical _bon mots_ hurled by the bard of the
evening at each couple as they pass. The facility with which these
verses are improvised is most amusing, and would even astonish the most
accomplished Neapolitan _improvisatore_. Some of them are capital hits
upon the personal appearance, &c., of the dancers, and none fail to find
some point for ridicule.
* * * * *
Three or four days we sojourned among these jolly people, and then again
set out for the scene of our future adventures, stopping for the night
at San Jaime, once a thriving town, but now nearly deserted in
consequence of the desolating civil wars which have afflicted the
country for several years. On our way thither, we traversed a succession
of beautiful prairies, bound by rings of magnificent forest trees, and
watered by numerous creeks and lagoons filled with water fowl. Unlike
the dreary wastes we had already crossed, which, “like the ocean, fill
the imagination with the idea of infinity,” the plains stretching
between the Portuguesa and Apure rivers are characterized by the
rankness and luxuriance of the vegetation. Owing to the periodical
inundation, the landscape wears here the green mantle of spring even
during the hottest months.
This yearly inundation is one of the most curious phenomena of this
region. At the approach of the rainy season, those two magnificent
offsprings of the Sierra Nevada, the Apure and Portuguesa, tired as it
were of their long repose, suddenly rise in their heated, muddy beds,
and leap over their borders, at first in playful gambols; then in
fearful and rapid course, converting these widely extended plains into a
vast lagoon. To the few spots which escape the general submersion, the
inhabitants retire with their chattels and flocks in canoes held in
readiness for the purpose.
Thus the land is kept in a state of constant irrigation and fertility
unsurpassed in any country, although at the expense of the comfort of
the inhabitants, who are compelled to abandon their homes to the
crocodiles and anacondas of the stream. When the waters subside, the
intruders are expelled by the rightful owners of the dwellings; the few
articles of furniture they possess replaced in the damp rooms, and they
again devote themselves to domestic pursuits until the next inundation
forces them anew to seek a home elsewhere. I was shown at the pass the
marks left by the water on the walls of the cottages, indicating in some
instances a rise of twelve feet.
* * * * *
I was struck with the size and luxuriance of the trees along the course
of these rivers. My attention was particularly attracted by the _saman_,
a species of Mimosa, with delicate, feathery flowers of a pinkish hue,
and gigantic, umbrella-shaped boughs. There is in the valleys of Aragua
one of these which, from time immemorial, has elicited the admiration of
travellers, and received the protection of the law since the discovery
and settlement of the country, for its magnificent proportions and the
great age which it is supposed to have attained.
Extensive tracts of land are entirely taken up by individuals of this
class. It would be impossible to conceive any thing more grand in nature
than a forest of these trees. It might be said of them that each is a
forest in itself; and were all the beautiful parasites that cling to
their trunks and branches for support spread upon the ground, they would
cover several acres. All along the course of the great rivers Apure,
Guarico, and Portuguesa, the _saman_ is found in such countless numbers
that the combined fleets of the civilized world might be reconstructed
from this inexhaustible supply. The axe of the northerner could readily
convert those stupendous forests into vehicles of commerce and
civilization, were it not for the wasting fevers, endemic of that
region. Now they only serve as protective haunts for desperate bands of
robbers and cut-throats, let loose by unprincipled politicians.
[Illustration]
Equally rank and luxuriant are the grasses in these alluvial lands. We
were compelled to drive before us all the relay horses and other beasts
of burden to open a passage and save our bare feet from being dreadfully
lacerated by the _gamelote_, a tall, cutting, and worthless grass, with
blades almost as sharp as a “Toledo.” It grows so closely and rapidly as
to obliterate in a few days the paths made by travellers, killing every
other species in its way. Unfortunately, it is perfectly useless as
fodder, except for _Chigüires_ or water-hogs, which feed on it when
nothing better offers, and to the flesh of which it imparts its
disagreeable flavor; the _gamelote_ is therefore consigned to the flames
as soon as it is ripe enough to burn, which it does with as much seeming
fury as it displayed against the feet and legs of travellers in its
green days.
On the second night of our journey, we pitched our camp near several
ponds, literally crowded with alligators and fish and water fowl of all
varieties, which kept up a continual strife, to our great discomfort.
Not only was the water rendered noxious by the numerous creatures in it,
but even the air was filled with the effluvium and mosquitoes arising
therefrom. We were compelled to dig wells in the vicinity of the lagoons
to obtain water for our use; but no artifice could shield us from the
unmerciful attacks of the mosquitoes, especially the kind called
_pullones_, from the length and strength of the proboscis. We tried in
vain to escape their painful sting by rolling ourselves from head to
foot in our ponchos and hammocks, at the peril of suffocation; the
needle-like proboscis of the insects actually penetrated through the
folds of our covering so as to draw blood. Nor would the smoke of the
blazing fires around the camp drive them off, as was anticipated.
Fortunately, they only paid us an early visit, retiring all at once
before midnight, and leaving us to the tender mercies of their kinsfolk,
the noisy mosquitoes or _zancudos_. These, although not so tormenting
with their sting, were none the less so with their music, while no part
of our bodies could be left uncovered without being instantly besieged
by swarms of these “howling-insect wolves.” This, however, was the only
occasion upon which we were troubled by mosquitoes during our journey,
as they only appear in force during the rainy season.
I noticed here for the first time a low range of hills or _médanos_,
mere accumulations of sand tossed from place to place by the winds
across the boundless plain; to-day, they rise above the surrounding
prairies; to-morrow, they are levelled with the dust of the savannas:
fit emblem of the ephemeral republics of the South! These _médanos_ had
been overrun by the _gamelote_, giving them the character of permanent
hills, from which the place takes the name of Medanos de San Martin.
It is scarcely necessary to say that there was no temptation to prolong
our stay there longer than was needed by our horses, who revelled all
night in the fine meadows around the lagoons. Packing up once more, we
bade adieu to that inhospitable encampment long before daylight.
Struggling through miles of _gamelote_, we reached the cattle farm of
Corozito towards noon. Don Luciano Samuel, the proprietor, extended to
us the hospitalities of his demesne with the characteristic grace and
frankness of the people in those regions. From thence to the Pass of
Apurito, on the river Apure, was only a few hours’ ride; and the morning
being the best time for crossing the river with our animals, we rose
early in order to reach it before the breeze should commence blowing.
Owing to the thick vegetation on its banks, we did not discover the
river until we were close upon it; and then, with what delight did I
again view the broad surface of this magnificent stream!
Although born near its shores, I had but a faint recollection of its
broad expanse. Perhaps its turbulent waves had rocked my raw-hide
cradle during one of the periodical inundations; for, from earliest
childhood, I have borne marks left by the teeth of the _caribe_.
What glorious recollections of the fierce contest for liberty did its
waters bring to memory! Not the lordly Thames, with its “woven-winged”
argosies, teeming with the merchandise of the earth; the enchanting
Delaware, framed in romantic cottages and orchard groves; nor yet the
splendid Hudson, renowned for its floating palaces and legends, but
more, that on its banks nestles the home of Irving, awakened in my
breast such emotions of heartfelt admiration as did this silent
messenger from the Sierra Nevada! There, amidst the thunders of the
Heavens and rolling avalanches, it takes its rise, precipitately
descending to the plain below through a succession of frightful leaps,
which shake the primeval forest to its very foundations. And so it
comes, that its surface is often loaded with an immense accumulation of
fallen trees from the various zones of vegetation it traverses in its
course. Thus the delicate ferns and other Alpine plants are commingled
with those of the burning climes below, and finally deposited in the
wide estuary forming the delta of the Orinoco. When future generations
shall disentomb them in a petrified state, their geologists will no
doubt attribute this singular agglomeration to wonderful changes in the
temperature of the earth.
The river Apure, properly speaking, is formed by the confluence of two
other streams, the Sarare and Uribante. The former has its rise among
the New Granadian range of mountains, although a great portion of its
waters flow now into the Arauca, consequent on the great deposits of
sand and drift wood accumulating at its mouth.
The Uribante, or Upper Apure, may be considered the main channel of this
river, with a total length of six hundred and forty miles, five hundred
and sixty-four of which are navigable for large vessels. It takes the
name of Apure after its junction with the Sarare; but is again
subdivided into several ramifications called _caños_ or creeks, each of
which has a particular name; among them, La Ebilla, Apurito and
Apure-Seco are the most important; these again unite with the main
channel, and form islands of surprising fertility. These islands are
invaluable as _potreros_ for the cattle, when other parts of the country
are parched with the droughts of summer, the steep banks and wide
channels of the rivers serving as the most effectual barriers against
their roaming propensities.
The geographical situation of this river, joined as it is to one of the
greatest tributaries of the wide ocean--the Orinoco--at a point nearly
five hundred miles from its confluence with the sea, stamps it as one of
the most important lines of internal navigation in the world, and points
to the wild region of the Llanos as a future emporium of civilization.
To it all the products and other natural sources of wealth from the
adjoining provinces will be brought for immediate exportation to foreign
markets; as, in addition to the vast area of level country traversed by
it, this river receives the tribute of a hundred navigable streams
descending from the eastern slope of the Andes of New Granada and
Venezuela.
The width of the Apure varies considerably according to the seasons of
rains and droughts; sometimes extending miles beyond its actual channel,
but usually not less than one thousand yards broad. Humboldt, who
measured it at San Fernando in the month of May, when it had receded to
its lowest ebb, found it to be two hundred and thirty-six toises broad;
higher up it is considerably wider, gradually diminishing as it
approaches its great confluent. Alluding to this singular phenomenon,
mostly caused by evaporation and infiltrations through the dry, sandy
banks of the river, the same eminent traveller elucidates some curious
facts worthy of notice. He says: “Some idea of the magnitude of these
effects may be formed, from the fact that we found the heat of the dry
sands at different hours of the day from 36° to 52°,[26] and that of
sands covered with three or four inches of water 32°. The beds of rivers
are heated as far as the depth to which the solar rays can penetrate,
without undergoing too great an expansion in their passage through the
superincumbent strata of water. Besides, filtration extends in a lateral
direction far beyond the bed of the river. The shore, which appears dry
to us, imbibes water as far up as to the level of the surface of the
river. We saw water gush out at the distance of fifty toises from the
shore, every time that the Indians struck their oars into the ground.
Now, these sands, wet below but dry above, and exposed to the solar
rays, act like sponges, and lose the infiltrated water every instant by
evaporation. The vapor that is emitted traverses the upper stratum of
sand strongly heated, and becomes sensible to the eye when the air cools
towards evening. As the beach dries, it draws from the river new
portions of water; and it may be easily conceived that this continual
alternation of vaporization and lateral absorption must cause an immense
loss, difficult to submit to exact calculation. The increase of these
losses would be in proportion to the length of the course of the rivers,
if from their source to their mouth they were equally surrounded by a
flat shore; but these shores being formed by deposits from the water,
and the water having less velocity in proportion as it is more remote
from its source, throwing down more sediment in the lower than in the
upper part of its course, many rivers in hot climates undergo a
diminution in the quantity of their water as they approach their
outlets. Mr. Barrow observed these curious effects of sands in the
southern part of Africa, on the banks of the Orange river. They have
also become the subject of a very important discussion in the various
hypotheses that have been formed respecting the course of the Niger.”
At the time we crossed the Apure, it was considerably below the average
width, as we were then in the midst of the dry season; nevertheless, it
presented a formidable obstacle to our progress. There being only one
canoe at the pass, the whole morning was spent in the transportation of
our bulky riding-gear and luggage; and the breeze setting in shortly
after our arrival, the passage of the horses was postponed until noon,
in consequence of the agitated state of the water. It would have been
rather hazardous to expose our valuable steeds to the “chopping sea,”
which, beating against the animals’ nostrils, is apt to stop their
respiration, and as they then lose their steadiness in swimming, are
rendered liable to be drowned.
We were met on the opposite bank of the river by a committee of
gentlemen in their shirt sleeves, like ourselves, commissioned by the
inhabitants of Apurito to tender our Leader the hospitalities of their
village. Prominent among them was the general overseer of his estate.
Commandant Rávago, a tough, wiry, and weather-beaten individual, whose
nose Nature had made of an unjustifiable length, and who discoursed in a
language peculiar to himself. Indeed, it required one to be well versed
in the jargon of the Llanos to understand his dissertations upon matters
and things in general; for he pretended to be a connoisseur in every
thing, except languages; the English, especially, was peculiarly
distasteful to his ears, and whenever he heard us conversing in that
tongue, he declared in his patois, that it reminded him of a pack of
horses neighing to each other. Notwithstanding his uncouth manner and
appearance, our overseer was a very shrewd fellow, and quite _au fait_
in all matters appertaining to cattle farms.
As for the village or port of Apurito, it was a mere assemblage of
mud-plastered cottages, thatched, like all houses in that region, with
palm leaves. Some of them had doors and windows of planed boards; but
the greater part were free to whoever and whatever chose to walk or
_crawl_ into them; no church, no school-house, no building devoted to
public meetings of any sort. The Alcalde, that most important
functionary in small Spanish communities, held his audiences in the
narrow corridor of his hut, while the _sala_ was devoted to the
all-absorbing game of _monte_. Once a year the Padre, next in importance
to his Honor the Alcalde, paid a visit to the village, when all the boys
and girls who had not been baptized were brought before him at his
lodgings, where the ceremony was performed in a somewhat informal
manner, and without special regard being paid to the strict injunctions
of the Church. There were a few storehouses scattered along the banks of
the river, where all business transactions were carried on. These were
principally in hides, which are given in exchange for the few articles
of barter brought from the Orinoco. Hides, in fact, are the bank notes
of the Llanos; and although rather voluminous and uncleanly, they change
hands as readily as any “paper” that was ever in “the market.” These are
taken to Ciudad Bolívar, formerly Angostura, in bongos and one-mast
sailing vessels called _lanchas_, which return laden with salt, knives,
blankets, and printed calicoes, articles of prime necessity among the
inhabitants. Other ports along the Apure, such as Nutrias and San
Fernando, carry on a very extensive trade in these goods. The
first-named town adds largely to her exports, bringing in the
agricultural products of the adjoining province of Barinas. These are
coffee, cacao, indigo, and tobacco; the last being highly prized in
Germany for meerschaums, and always obtaining a ready sale at Bolívar.
The course of the Apure being nearly in a straight line from west to
east, the trade winds blowing across the plains in the summer season
play a very important part in propelling, even against the current, the
heaviest craft sailing up the river. During the rainy season, the
westerly winds combine with the current of the stream in expediting the
progress of vessels. Of late, several steamboats have been added to
those already engaged in this traffic; and I am told are doing a very
profitable business. God speed them!
“During the time of great floods,” writes Humboldt, “the inhabitants of
these countries, to avoid the force of the currents, and the danger
arising from the trunks of trees which these currents bring down,
instead of ascending the beds of rivers in their boats, cross the
savannas. To go from San Fernando to the villages of San Juan de Payara,
San Rafael de Atamaica, or San Francisco de Capanaparo, they direct
their course due south, as if they were crossing a single river of
twenty leagues broad. The junctions of the Guarico, the Apure, the
Cabullare, and the Arauca with the Orinoco, form, at a hundred and sixty
leagues from the coast of Guiana, a kind of interior delta, of which
hydrography furnishes few examples in the Old World. According to the
height of the mercury in the barometer, the waters of the Apure have
only a fall of thirty-four toises from San Fernando to the sea. The fall
from the mouths of the Osage and the Missouri to the bar of the
Mississippi is not more considerable. The savannas of Lower Louisiana
everywhere remind us of the savannas of the Lower Orinoco.”--_Travels to
the Equinoxial Regions._