Horned cattle and horses—"Peste"—Salt trade—Church
service—Bull-fight—Mariano Cuyaba—Rules and regulations of the
town—Laws and customs of the creoles—A walk through the plaza
at midnight—Scenes on the road to the town of Loreto—Annual
deluge—The beasts, birds, and fishes—Loreto—Inhabitants—Grove
of tamarind trees—Winds of the Madeira Plate—A
bird-hunter—Trapiche—A black tiger burnt out—Departure
in Brazilian boats—Enter the Mamoré river again—An Indian
overboard.
Horned cattle and horses are scattered over the plains of Mojos far away
from the settled parts, and are now roaming wild through the country, so
that it is impossible to estimate their numbers. A creole returned to
Trinidad from Reyes reported many thousand cattle roaming wild between
the Mamoré and Beni rivers.
These cattle and horses are suffering under the effects of an epidemic,
which the Creoles call "peste"—plague. This disease is said to have been
brought from Brazil, where the cattle are affected in the same way. The
horse seems to suffer the most. Within the last few years nearly all
the horses in Mojos have been swept away by the "peste."
The first symptoms are weakness in the limbs. The animal does not lose
his appetite, but gradually falls away, until his strength is entirely
gone, when he lies down and eats the grass around him even to the roots
with a most ravenous hunger. The nearer death approaches the greater
his desire for food, when he ceases to be able to hold up his head, and
finally is lost. We have seen a fine saddle-horse in good order kept
clear of the peste by placing a cake of Potosi salt where he might lick
it when he chose. This noble animal seemed really to feed upon the salt.
His coat was sleek, and he held his head up above the pampa horses, who
are never supplied with this expensive article.
The cattle all look miserably thin and stunted, as though not well fed,
yet the plains are covered with a fine growth of grass. This epidemic
commenced in 1846. There is no telling the sweeping effect it has
had upon the cattle. As to the horses, we judge they have nearly all
been destroyed. We see them still dying about on the plain. Mules are
affected in the same way, though they linger longer than horses. Salt
dissolved in water will sometimes bring them to after they are unable
to stand on their legs.
As we never heard the Gauchos of the pampas of Buenos Ayres speak of
this disease, there is reason to believe it is principally confined
within the rain-belt region, where fresh water covers so much of the
pasture lands. We have no account of this disease having destroyed the
cattle and horses of Chiquitos, where evaporation is greater than the
precipitation.
Throughout our route we have found more females affected with the goitre
than males. In the deep mountain ravines, we were nearly led to the
belief men never were troubled with this swelling of the throat.
While looking at a drove of cattle, which has just arrived from the
plains, at the market of Trinidad, we noticed that while nearly all the
cows, young and old, were miserably thin, many of the males were in good
condition.
There is no trade at the present day in this part of the country so
important as that of salt brought from without the rain belt. This rain
belt is broken. At Lima, in Peru, it never rains, only sometimes drops.
There the precipitation is very little, and the evaporation great. Lima
is in latitude 12° 03´ south. A few leagues north of Lima, on the coast,
are found the salt basins of Huacho. Sea-water is let into basins on
the plain. In twenty months the sun evaporates the water, and blocks of
salt are left, which supply the markets of North Peru. The government
of Peru takes advantage of the break in the rain-belt, and leases the
"Salinas," as they are called, to those who pay an annual rent into the
public treasury.
The salt of Huacho is carried east, over the Cordilleras, to the
valley Juaja, where it rains half the year, and where we found animals
suffering for the want of it, though found in veins. The northeast and
southeast trade winds carry rains from the north and south Atlantic up
to the snow-capped Cordilleras to the west of Juaja valley. There the
winds give out; after they have had all the moisture wrung out of them,
there is none left to pass over the Cordilleras and rain down into Lima.
The break, in the rain-belt, formed by the meeting of these two trade
winds, drawn back and forth after the sun takes place on the very tops
of the Cordilleras range of mountains, where the last drop of moisture
in the winds freeze and fall in the shape of snow flakes. Just below
this is found the native habitation of the Peruvian camel. The Indian
who inhabits the valley of Juaja, in want of salt, drives the llama down
to the Pacific coast, and takes it from a line level with the ocean. He
goes to the sea for it in preference to collecting it from the mine.
Should he go south, to Chile, he finds the southerly winds bring rain
along the coast, and instead of a supply, he finds a market. If he goes
north of Huacho to Equador, there northerly winds bring rain, and there
is another market.
The Indian loads his llama with one hundred pounds of salt, and drives
him up the western slope of the Peruvian mountains, through a gorge
filled with snow, over sixteen thousand feet high, to the plains of
Juaja.
While the Potosi Indian loads his argentine mule with three hundred
pounds of salt, not from the ocean, but from the salt lakes on the
plains of Potosi, made by the natural evaporation of the sun from a
fresh water stream on the top of the Andes, running over rock salt; he,
too, takes it under the rain-belt to the market of Mojos. If salt may be
made so readily from the water of the sea at Turk's Island in the West
Indies, why may it not be made somewhere on the west coast of Mexico?
The scorching rays of the sun peel the skin off people's noses there
just as they do on the table lands of Potosi, and along the shores of
Peru.
The town of Trinidad is the largest in Mojos, with a population of
over three thousand, few of which are creoles. The national creole
guard musters about twenty soldiers and five officers, headed by the
prefect with the rank of _General de Brigada_, armed with old flint
lock muskets. One common gun-flint will purchase, in the market, a
basket containing one dozen delicious oranges. The flint part of Don
Antonio's cargo was disposed of at once, and the silver willingly paid.
He brought a supply for a long time to come, even at the risk of a
revolution. External wars have never interfered with Mojos, except the
war of exclusiveness.
On the 6th of June, mass was held in the cathedral, the day being called
Santissima Trinidada. After mass we witnessed a grand procession, headed
by the prefect and clergy, followed by the whole population dressed in
white gowns, "camecitas," as they are called here. Whenever the Indians
are performing church service, the women unplat their hair, and allow
it to hang gracefully loose behind over their white dresses. The hair
of the men is cut short.
At each corner of the plaza was an arbor, constructed of green foliage
and flowers, with plantain trees and palm leaves. As they marched round
to music and singing, the scene was beautiful and interesting. The red
race dressed in white cotton cloth, following the catholic clergy in
rich costume, bearing wooden images on their shoulders; three thousand
savages, half civilized, were singing church music, and living under
the laws of quasi white men. The few creoles who walked by the side of
the prefect and clergy were but a drop in the plate.
After the procession returned to the cathedral, the Indians pulled down
the arbors and entered the plaza, bearing long poles, with which they
built an enclosure on the corner of the square next the prefectura. A
pen was erected adjoining, in which, one by one, were placed a number
of savage bulls, wild from the pampas.
The people gathered round and on the balcony of the prefectura;
musicians were comfortably and safely seated. As twelve or fourteen
able-bodied Indians entered the enclosure, a bull was let loose on them,
and the play was commenced. The bull rushed at the first man near him,
and as he got away, ran headlong towards the crowd outside the poles.
The people laughing jumped on either side and let the animal run his
horns into the fence. He became furious, bellowed and tossed the poles
of the fence into the air, but they were quickly put in place by the
crowd outside.
Red handkerchiefs were shaken at his head; some pulled his tail, while
one man, who was engaged talking to another, found himself suddenly
raised off his feet by the horns of the bull under his camecita. He was
not hurt, for by this time the bull had been teased so much he was tired
down, when he was hissed out of the ring and let loose, to find his way
back to the plain.
This was great sport for the Indians; they seemed particularly to enjoy
the fun. Great jars of chicha had been provided by the authorities of
the town, and passed round among those who wanted to drink. There were
few who declined, and as soon as the bull was let out, baskets of bread,
made of corn and yuca meal, were emptied from the balcony over the heads
of the people, who scrambled after it. The manner in which this bread
was presented to the Indians from the government store, was the same
as throwing corn to poultry elsewhere. They scrambled for it amidst the
dust that had just been torn up by the hoofs of the enraged bull.
After the scramble was over another bull was entered, and the sport
continued, while a third was being saddled. An Indian mounted, holding
to a strap placed round the breast of the bull; when they let him loose,
the heaving and setting of the animal was most laughable; the man's head
was heavily nodded and jerked backwards and forwards as the bull reared
or kicked up behind. It was like the tossing of a small fore-and-aft
schooner in a heavy seaway. The roars of laughter from the Indians were
amusing; they highly enjoyed the saint's day of their city after the
programme arranged by church and state.
The good order at all times maintained, the greetings of the people,
and cleanliness of the city are owing to certain internal regulations.
Fratos, an old Indian, is considered the rich man of Trinidad; he is
the correjidor and commander of the town; all the other officers among
the Indians are under his orders.
Mariano Cayuba, another respected Indian, seventy-three years of age,
holds the office of "casique," which is second in command. Cayuba
receives all reports—how many sick, and all deaths; the condition of the
town, as to cleanliness and good order; how many canoes in port; their
arrivals and departures; and the state of the cattle on the plains.
When Cayuba goes to prayers in the evening with his wife and children,
he stops at Fratos's house and tells him all; makes a regular report
of everything that is going on, be it good news or bad. Fratos is held
responsible for the good order of things by the prefect, to whom he also
pays a daily visit, for the purpose of posting him up in regular order
by word of mouth.
Cayuba receives his reports from the following officers: one
"intendente," who oversees portions of the public business, with one
"alferes;" four "aguacils," (constables;) eighteen "comisarios," who
carry orders, keep watch at night, and are employed on duty about
the prefectura—one of them is head waiter at the table; two "policia"
officers, whose duty it is to see the boys of the town supply water
for drinking during the day. The boys are marched out of town early in
the morning with earthen jars on their heads—in the wet season to the
stream, and in the dry to the lake. Boys don't like such work, but they
grow fast, when this labor falls to others. Four "fiscales" superintend
the streets and houses; see that they are kept clean and in order. A
fiscale, in olden time, was a ministerial officer—an attorney general.
Sixteen "capitanos," who command gangs of one hundred Indians each—these
are working men. Whenever the government of Bolivia requires a house to
be built, a bridge made, or a sugar plantation and sugar-cane gathered
and manufactured, an order is given to that effect to Fratos, who calls
for one or sixteen captains' companies, as the case may be, and they
muster their men into immediate service, for which they receive no pay,
as it is for their country they are laboring.
A "teniente de estancia," or mayor-domo de estancias, overlooks the
cattle in the prairie; keeps accounts, as near as he can, of their
number; what their condition is; whether the floods and the tigers
destroy them; what is the state of the pasture-lands. When he finds the
grass dead, he fires it, and a young pasture springs up, as the rain
begins to fall, and fattens the cattle. He instructs the Indians how
to build enclosures for the calves, which keep them from running wild.
This brings the cattle in from the plains, when their bags of milk pain
them—so the calves and people are both supplied without the trouble of
driving in the cattle. An "alcalde" takes charge of all the canoes in
the ports; attends to their repairs; gives orders when others are to be
built or dug out; appoints proper crews to them, when, through sickness
or otherwise, the men are called away. He reports to Cayuba the state
of commerce; how much cacao goes up the country, and how much salt comes
down—in fact he is the "old salt" of the tribe.
Under this system of regulations the city is kept in order; no
quarrelling or fighting is ever seen in the street. As soon as a person
is taken sick, those whose duty it is to attend to that department give
aid and assistance to the family; people are sent to the hospital as
nurses, and a doctor of medicine is furnished by government. The daily
duties are performed by all with so much regularity that no one seems
to be over-worked, and all appear to be accommodated, for every Indian
man is obliged by the regulations to do something; there are no loungers
here except the creoles. One Indian goes a voyage on the river; another
is obliged to cultivate a chacra or farm, tend cattle, cut timber, or
learn some trade; while the boys go to a school teacher provided for
them by the government.
The women are free to do as they please, which suits them best. They are
volunteer workers to pick cotton, spin, and weave it by hand. The frame
for the weaver is a simple wooden one, which stands upright in a corner
of the house, where the women work at it when they have the cotton spun,
by twisting it suspended from the hand to a ball, the thread being wound
on a slight stick; both spinning and weaving appear to us very slow
work, but time is never considered by the Indian; he works as though he
lived for the present, and thought more of the past than of the future.
The prefect has a secretary and clerk; a captain of police superintends
the whole department of the Beni, and reports any internal disturbances;
he keeps watch upon all people to see there are no revolutionary
schemes, and receives twenty-five cents from every person wishing to
leave, for a written passport granting permission so to do. When a
traveller wants a boat and crew, he applies to the captain of police,
who sees that the proper price is paid to the men, and no more. He is
a creole, like the clerk of the prefect. The only other creole officer
in the town is a justice of the peace.
For the last ten years the Indians of the Beni have paid annual
contribution. Before that time the government supplied them with
clothing, fed and lodged them, and received into the public treasury
the whole products of their labors. The Indians very properly became
dissatisfied, and it was found advisable to change the order of things,
and to tax them.
Cayuba was the wise man of the Mojos tribe. He was respected for his
intelligence, while Fratos claimed rank over him on account of his
wealth. This Cayuba thought unjust; while he performed his duty well,
and his house was the gay one of the town, he was constantly reminded
by the most important man about him that he should be made correjidor.
He was a planter, and owned a large chacra on the opposite side of the
lake. The prefect took me to Cayuba's and gave me a formal introduction
to him. His first question was: "What is your name?" On being told, he
sneezed, shook his head, and said, "Mucha questa."
When the arrieros reach the foot of the mountains, they point to the
tops of the Andes, and describe the difficulties of gaining the summit
with the cacao, by saying "mucha questa"—much up-hill. Cayuba used
the same expression to explain to me in Spanish how difficult English
sounded to his ear. He looked intently at me and said—"Another language?
Where is your country?" I pointed to the north. "Ah," said he; "have
any women there?" The Indians think strangers travel about alone because
they have no women at home to take care of them.
Cayuba often came to see me. He spoke a little Spanish, and was so
anxious to know all about my country, we became great friends. I asked
him whether the people were happy. He said, "Yes; but we are all slaves
to the white man; we used to have plenty of cattle and fine horses. The
white man comes from Santa Cruz and drives them all away."
By the laws of the land, Indians are punished by whipping on the
bare back with a raw-hide rope—twelve stripes for insubordination,
drunkenness, or idleness. The custom among the authorities has been
to punish whenever they deem it proper, with as many lashes as they
please, though there is less punishment now than in former times. One
prefect, who was exceedingly tyrannical in his behavior to these people,
was recalled, as the Indians all signed a petition against him to the
President. He was displaced and afterwards banished to Brazil. On the
voyage down the Mamoré river, the crew filled the boat with water at
midnight while the ex-prefect was sleeping. They swam to the bank, and
he was drowned.
[Illustration: MARIA NOSA, CASEMIRA NACOPEARH, JOSE VICENTE, CAYUBA,
JUANA JUA.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
Cayuba introduced me to his wife—a fine-looking, fat, cheerful Indian.
Juana Jua Cayuba was very industrious; she superintended the hired
women moulding earthen jars, which are used in manufacturing sugar; her
house was kept in neat order; she was constantly employed weaving cotton
hamacs, table-cloths, sheets, and bed-spreads; she wore two gold chains
round her neck, to which were suspended a silver cross and a medal; she
wore ear-rings of pure native gold, and on Sundays a very respectable
man-like black beaver hat; she was a strict church woman, and kept
Cayuba in that direction, who sometimes shyed off or overslept himself
in the hamac, which was slung across the room.
The Indian men take to the European fancy of dress. On Sundays, before
the authorities call upon the prefect, they take off the "camecita," and
put on trousers, coat, vest, boots, and hat; each one carries a cane,
the signal of his office. On such occasions they walk with the most
amusing air of importance. Cloth clothes are very different from their
usual cool dress, though they undergo the greatest amount of warming
rather than take them off before sun-set. All the discarded black beaver
hats, which have been battered and bent on the road down the mountains,
find a market here. All the queer-looking black frock and swallow-tailed
dress-coats, that are made in the country, seem to have concentrated and
are displayed before the public on state occasions, in this place. The
native dress, worn by the Indians, is well adapted to the women, but the
men work quite as awkwardly in camecitas as they appear in thick cloth
clothes.
Cayuba was kind enough to send us milk and fruits; when I asked him what
I should present him in return, he said, "a black silk handkerchief."
He was fitted out complete. The interest Indians expressed in sketches
of their country, their town, or themselves, was remarkable. Cayuba was
much surprised at daguerreotype likenesses of two ladies. He came to
my room next day with a party of old men and his wife, to request they
might be shown the women "of my tribe." He looked at the pictures, then
at his wife, saying he would like to swap her off for the original of
that likeness; and then turned to me and said—"Have you got plenty of
them there?" pointing to the north, and looking very intent.
Before the break of day the whole population, except the creoles, are
upon their feet; as day dawns, drummers, fifers, and fiddlers, assemble
at the church, and beat reveille. The church bells are hung under the
roof of a small steeple near by; as they ring, the Indians flock to
morning prayers. The year round this form is gone through, as it was
originally established by the Jesuits. While kneeling in church, the
music commingles with their songs of praise, as the morning sun throws
his light upon the city.
Every evening the same ceremony, as the sun descends over the Andes,
at 8 o'clock, on clear nights, the boys of the town kneel by the
large wooden cross in the centre of the plaza, and sing a hymn before
the inhabitants retire. A band of music accompanies their voices.
As the bright moon lights up their world, these little boys shout
their verses of thankfulness for the blessings of the day just past,
and pray that God will protect his people in their sleep. There was
something agreeably impressive in these forms of the church to attract
the attention of the Indians. This daily service was pastime for them;
their true natures were worked upon, and we found them performing such
religious duties in a willing, grave, sincere manner, while the rules
permit them after prayers to frolic. We have never seen more sober faces
than among these Indians, as they walk to and from church; nor have we
ever heard a more hearty roar of laughter at a bull-fight than in the
plaza of Trinidad after mass.
Marriage ceremonies are performed by the priests, according to Catholic
form. Before the appearance of the Jesuits, such were not known among
the Indians, except in their own hearts.
We had been detained some time in Trinidad. I became much troubled at
the idea of being fastened up amidst disease during a long rainy season,
doubting by which route we were to find an outlet to the Atlantic. Kept
awake after midnight; to drive away thoughts of the morrow, I got up
and walked out into the plaza. The night was clear and moonlight; the
only noise at first heard was that made by the bats—the air was filled
with different species of these night-birds, flying in all directions,
feeding upon musquitoes; the tops of the houses were covered with them;
and so clear did they keep the air, as they darted close about me, that
there were no insects left to attack the inhabitants, except those
protected from the bats in the bed-rooms of the families. I supposed
the whole population was sleeping, but it was not so. As I walked slowly
round the square, when I came to a creole's house, silver and gold coin
were heard to jingle on the inside of the door-way. The silent dealing
of cards was going on; bets were being made by counting out the coins.
The creole portion of the population were gambling. As the comisario
struck one by the bell at the cathedral, the working population slept.
Indians have no time for such occupation; their games are played at
the weaving-frame and sugar-field. The supply of bread-stuff is drawn
from the laborer of the plains of Mojos; the silver is chiselled
from the rocks of the mountains by the Indians; and yet the most
intelligent people of Bolivia ask how it is there is so much progress
and improvement in other parts of the world and so little in Bolivia.
The creoles of Trinidad are from all parts of the country. We never
beheld such a rough-looking set—seemed to be the very outcasts of the
nation. There are few married people among them; some of the men may
have wives and families on the Andes, but they live here without them.
The creoles dress in calicoes and silks, straw hats and leather shoes,
with silk stockings. They prefer the foreign manufactured goods to the
white cotton cloths of the Indians, except for the table or hamacs, and
towels, which the Indians make to perfection.
The Indians seem to take pride in acting as servants. They cook, wash,
and bring firewood to the whites for a trifle.
On the morning of the 17th of June, the prefect made up a party,
inviting a Brazilian, an Englishman, and myself to join him in a visit
to Loreto, twelve leagues south-southeast from Trinidad. Our horses
were small, but in good order, though badly broken. It is the custom
to lasso a horse in the pampa, saddle, bridle, and mount him. Should
a man be thrown, no harm is done; he lights on the grass or in the
mud. Indians had been sent ahead by the prefect, at daylight, with our
bedding, and table furniture. The day was clear and pleasant as we rode
along the level road over the prairie. One of the comisarios led the
way on a little stunted mule. He rode well, with his big toes touching
the large wooden stirrups; his legs and neck were bare; a scarlet skull
cap on his head, and white camecita wrapped gracefully round him. He
made quite a picture galloping over the plain, which was spotted with
clusters of bushes, palm trees, or a pool of clear water. Here and there
the view was uninterrupted, and the eye fell upon a clearly defined
grassy horizon. A wooden bridge in the road proved so much out of order,
that we wet our feet in wading the lazy stream, when we halted to hear
a distressing story from the Brazilian, who was the life of the party.
It seems the evening before a fellow countryman had sent him a couple
of bottles for his saddle bags, to be opened on the road. Don Antonio
examined a bottle, which proved to contain _varnish_. His countryman
was a cabinet-maker in Trinidad, and had evidently made an unfortunate
mistake. It was not until long after that I understood why the prefect
appeared so much displeased at the circumstance. The cabinet-maker had
some difficulty, and the prefect had ordered him to leave the department
of the Beni, and go home to Brazil. Don Antonio succeeded in persuading
the prefect to let the man take passports for the department of Santa
Cruz, as he had been a number of years in Bolivia. Owning property in
both places, he was obliged to sell out at Trinidad at a great loss,
and had the prefect insisted upon his going directly to Brazil, he
probably would have lost what he owned in Santa Cruz. The prefect
believed the cabinet-maker had sent the bottles of material used for
mechanical purposes, instead of those for medicinal, on purpose to
varnish him. The honest mechanic, it is supposed, took this opportunity
of showing his ill will towards the authorities, who have orders from
the supreme government not to be too smooth with _foreigners_, but to
send them to Brazil immediately upon the least suspicion of misbehavior.
Liberty, property, and even life hinge on the will of the prefect of
this department. The power of the prefects of all the other divisions
of the territories in Peru and Bolivia are great enough, but none are
so far from the eye of the government as this, which is geographically
independent of the mountainous regions. The authorities have unlimited
powers, over foreigners particularly.
Four leagues travel brought us to a hacienda; we dismounted, after
having toiled through herd grass, mud, and water up to the horses'
knees. The water is gradually drawing off the lands, it has settled
among the grass, and now is perfectly transparent. For miles we waded
through it a foot deep; then the land swells up and becomes dry. Where
we find water, there fowls are in great abundance—flocks of ducks and
long-legged cranes. As we rise on the dry soil, deer start from our
path, and the ostrich walks slowly off, holding his head down below the
tops of the grass, as though we did not see his tail of beautiful and
valuable feathers.
The two houses at the hacienda were surrounded with plantain and papaya
trees. There were several enclosures for cattle, one of which contained
a great number of calves; they, with the Indian women and dogs, had used
up all the morning's milk. The Englishman, therefore, drew the cork of
a bottle of wine, the prefect produced bread, but cheese had been left
behind. A large pot of beef was boiling on the fire; it was so tough and
insipid, for the want of salt, we could not eat it; while the "peste"
remains, we doubt whether it is healthy food.
After leaving the hacienda, with its two-storied houses, we waded one
league through water two feet deep, spread all through the grass on the
plain as far as we could see in every direction. Birds of most beautiful
plumage flew up about us, and the party became pretty well ducked. We
would have done much better in canoes than in saddles. Reaching dry
land we pushed on foot, in single file, to the river Yvaré. An Indian
from the opposite side obeyed the call of our guide. The horses were
unsaddled; we all embarked with the riding gear in a canoe and paddled
over, as the horses swam to the opposite bank. While the Indians
saddled up, we bathed in the stream with the greatest number of snorting
alligators above and below us. The stream is narrow, without current,
making it difficult to tell which was up or down. The banks were twenty
feet high, and yet they are overflowed in the wet season. The water was
dark colored, though clear.
At the house of the ferryman we met his old Indian wife, who cultivated
a few cotton-bushes about her hut, with some tobacco plants. The
cotton is produced from a bush eight to ten feet high. It is difficult
to find a person who has noticed how long these bushes will produce
without replanting. The impression is seven years. The same tobacco
plant yields from two to three years. The hut was shaded by a number of
orange trees, from which the woman gathered us most delicious fruit.
There is nothing like them on the coast of Brazil nor at the Cape de
Verde islands. The skins are thin, almost bursting with the juice. The
trees were as large as a moderate-sized apple tree, and loaded with
oranges, while the sweet blossoms bloomed for another crop. Plantains
form the bread of this country; near every house the trees are found.
This hut stands on the northern boundary of what are called the Plains
of Loreto. Here the land is somewhat higher; the path is smooth, and as
the afternoon is passing, we hurry on. To our right a drove of cattle
look up; fierce-looking bulls stand between us and their mates; they
are not very amiable fellows, and often attack the lonely traveller;
but their numbers have been reduced by the thieving creoles from Santa
Cruz, who come here and take them off by droves. There was a time when
sixty thousand head of cattle were counted on these plains. As the
doe leaped through the grass, following its young, the peccary—a sort
of wild hog—jumped up under the horses' noses, and with his civilized
grunt and short tail, rushed along the same path. Tigers are found in
great numbers; their skins are sold in the market of Trinidad. As we
rode by a cluster of trees on our right, we heard a bellowing bull, and
saw the wild cattle rushing to his aid. I was told the tiger leaps from
his hiding-place in the grass, catches the bull by the ear, fastens his
fore-claws securely in the neck and his hind-claws to the fore-shoulder;
his head is then just behind the horns of the bull, and his tail hangs
down by the side of the fore-leg. In this position the tiger commences
to cut into the great vessels of the neck, while the bull runs through
the pampa, his head high up in the air, bellowing with pain. Unless the
herd who follow to help, gather round and attack the tiger, he soon
brings the prey upon his knees. The suffering animal bleeds to death
surrounded by his kind, while the panting tiger prowls about at a short
distance, knowing that when the bull dies the cattle will disperse, and
he can then enjoy the feast. These tigers sometimes attack a man when he
is alone, but seldom when in company. Few persons escape when engaged
in the death-struggle with him. The Indians usually go together, or
take dogs along, who attract his attention, and prevent his seeking an
engagement with the man. The tigers make dreadful work among the calves
when they are allowed to go abroad in the grass. They are generally kept
up in the day and watched by the Indians and dogs. At night they are put
with their mothers in an enclosure, where a tiger dare not go. His only
chance of killing cattle is between the time he catches and when the
herd come up to the sufferer, who rushes off at full speed the moment
the tiger touches him. The work of death is speedily done.
As the sun was going down, we came upon a plain stretching far off to
the west. Deer were grazing in pairs. We all put spurs to our horses and
gave chase, but they showed their white tails and bounded out of reach
of a rifle. The horses soon became worried down running through the
grass. The tapir, or Brazil elk, is found on these plains, keeping close
to the river. It is called "gran bestia" by the Spaniards. Its color is
iron gray, with a short coat of coarse hair. The meat makes very tender
beef. The hoof is divided into three parts like toes. On the inside of
the fore-foot there is a fourth toe; and the hind legs double up at the
joint like those of the llama and elephant. The strength of this animal
is very great. The Indians sometimes lasso him, but take care not to
have the end of the lasso fastened to the saddle, as is usual, for the
tapir will manage three or four horsemen with ease. The tapir lives on
grass, and although he is harmless, the Indians are excited upon meeting
one, as though they feared the animal's strength. He can only be taken
by a ball or arrow. Although his skin is thick, he is not very difficult
to kill. In Brazil there are great numbers of these animals. The Indians
say the tapirs and the mules are cousins, because their heads somewhat
resemble each other when looked at full in the face. The tapir holds
his head about as high as a mule; his hinder parts are more like the
elephant.
Night overtook us amidst the beasts of the prairie. As the road was
reported dry by the guide, we galloped in a line for a long time through
the silent plains, and finally reached the small town of Loreto. On the
outskirts we passed enclosures filled with cattle. It was after eight
o'clock, and the inhabitants had gone to bed. A death-like silence
reigned as we dismounted at the door of the government house, where
Indians had already arrived with our beds and provisions.
The correjidor was a fine-looking Indian, dressed in jacket and
trowsers, becoming to him. Being of domestic materials, he was more
at his ease than those who get into tight-fitting old cloth clothes.
Bedsteads, chairs, and tables were put into different rooms, with jars
of fresh water. Indians came rubbing their eyes, and, looking at us,
smilingly offering to assist the correjidor. A fire was kindled, water
heated, and a first-rate chicken soup made, while the cotton hamacs
were slung across the room. A white table-cloth was spread; after soup,
coffee was produced, and the party rested in the hamacs, with home-made
cigars.
The day's ride has been a fatiguing one. The motion of a horse wading in
water is unpleasant and harassing, both to man and beast. This journey
to Trinidad cannot be made on horseback during the rainy season. The
roads are navigable for canoes half the year, when travelling is much
more easy than when the season is called dry. The Indian builds his hut
on those elevated places which remain islands; when the great flood of
waters come down, crickets, lizards, and snakes crawl into his thatched
roof; droves of wild cattle surround his habitation. Armadilloes rub
their armor against the pottery in the corner of his hut, while the
tiger and the stag stand tamely by. The alligator comes sociably up,
when the "gran bestia" seats himself on the steps by the door. The
animal family congregate thus strangely together under the influence
of the annual deluge. Those of dry land meet where the amphibious are
forced to go, and as the rains pour down, they patiently wait. Birds fly
in and light upon the trees and top of the hut, while fish rise from
out of the rivers and explore the prairie lands. The animals begin to
seek a place of refuge in the month of January, when the soil becomes
gradually covered. As the waters subside in March, they spread out over
the drying earth, and pasture upon young grasses, which spring up upon
the passing away of the flood. At these annual meetings of the beasts,
birds live upon fish and upon each other. All the carniverous animals,
man included, fare the best; while horned cattle, tapirs, deer, and
horses suffer for want, and become an easy prey. As the fluctuation is
uncertain, many are drowned, or die from exhaustion in running about
with the water up to their chins, out of sight or reach of shelter.
The Indians of Mojos are not friendly to the Spanish race at heart;
that they love and respect the influences and arrangements of the church
there is no doubt. The Indians of Loreto are of the Mojos tribe, and are
remarkable for beauty and intelligence. The men are very independent.
One of the most wealthy went to his chacra, while the prefect was here,
and remained there, not only because he disliked him, but all the creole
race.
Loreto has somewhat a ruinous appearance. The streets and plaza are
filled with grass, on which hogs, goats, and sheep pasture. A small
stream runs close by the town, and supplies the people with water. A
wooden bridge is thrown across it, over which the Indians pass to their
chacras. There are but few creoles living among them. The population
is poor, and the hospital filled with cases of small-pox. While walking
through the town we saw too men evidently affected with consumption—one
of them a silversmith. We met an old woman ninety years of age, without
teeth, her hair as white as snow; she embraced us all. Don Antonio
returned the compliment with so much warmth, that the old woman's life
seemed in danger, to the great amusement of all the young girls.
There were a number of cases of chills and fever, one of them a black
man. There are said to be about two thousand fugitive slaves from
Brazil in the territory of Bolivia. By the first article of the last
constitution they are free and equal with the white people the moment
they enter. The negro of Brazil, in Bolivia, has more rights and
privileges granted to him by law, than the Indian on his own soil.
We visited an old Indian woman with a house full of daughters; these
Indian girls are beautiful and much respected; several of the creoles
have desired to marry them, but the father is displeased with the
whites, and refuses to permit his daughter to marry any but a man of
their own race. The house was furnished better than any Indian's house
we had met; their beds were neatly curtained; floors partly carpeted;
neat white hamacs and table cloths. One of the daughters was decidedly
beautiful; her complexion white and clear, with regular features; her
eyes large and deep black, like her hair; she was of middle size, with
a most perfect figure; hands and feet exquisitely shaped, and teeth
perfectly white; her manner was modest and shrinking, while, at the
same time, she spoke Spanish remarkably well; attention had been paid to
her education. This family of Indians were more respected by both white
and red than any other in the Beni; yet the father would have as little
to do as possible with the authorities. He was a leading man among the
Indians, and did not hesitate to make them acquainted with his opinion
of the wrongs every day practised against the tribe. We were unfortunate
in not seeing this man; upon inquiring, it was found he would not remain
at his farm, but was visiting about the country among the Indians.
Near the town there is a grove of large tamarind trees, planted by the
Jesuits. Under the shade of one of them some carpenters were hewing a
large canoe, like the one we descended in from Vinchuta. When complete,
it will be worth from thirty-five to forty dollars.
The floods rise up into the streets of Loreto, and the church floor is
so damp they have commenced a raised foundation for another alongside
of it.
The southeast winds were exceedingly raw and wet during our two days'
stay at Loreto, so we had a poor opportunity to see the inhabitants.
They keep their houses during these cold, damp days; such weather is
the most pleasant for travelling. We returned to Trinidad by the same
and only road, which continues on to Santa Cruz, through a wild country.
In the month of June, sometimes fresh winds blow from the northwest,
over the bottom of the Madeira Plate, veering often to north and
northeast; but this is seldom the case. When the wind is from the
northwest, the thermometer ranges at 82° in the morning, and as high as
90° in the afternoon. Although the dust is very much disturbed by it,
the population sit out of doors in the calm, clear evenings after the
wind goes down with the sun. This wind seldom exceeds three consecutive
days; it then changes, and blows from southeast, rather lighter, but
brings fogs. Rain falls from the clouds; and, in the latter part of
June, during these winds, the thermometer falls as low as 66° in the
morning and 70° in the afternoon. The natives then shut their doors, and
keep in from the street; their cotton camecitas are doubled, or one of
bark cloth put on. The Indians suffer for the want of proper clothing;
they shiver, and are perfectly helpless until this wind changes to the
northwest, when the town becomes enlivened again—the southeast winds
being wet winds and the northwest winds dry. These two currents appear
to be struggling against each other. The northwest winds appear like
water-carriers going back with dry buckets; as they pass the town of
Trinidad, the southeast winds are pushed out of the way, and after they
have passed, then the southeast winds come up like a train of watering
pots, and down drizzles the rain, and the dry atmosphere, as well as
the hot soil, becomes cooled and watered. The rains are seldom heavy
in the month of June, nor are the winds strong except in puffs from the
southeast. We have never witnessed such regularity in the distribution
of heat and cold as we find in the Madeira Plate. The dry and wet winds
are independent of the dry and wet seasons. The trees here ripen their
fruits, while, at the same time, they put forth fresh buds and blossoms.
Vegetable life goes on in rapid succession, and seems to be as regular
as the year in and out. In the month of July, the southeast winds
blow a little fresher, and sometimes veer round to the southwest. The
northwest wind often commences to blow light from northeast and north;
and in this month the wind from northwest is much fresher than it is
in June. They come back as though showing some temper at the manner in
which the southeast winds crowd up. While the northwest winds blow, the
thermometer ranges at 76° in the morning, and 82° in the afternoon.
The northeast winds are warmer than the northwest winds, both being
dry winds. During the southeast winds the thermometer sometimes stands
as low as 62° at 9 a. m., and 67° at 3 p. m. The southwest breezes are
generally a little warmer than the southeaster, with lightning flashing
among them—both wet winds. After a fresh wind from southeast, we may
expect one from northwest; this wind appears very fighty at times.
In August the northwest current often increases to a gale in the
struggle with its opponent, and the thermometer rises as high as 80° in
the morning, and 90° at 3 p. m. When the wind from the southeast gets
the upper hand, it knocks down the thermometer as low as 73° at 9 a. m.,
and 81° in the afternoon.
These winds sometimes blow for three days from the southeast, and then
exactly three days back from the northwest. This is so frequently the
case that the inhabitants say that, when it commences from either point,
they expect the same wind for three days. On several occasions we were
struck with this phenomenon, and whenever the Sundays happened to be
calm days, the fact reminded us of the commandment for periodical rest.
Mojos invites the zoologist. The different habits of the bird kind, from
the ostrich to the most delicately shaped humming-bird, are observed
with great interest. The ostrich lays its eggs in the thick grass on the
dry plain; two eggs fill a man's hat, and weigh as much as two pounds
each. The ostrich lays a great number, spread out in the nest over so
wide a space that it is very certain one bird cannot cover them all
sitting, even by spreading all their feathers over them. Yet the eggs
are all broken when the hatching is over, and the young have left the
nest. The ostrich is so wild, it is difficult to become well acquainted
with its habits. The number of young that appear upon the plain do not
compare with the number of egg shells found; some suppose the ostrich
lays one egg for the purpose of producing, and another to feed with.
The young grow very rapidly, stepping out of the eggs; their legs are
enormous, compared with other parts of their system.
When the ostrich is going at full speed across the plain, his head is
held erect, like the smoke-pipe of a locomotive; his body resembles the
boiler, and beautiful rich feathers, which start up straight, flutter
behind. The great speed with which he passes through the level country,
with the external appearance of the bird, reminds one very much of a
distant locomotive, as it runs without any train attached.
On one or two occasions we started them upon the pampas; Mamoré ran very
fast, and so did our horse, but the ostrich outran us with the ease
of a steam-engine. While running, its awkward looking legs are thrown
out on the sides in circles, so as to clear the long grass, but the
body and head are carried remarkably steady. We have never seen ostrich
feathers in the market of Trinidad, and believe the Indians never hunt
them, though they play with them at times by disguising themselves in a
tiger skin, and prowl about near them for amusement. Indians pay great
deference to those birds, originally worshipped by them. It is possible
that the ostrich held the same relation to the religious worship of the
Indians of these low lands, as the llama of the mountains occupied among
the Indians there. These Indians appear to have no particular use for
the ostrich, and for that reason do not hunt them, for an Indian seldom
puts to death any animal unnecessarily; he makes use of what he finds
about him, and is careful not to destroy, nor to waste without need.
There are a few individuals among the creoles of Santa Cruz who
understand the art of collecting and preserving the skins of birds
with arsenical soap. They make their living by stuffing birds with
cotton, to be boxed up and exported. The bird collector differs from
the bark gatherer; he is found on the plains as well as in the woods;
his ammunition is good powder, in small tin cannisters, different sized
shot, and a small quantity of quicksilver. The shot are for ordinary
birds. He puts a few drops of quicksilver in a small piece of paper,
and loads his gun with it instead of shot. The quicksilver knocks the
humming bird over, without tearing the skin, or disfiguring the plumage;
it stuns, and before the bird recovers, the sportsman has him in hand.
After the hunter has collected some five hundred kinds, he then becomes
difficult to please; he wants the beautiful little songster who sits
at the base of the Andes, and sends forth his music before the rising
sun. There are many birds who feed by night, and sleep in daylight;
some steal the eggs of their neighbors; others drive away the parents,
feed and rear their young, or sit upon the eggs and hatch them for the
rightful owner. All these birds we see around us have their regular
hours for feeding, singing, bathing, resting, and sleeping.
We met a bird-hunter in Trinidad; he had been at work two years
collecting near six hundred different kinds. He was of opinion there
are over a thousand varieties of night and day birds to be found in the
Madeira Plate, besides snakes, lizards, and any quantity of insects.
Trinidad was his head-quarters from which he branched off in all
directions during the dry season. His room was a perfect curiosity shop.
The birds were rolled up in paper after they had been properly cured,
and stowed away in large wooden boxes. Every day, at different hours, he
went to the field; after days of labor, he would be seen returning with
a single bird, differing from any in his room. He procures poisonous
snakes by splitting the end of a stick to form a fork, which he places
over the neck of the snake, and holds him until a gourd or bottle is
fixed over his head, when he loosens his fork and the snake crawls into
the cavity. He then corks the gourd and puts it into his pocket. After
the snake starves to death, or is drowned in spirits, his skin is taken
off, preserved, and stuffed, ready for exporting to the museums of the
civilized world.
During the rainy season the bird-hunter enters a canoe, and repairs
to those places where the various animals are collected together. He
obtains many species there, which would require a length of time to
follow up, and fills his canoe with venison and deer skins.
Longevity is not so great in the bottom of the Madeira Plate as on
the mountains. We find very few old people in Mojos. The population is
principally composed of middle-aged men. Women appear to reach a greater
age, both on the mountains and here. They arrive at maturity about the
same time in both regions.
The men of Mojos are less addicted to exciting drinks; they use tobacco
in moderation, while those of the mountains are immoderate in their use
of the coca. The men of Mojos appear to possess more physical strength;
they are more supple and active than the mountain Indians. All agree
perfectly as to indolence. The creole portion of the population of
Bolivia are the most idle of the two races.
On the 14th of August, 1852, Don Antonio found his cargo could not be
disposed of in Trinidad, and he must return to Brazil with his boats.
Don Antonio had Brazilian boatmen—negroes and mestizos. These men came
up from the Amazon with him, and were thought the only kind of people
who could be employed upon the expedition.
At daylight in the morning, Cayuba came with his wife and thirty
Indians, bearing poles, to carry our baggage to the port at Trapiche.
Cayuba's wife brought us yuca and oranges to use on the voyage. Our
passports were made out, and upon my offering to pay what was usual,
the Intendente, who was a very polite person, said the government did
not charge me.
[Illustration: PLAZA DE TRINIDAD, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The passports of Don Antonio and his twelve people cost him the sum
of four dollars, for permission to return by the river Mamoré to his
own country, more than half the distance being through the wilderness,
beyond the line of civilization. The authorities insisted upon it; he
required a Bolivian passport to present to the authorities of his own
country when he arrived there, "otherwise they would not know where he
came from." There was some displeasure shown towards Don Antonio, that
he had not a thousand dollars in silver. He, on the other hand, was
displeased at being obliged to take cacao, instead of silver, for his
goods.
The prefect of the Beni gave me a letter to the prefect of the
department of Santa Cruz, in case we found it impossible to get men in
the town of Matto Grosso, for Don Antonio's boat to descend the Madeira,
and could not pass by the forts on the Paraguay river, or over the
country to the Atlantic, through Brazil. We would have a passport to
return into Bolivia. It is necessary to have permission to come in as
well as to go out.
Over one hundred Indians died with the small-pox while we were in
Trinidad. The people were still suffering with it when we left.
Trapiche is situated two leagues west-northwest of Trinidad. The road
in August was dry, but in February is navigable for canoes. The whole
surface of the country is strewed with ant-hills, though not quite as
high as those of Masi plains. We examined the inside of one and found
the earth worked into a perfect honey crust, not regular like hived bees
make their comb, but bees that burrow in the ground, and deposit their
honey in a mass of cups. The inside of the ant-house was built so that
the ants could enter at the base and wind their way up to the top. There
was no outlet on the top; the outside was one solid mass of baked clay,
burnt hard by the heat of the sun. We suppose that the ants live in the
garret when the lands are overflowed; do not crawl on the outside and
get on the roof for safety or curiosity. Some of these ants are small
and reddish in color, while others are black. They do not sting as those
of the woods, until they are made very angry, and then they worry a dog
considerably.
There are a great number of large pigeons feeding on these plains; the
young are full-grown, very fat, and form a good substitute for miserable
beef.
The Indians carry their loads of plantains, yuca, and wood, on the
crotches of two limbs. The single sticks made fast to the yoke of oxen,
secured on each side to the horns, while the two prongs slide on the
ground behind. Sometimes they secure a large square box or basket on
the crotches, and let the children ride in this Mojos carriage. The
sugar-cane is generally planted on the side of the river and carried
in canoes. At Trapiche we found them manufacturing sugar, molasses, and
rum.
I embarked in a small canoe with my gun, and a little Indian boy paddled
me up the Ybaré to look at a field or patch of sugar-cane. The Indians
had just set fire to the dry weeds in it, and the light breeze soon
created a flame. A large black tiger rushed out on the bank, plunged
into the river, and swam before us to the opposite shore, where he
looked round crossly at the fire. Shaking himself, he proceeded up the
bank, and through the cane-brake, without condescending further to
notice us. His body appeared full five feet long, with short, heavy
legs, long tail, and a remarkably disagreeable expression of face,
as though he would like to take some revenge for being burnt out. The
little Indian boy looked up quickly, and simply said, in Spanish, "He
is a large one."
On the banks of the Ybaré we found plantains, pine-apples, papayas,
Spanish peppers, lemons, and oil beans; small fish and eels in the
river, with poisonous snakes in the grass.
Our baggage was stowed on board the "Igarite," over which the flag of
the United States was hoisted. Don Antonio embarked his cargo on the
"Coberta," from which the flag of Brazil was suspended. Five Mojos
Indians were employed in addition to the Brazilian crews. Two horses and
two mules affected with the peste were embarked in a canoe. Four dogs
and one man crowded a small batteau. Four of the Brazilians had their
wives with them. Just before the boat squadron got underway, there was
trouble on board the "Coberta"—the men whipped their wives all around.
After which they followed us down stream. The noise and activity in
getting off was new to us. The Indians crowded the banks, while the
Brazilian negroes seemed disposed to show their seamanship to advantage.
We were delighted to get off.
The Ybaré is a small winding stream, of fifty feet width, with
perpendicular banks thirty feet high, a depth of nine to twelve feet,
and a half-mile current. A short steamboat might ascend the Ybaré from
the Mamoré river to Trapiche. The turns are too short to admit a long
river steamer. The Indians call this distance three leagues. There are
a few snags, and quantities of musquitoes. The dew falls at night, and
the new moon appears unusually red. We noticed this peculiarity at the
base of the Andes east of Cuzco.
On entering the waters of the Mamoré river again, we found
_thirty-three_ feet water. A ship-of-the-line could float in the bottom
of Madeira Plate in the dry season. The current is now one mile per
hour. Temperature of water, 76°. One of the Indians wanted us to give
him our compass, after inquiring what it was, saying there were none
in Mojos. The banks of the river are twenty-five feet high; with the
depth of the river, the bed is fifty-eight feet below the surface of the
plain. The river is less winding, with a width of four hundred yards,
and the channel little obstructed by snags. We progress very slowly in
this clumsy boat. The men propel her about half a mile per hour when
they choose. Sometimes we pole along the bank. She measures thirty feet
in length, and eight feet two inches beam, drawing three feet water when
loaded.
Here we meet fish. Don Antonio came alongside with his batteau and
hand-net, and politely gave me one of each of the different kinds he
caught in a few hauls. This was quite an addition to our collection.
The country around is a perfect level. Clusters of trees here and there
spot the plain, though cane-brakes and grass predominate. The banks of
the river are often picturesque, sloping down to the water, covered with
grass, while in other places the large drift-trees lay on the beach,
where the Indians cultivate patches of maize, earth almonds, or ground
peas.
_August 19, 1852._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; temperature of water,
78°. Among the heavy clouds that approach us from the southeast the
thunder roars, and a rainbow comes towards the Andes. Ducks, geese,
turkeys, and cranes thickly line the stream; porpoises puff and hawks
screech. The boat's crew and their wives enjoy a roasted ring-tailed
monkey for breakfast.
We landed on the east side on a bank thirty feet high, and visited
the Trapiche of San Pedro. Four sugar mills were in motion by oxen.
The Indians had collected large piles of cane from the patches, and
were manufacturing rum and molasses under the superintendence of the
correjidor, a creole, having a wife and children with him. We supplied
ourselves with sugar of good quality for the voyage.
The same planting produces sugar for twenty years in Mojos. The suckers
yield a juice which increases in sweetness for twelve years, after which
it begins to loose its saccharine matter. Cacao is gathered in November,
coffee in May, and sugar in August and September.
We have quantities of musquitoes during the night, but none in the day.
At 3 p. m., thermometer, 91°; water, 78°. We count eighteen different
kinds of fish in the Mamoré, where the river is thirty-nine feet deep.
The country has become somewhat broken in places; the land is dry, and
raised well up from the level of the river, while in others it sinks
down swampy. We drifted along by the current during the night after
getting entangled with a sawyer or run on the side of the shore.
One of the Indians who had the "sleep in," was seated napping on the
rounded roof of the barrel-shaped boat, with his head between his
knees and camecita doubled under his toes, to keep the musquitoes out.
He lost his balance, rolled in his sleep over and over off the boat
into the river. The remarkably quick time of the man in waking up and
regaining the boat, amused the old captain, who was standing forward
like a figure-head, with a cigar in his mouth; now looking up at the
bright moon, and then on the surface of the water for snags, both hands
fighting musquitoes on all parts of his nakedness. Instead of giving
the usual cry of a look-out, "Man overboard," he laughingly remarked to
himself, without offering assistance—"Mucha fiesta esta noche"—plenty
of fun to-night.
The grasses on the prairie are fired, and as the midnight hours pass,
lightning flashes to the east. The wild cattle roam bellowing beyond
the ravages of the flames. Our lead here tangles at the bottom of the
river and troubles us, where we find fifty-one feet of water.
_August 22._—The wind from southeast freshened almost to a gale. At a
turn in the river we lay by the bank for the day; the men were unable
to force the boat against the wind, which made a little sea against the
current, and drove us up stream.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 77°, and at 4 p. m., 69°. August 23d rain and
lightning, with a strong southeaster. We clung to the bank all night.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 62°. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 61°. The Indians
became quite cold, fastened up in the boat by the side of a steep bank.
To warm themselves they took out a line ahead and pulled us slowly along
against the wind and sea to the next turn in the river, which gave us
the wind fair. Our poles were rigged up as masts, and with old pouches
and baggage covers, we stuck up a sail, which drove us along at the rate
of four miles, very much to the delight of the Indians, who never use
sails in their canoes. Arriving at another turn, it became necessary to
take in all sail; doing so, we ran into a cluster of trees sticking fast
to the bottom of the river, when the Indians laughed, and pronounced
sailing a humbug.