Waikna

by E. G. Squier

As soon as the shadows of evening began to settle over the narrow valley of the Amacwass, we halted, and made our camp, maintaining throughout the night a great fire, not less for its cheerful influences than for protection against the fierce black tigers, or pumas, which abound on this flank of the mountains. We heard their screams, now near, now distant, to which the monkeys responded with alarmed and anxious cries, so like those of human beings in distress, as more than once to startle me from my slumbers. These caricatures on humanity seemed to be more numerous here than further down the coast, and we often saw large troops of them in the overhanging trees, where they gravely contemplated us as we drifted by. Occasionally one, more adventurous than the rest, would slide down a dependent limb or vine, scold at us vehemently for a moment, and then scramble back again hurriedly, as if alarmed at his own audacity.

On the second day the current of the Amacwass became more gentle, and just before night we shot out of its waters into the large and comparatively majestic Patuca. Our course down this stream was not so rapid. In places the current was so slight that it became necessary to use our paddles; while elsewhere the greatest caution was requisite to guide our boat safely over the numerous chiflones or rapids by which it was interrupted. But these, though difficult, and in some instances dangerous, sunk into insignificance when compared with what is called El Portal del Infierno, or the “Gateway of Hell.” My Poyer boy had several times alluded to it, as infinitely more to be dreaded than any of the passes which we had yet encountered, and as one which would be likely to excite my alarm.

We reached it on the day after we had entered the Patuca. As we advanced, the hills began to approach each other, and high rocks shut in the river upon both sides. Huge detached masses also rose in the middle of the stream, around which the water whirled and eddied in deep, dark gulfs, sucking down the frayed and shattered trunks of trees, from which the branches had long before been torn by rude contact with the rocks, only to reject them again from their depths, far below. The velocity of our boat increased, and I became apprehensive in view of the rushing current and rocky shores; nor was the feeling diminished, when the men commenced to lash the various articles contained in the boat by thongs to its sides, since that precaution implied a possibility of our being overset. Antonio urged me to strip, which I did, in preparation for the worst contingency. Meanwhile the stream narrowed more and more, and the rocks towered higher and higher above our heads. The water no longer dashed and chafed against the shores, but, dark and glassy, shot through the narrow gorge with a low hissing sound, more fearful than its previous turbulence. I involuntarily held my breath, grasping firmly the sides of the boat, and watching anxiously the dark forms of the Indians, as, silently, and with impassible features, they guided the frail slab upon which our lives depended. On, on we swept, between cliffs so lofty and beetling as to shut out the sun, and involve us in twilight obscurity. I looked up, and, at a dizzy height, could only trace a narrow strip of sky, like the cleft in the roof of some deep cavern. A shudder ran through every limb, and I could well understand why this terrible pass had been named the “Mouth of Hell!” He must have been a bold man who ventured first within its horrid jaws!

I drew a long breath of relief when the chasm began to widen, and the current to diminish in violence. But it was probably then that we were in the greatest danger, for the bed of the stream was full of angular rocks which had been swept out from the cañon, to be heaped up here in wild disorder. A misdirected stroke of a single paddle would have thrown our frail boat upon them, and dashed it into a thousand pieces.

“GATEWAY OF HELL.”

Before night, however, we had entirely passed the rapids, and were drifting quietly over the smooth, deep reaches of the river—the bubbles on its surface, and the flecks of white foam clinging to its banks, alone indicating the commotion which raged above.

There are many legends connected with the “Portal del Infierno.” Within it the Indians imagine there dwells a powerful spirit, who is sometimes seen darting through its gloomiest recess, in the form of a large bird. That night, each of the Poyers poured a portion of his allowance of chicha in the stream, as a thank-offering to the spirit of the river. This, and the offerings made to fire, were the only religious rites which I witnessed while in their country; but it is not thence to be inferred that they are without religious forms, for it is precisely these that they are most careful to conceal from the observation of the stranger.

As we proceeded down the river, and entered the alluvions of the coast, both the stream and its banks underwent an entire change. The latter became comparatively low, and frequently, for long distances, were wholly covered with feathery palms, unrelieved by any other varieties of trees. Snags and stranded logs obstructed the channel, and sand-bars appeared here and there, upon which the hideous alligators stretched themselves in the sun, in conscious security. Occasionally, we observed swells or ridges of savannah land, like those on the Mosquito Shore, supporting pines and acacias. But the general character of the country was that of a broad alluvion, in places so low as to be overflowed during floods—rich in soil, and adapted to the cultivation of all the tropical staples.

On the seventh day from the Poyer village, we reached a point where the river divides, forming a delta, the principal channel leading off to the sea direct, and the other conducting to a large lagoon, called Brus by the Spaniards, where the Caribs of the coast have their establishments. We took the latter, and the Indians plied their paddles with increased energy, as if anxious to bring our tedious voyage to a close.