Rubber

by Edith A. Browne

Balata trees grow wild throughout the Colony. Sometimes they are found in groups, sometimes scattered about amidst the many other varieties of trees which crowd the forest. Some of the grants that are being worked are in the lower valleys of the rivers. But in a country where “inland” is a dense barrier of virgin bush, with its face quite close to the coast, it is a long journey even to districts which are said to be “most accessible,” because they happen to be nearer than others to some place where there is a town or village. Many of the most accessible balata-grants are a two or three weeks’ journey away from the nearest centre of civilization. And it takes from four to six weeks to reach some of the remote ones in the far interior.

The rivers, with their tributaries and creeks, are the only means of communication with the grants. Owing to the enterprise of Sprostons, a local firm, and, in later years, to a Government service of river transport, there are steamer and launch facilities on nearly all the main rivers, but although the vessels can perform marvellous feats in the way of shooting rapids and manipulating falls, sooner or later the terminus of each civilized, up-country service is fixed by long stretches of disturbed waters, which cannot possibly be navigated by big craft.

To the majority of the balata-bleeders, the river steamers are a great boon. But even when these men are going to one of the grants not far removed in miles from a steamer terminus, they are pretty sure to have to rough it on the last part of their journey, for nearly all the grants are situated on the banks of a tributary or creek.

Here is a rough sketch of one journey in which use can be made of the civilized travelling facilities. The balata-bleeders leave Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana, in the early morning, and go by steamer up the Demerara River. By midday they have passed the bounds of cultivated country; the Demerara sugar-cane lands have given place to virgin forest. By about five in the afternoon they reach Wismar, where they leave the steamer. Here, thanks again to Sprostons’ determined efforts to open up the Colony, there is a train awaiting them. Right through the heart of the forest runs the only bit of railway-line in the whole interior of British Guiana, connecting Wismar on the Demerara River, with Rockstone on the Essequibo.

Why, as they want to get on the Essequibo, do they not go by boat direct through its mouth, and upstream to Rockstone by its course?

Time was when the balata-bleeders bound for Essequibo grants were obliged to follow this route; but many were the lives that were lost in the dangerous falls that block the lower part of the river. The railway was built to complete a safe passage round to Rockstone, above these falls, via the Demerara River and a cross-country cut.

The run from Wismar to Rockstone, which takes about a couple of hours, completes the first day’s stage of the journey. After a night’s rest in a wooden shanty, the travellers must follow one of two methods for proceeding on their way. They can at once take to small boats, or they can go on by launch for a couple of days before being actually compelled to adopt the slowest and most laborious means of river-transit.

The visitor to Rockstone is sure to see some open boats tied up to the landing-stage. On first making the acquaintance of these rough-looking little craft, he imagines they are merely for the use of men who want to go a-fishing for a few hours, or for anyone who has to make short river-trips. On going down to the landing-stage a few hours later—if he is in this part of the world during the early months of the year—he is surprised to find that some of those old tubs have been transformed into tent-boats, that the space beneath each awning is crowded with stacks of small cargo, such as packing-cases, hammocks, pots and pans, and that round and above the piled-up goods and chattels stretch long lengths of string laden with calabashes. He is still more surprised when he learns that a large party of balata-bleeders is about to set forth in these boats on a two, three, or four weeks’ journey. Not an inch of accommodation does there seem to be left for passengers; yet several men manage to squeeze into each boat. They pass long day after long day in their cramped quarters, smoking, gossiping, dozing, and taking their turn at the paddles. At night they go ashore, and camp in the forest; they light a fire, have a picnic, sling their hammocks, and turn into sleep until daylight makes it possible for them to get a little farther on their way to work. On days when they have to navigate one set of rapids after another, and drag the boat overland past fall after fall, it is but a very little farther they are able to push forward.

The labourers who leave Rockstone by launch find little boats waiting for them when they reach the camp that is situated at the terminus of civilized travelling facilities in the wilds. They then have to rough it for the rest of their journey.