Up the Orinoco and down the Magdalena

by J. A. Zahm

“But why had not our men and mules arrived,” we asked ourselves time and again? Our telegram ordering them had been received and satisfactorily answered. Just before leaving Orocué we had sent a second telegram advising our vaqueano—guide—when he should meet us but we had not awaited a reply, taking it for granted that there would be no hitch in our plans. It now occurred that we had acted unwisely in not waiting for a response to our second telegram, so as to be sure that it had been received and was properly understood.

The telegraph line to Orocué had only recently been put up—just a few weeks before our arrival there—and had never been in satisfactory working order. In fact, owing to a break in the wire, which lasted a fortnight, we had not been able to get into communication with Villavicencio—the place whence our mules were to come—until a few days before we started for Barrigón. Might there not have been another interruption in the line after we sent our second message? And did this message ever reach its destination? It is true that a week had elapsed since our departure from Orocué, and, if the line had been severed, it might have been repaired.

But then again this was far from certain. The wire passed through dense and interminable forests—where there were no roads of any kind—and it might require several days to reach the break after it was located. And then after our vaqueano got our telegram it would require three days for him to go from Villavicencio to Barrigón, supposing that he had the mules and saddles in readiness. If they were not ready there would be another delay in starting. Altogether the outlook was far from reassuring. Our animals and men might arrive at any hour, and then again we might be obliged to wait for them for weeks.

While occupied in these far from comforting reflections, we remembered that the mail from Bogotá to Orocué was due. The men who would bring it would also bring a certain amount of freight for various points on the Meta. Here, then, was a ray of hope. If our own men and animals should fail us, we might be able to prevail on the mail carriers to give us the necessary means of transportation for ourselves and baggage. This consideration tended to relieve somewhat the suspense which was the most unpleasant feature of our hapless situation. We resolved, accordingly, to take a more optimistic view of things, and to trust to our star which, so far, had ever been in the ascendant.

What had greatly contributed to the gloominess of the outlook on our arrival at Barrigón was the thought that we should be obliged to leave our launch—where we were so comfortable—for the dismal, steaming pest-hole on the river’s bank. We did not for a moment think of asking for shelter in the filthy shack occupied by the negro family. That would be tantamount to courting paludismo—malarial fever—in its worst form. Fortunately, we had a good tent with us, and in this we could be shielded from sun and rain, and, at the same time, escape some of the unsanitary features that rendered this spot so forbidding and dangerous. It was really the first place that we had yet visited from which we instinctively shrank and from which we wished to depart at the earliest possible moment.

While thus preoccupied and devising ways and means for rendering our enforced detention at this spot as endurable as circumstances would permit, our captain, God bless him! observing our distress, came to us, and with a kindness and courtesy we can never forget, said, “No se preocupen, Señores, la lancha quedará aquí hasta que vengan las bestias.” Do not worry, gentlemen, the launch will remain here until the arrival of your animals.

What a relief this kind and considerate act was—performed when and where it counted for so much to us—only those can realize who have been placed in similar situations. Everything was now as well provided for as might be, except food. Where that was to come from was a mystery, as we did not wish to draw on the very limited supply we had brought with us.

Our first meal consisted of plátanos—some boiled and some fried—with a cup of black coffee. I had never eaten a dozen bananas in any form before coming to South America, but I gradually became accustomed to them, although I never relished them. Here, however, there was nothing else in sight, except two or three ducks that were quacking about the green, miasmatic pools that surrounded the negro shanty. We endeavored to purchase these, but, although we offered the old dame several times what they were worth, she would not part with them. No African ever held on more tenaciously to his fetish or rabbit-foot than did this swart Ethiopian hag of Puerto Nuevo to her prized webfeet.

For our dinner we fared better. Fortunately and quite unexpectedly, someone succeeded in landing a large and delicious fish, which was quite sufficient to furnish a meal for ourselves and crew. A new source of food-supply was now indicated, but try as we would, it was impossible to catch another fish—large or small. The impetuous current of the muddy river was decidedly adverse to our rising piscatorial hopes. But we determined not to worry on account of our lack of success as anglers. “Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.” Providence, we were sure, would provide for the morrow. Probably our men and mules would arrive. If not, the mail carriers would undoubtedly come, and then no Deus ex machina would be necessary to extricate us from our embarrassing situation.

A dreary day passed and a more dreary night. What with the suspense and the lack of proper food, and the confinement to a disagreeable spot in the impenetrable forest, our position was such as not to encourage slumber by night or rapturous admiration of tropical flora during the day. Nevertheless, we still instinctively felt that relief would not be long in coming.