En todo escrito está de Dios el nombre,
Todo pregona aquí su Omnipotencia.”[6]
Before daylight next morning, the vaqueano knocked at our door, announcing that it was time to rise, as we had another long ride before us and must start early. Coffee was soon ready for us and also a roast chicken. The latter, however, was prepared in such a way that we did not relish it. Then it was, indeed, that we missed our Indian cooks of the Meta. We asked for some milk for our coffee, but although surrounded by large herds of cattle, there was not a drop of milk in the house. When we expressed surprise at this, the cook replied: “We never milk the cows here. We leave the milk for the calves.”
I had often had a similar experience in the large ranches of the trans-Missouri region and was not, therefore, specially surprised at the answer. However, a little persuasion induced one of the peons to secure us a calabash of milk, although his task was not an easy one. The cows, unaccustomed to being milked, refuse to stand still, and in this instance, the peon had to tie one of them to a tree. Even then, he was obliged to call in the aid of an assistant before he could get the milk we craved.
On the cattle farms of Venezuela, where the cows are quite wild, it is necessary to throw a noose around the horns of the animal to be milked, and for one of the dairymen to hold it secure by a long pole, while another does the milking in the usual way. Our peon, fortunately, was not obliged to resort to such a drastic, time-consuming method.
Although it had rained heavily the greater part of the night, there was no indication that the downpour would soon cease. On the contrary, it looked as if it were to continue raining all day. Fortunately, we were provided with good waterproof ponchos, and were prepared for any aguacero—heavy shower—that Jupiter Pluvius might choose to send from the heavy, lowering clouds that, pall-like, overcast the sky.
Before we left Orocué, at the suggestion of the prefect of the place, we had telegraphed to Villavicencio for a couple of bayetones—a special kind of poncho—and these our vaqueano had delivered to us at Barrigón.
To the inhabitants, especially the Indians of South America, and more particularly those living in the Cordilleras, the poncho is what a mantle was to an Irishman in the days of the poet Spenser. “When it rayneth it is his pent howse; when it blowes it is his tent; when it freezeth, it is his tabernacle. In sommer he can weare it loose, in winter he can weare it close; at all times he can use it, never heavy, never cumbersome.” In a word, this “weede is theyr howse, theyr bedd, and theyr garment.”[7]
The poncho or bayeton,[8] usually made of wool, in fully six feet square with a hole in the centre to admit the head. Our bayetones—called “nabby-tonys” by C.—were really double ponchos, made by sewing together two blankets, one red, the other blue. When the weather is damp and cloudy, the blue side is exposed, whereas it is the red that is kept outside when the sun is shining. The wearers of this useful garment have learned by experience that these two colors are differently acted upon by heat and light and they accordingly adjust it so as to secure the maximum of comfort. The manta is a lighter covering made of white linen and is sometimes highly embroidered. It is used when the sun’s rays are more intense, because it reflects the solar rays better than the red woolen garment. It is, however, rather an ornament than a necessity, and its use is confined almost entirely to the better classes.
Provided with a poncho, a hammock and a many-pocketed saddle—which are almost as indispensable as his horse—the Llanero is always at home. The two former, he carries in a bundle behind his saddle, where they are always ready for him at a moment’s notice. In camping out he slings his hammock in any convenient place, and, if it be in the open, the poncho is, by means of a rope, held over it in such wise that he can defy the most violent storm of the tropics, and sleep as soundly and be as well protected from the rain as if he were under his own roof-tree.