Up the Orinoco and down the Magdalena

by J. A. Zahm

The suspense, which did not last more than a half-hour—although it seemed a whole day—was finally relieved by the joyful announcement that we should be permitted to continue our journey to Orocué. No one who lives in a country like ours can realize what good news this was to all of us. In the United States, if we miss a train, we can get another a few hours later. There, on the contrary, far off in the wilderness, where the means of communication are so rare, the permission to proceed was like the commutation of a sentence for a long term of imprisonment into the granting of immediate liberty.

After this happy decision had been conveyed to us, we wished to start without a moment’s delay. Hitherto, thanks to the bright moonlight with which we had been favored, we had been able to travel night and day. Now, for the first time, the sky became clouded, and we were obliged, as a precautionary measure, to remain where we were, until the clouds disappeared. To attempt to navigate the river in these parts, where the channel is ever changing, where there are so many sand bars, and so many floating trees and obstructions of all kinds, would be extremely dangerous, and might mean the wrecking of our vessel when we least expected it. Fortunately, the clouds soon passed by, and we were again on our way rejoicing, and rejoicing as only those can realize who have been placed in circumstances similar to ours at that critical juncture.

The scenery along the Orinoco between Ciudad Bolivar and Urbana is quite different from that of the delta. There we have one of Nature’s hothouses on an immense scale, with a luxuriance of vegetation that is not surpassed in any part of the known world. Further up the river there is less variety and richness, and the trees are smaller and fewer in number. One soon observes, also, a marked contrast between the vegetation on the right as compared with that on the left bank. On the right bank the forest land still continues, while on the left bank, for the greater part of the distance, we have the llanos or plains—for many reasons so celebrated in Venezuelan annals. On both sides the land is comparatively low and flat, although here and there, especially on the right bank, there are highlands, and occasionally, when the forest fringing the river permits it, one can see hills and mountains towards the south.

The part of Venezuela south of the Orinoco—known as Venezuelan Guiana—is still practically an unknown land. Humboldt, Michelena y Rojas, Schomburgk, and others, it is true, have explored portions of the upper Orinoco and some of the tributaries, but the impenetrable forest lands through which these rivers pass are still quite unknown.[9] As to the territory north of the Orinoco and the Arauca it has been quite well known since the times of the early mission period of Venezuela. Much of it, indeed, was explored by the conquistadores.

The llanos extend southward from the mountain range bordering the Caribbean to the Orinoco and its great tributary, the Meta. They have an area more than four times as great as that of the state of New York and are, in many respects, the most valuable lands of this part of tropical America. And strange as it may appear, they are the most neglected and most undeveloped. Their population and products are less than they were in the days of the early missionaries, and, from present indications, there is little probability that there shall soon be any change for the better. Everywhere are immense savannas, in which are numerous clumps of trees and groves, swamps and lagoons, all teeming with multitudinous forms of animal life. Here—especially along the Apure—bird-life is particularly conspicuous. It is here that occur the most extensive garceros in Venezuela, if not in South America, and it is here that the annual slaughter of the egret is greatest.

Tens of thousands of square miles of the llanos are inundated during the rainy season. Then certain parts of the country present the appearance of immense inland seas. The rivers overflow their banks, and the floods rise almost to the tree tops of the nearly submerged forest. The landscape then is not unlike what it must have been during the Carboniferous Period—immense stretches of dense, luxuriant woodlands in a vast fresh-water sea. It is then that it seems “an unfinished country, the mountains not yet having lent enough material to the llanos to keep them out of water during the entire year.”

For centuries past the llanos have been famous for their immense herds of cattle and horses. It is said that Gen. Crespo, one of the presidents of Venezuela, had no fewer than two hundred and fifty thousand cattle[10] on his hatos—ranches—and we were told of an old bachelor who now has a hato that counts a hundred thousand head of cattle, not to speak of an immense number of horses.

During the War of Independence the wild horses and cattle were in some parts “so numerous as literally to render it necessary for a party of cavalry to precede an army on the march, for the purpose of clearing the way for the infantry and guns.”[11] And only a few decades ago, we were assured, the number of cattle was so great that they were slaughtered for their hides alone. During recent years, however, owing to the number of revolutions, and the little encouragement afforded by the government to stock raisers, the herds on the llanos have greatly dwindled in size and number.[12]

Under favorable conditions they could with ease greatly be multiplied, and be made to contribute materially to the world’s beef supply. The unlimited pampas, with their rich, succulent grasses, ten to twelve feet high, are capable of supporting millions of cattle, and there is no reason why they should not be made available for the European and North American markets at much lower prices than the beef that is shipped from Argentina and Australia. Specially constructed cattle boats, of light draft, could be made to ply the Orinoco, the Apure, the Arauca and the Meta at all seasons of the year. Under a settled and progressive government the grazing industry should be the chief source of revenue of the Venezuelan republic. But, as conditions now are, cattle raising is in a most deplorable state. When we asked the Llaneros—people of the plains—along the Orinoco and the Meta why they did not have larger herds on their magnificent savannas, they invariably replied: “What is the use? We get a large herd, and then there is a revolution. The army comes along and appropriates our cattle, and we never get a penny for them.”

During our trip up the Orinoco we tried at a conuco—small farm—to purchase some chickens, but were told by the proprietor that, although he usually had large numbers for sale, he did not then have a single one left. “I heard yesterday that the revolutionists were coming this way”—he had heard of the Peñalosa outbreak—“and I at once killed all my chickens and gave my family and friends a great chicken feast. If the soldiers had come they would have taken all and would not have given me anything for them.”