After a delightful week spent in Orocué we were ready to start for Barrigon or Puerto Nuevo on the Rio Humea, an affluent of the Meta. To go there by a bongo[9] during the rapidly rising water, would require from fifteen to twenty days. It would be necessary to pole it—or pull it along by ropes in certain places—the entire distance. Besides this, owing to its limited quarters, such a boat would be extremely uncomfortable. Fortunately for us, and thanks to the kind offices of our host, we were able to have the use of a fine and commodious petroleum launch, which would convey us to our destination in a week.
It was with genuine regret that we said Adios to the good people of Orocué and to the kind friends who had made our sojourn there so pleasant and profitable. They were all at the landing to see us off, and speed the parting guests with the touching words, Vayan Uds. Con Dios—May you go with God. To these fervent words of farewell came from our little crew the cordial response, Y con la Virgen, and with the Virgin Mother.
Our captain was a bright and courteous and most obliging young Colombian from Bogotá. The pilot was a Venezuelan half-breed from the town of Barcelona. This “son of Barcelona,” as he described himself, had fled from his native country, on account of the continued revolutions, to seek peace in Orocué. The cook was also a mestizo, while his assistant was a strong, broad-shouldered Guahibo, who, far from being an unfeeling savage, was one of the kindest and most thoughtful persons one could meet. He was ever ready to serve us and was never more happy than when he observed that his delicate attentions were fully appreciated.
The launch’s commissariat consisted of a liberal supply of tasajo—salt, dried beef—cassava bread, coffee, panela[10] and various kinds of fruit. Anticipating our needs at this part of our journey we had, before leaving the Port-of-Spain, laid in a supply of claret and canned goods of various kinds. Aside from the butter and condensed cream and some of the fruit preserves, the canned goods were a disappointment. Although they were guaranteed to be fresh from the factory, they were unfit for use. What we really enjoyed more than anything else, and always found fresh and wholesome, was our supply of coffee, sugar and crackers. For our café in the morning nothing more was desired.
Coffee was always served on the launch, when we were ready to start on the day’s journey, which was usually at sunrise. Desayuno—breakfast—we took at about ten o’clock. For this we always landed, as it was more convenient and more agreeable to do our cooking on shore than aboard. It was, indeed, quite romantic to have one’s breakfast served under a broad-spreading ceiba, or in the midst of a clump of stately palms, or in the shade of a group of graceful bamboos. And not the least picturesque feature about it was Antonio—our ever-active and obliging Guahibo.
“La Niñita,” Our Launch, on the Upper Meta.
Whenever possible, we stopped for desayuno and comida—dinner—at a hut or cottage on the river’s bank. We ordinarily passed several of them in the course of the day, for the banks of the upper Meta count many more inhabitants than does the lower part of the river. Usually there was only a single cottage, but occasionally we passed a caserio consisting of five or six cottages. But whatever the number they were always of the simplest construction possible. Sometimes the house was nothing more than a palm-thatched shed, composed solely of a roof, with eaves extending almost to the ground, resting on short supports. Sometimes the owners of these humble habitations were Indians, sometimes mestizos. But whether Indians or mestizos, we were cordially received and invited to make ourselves comfortable in the best hammock in their possession. With them the hamaca is the one indispensable article of furniture in every dwelling, even the poorest. It takes the place of our rocking-chair, sofa and bed. According to the Colombian poet, Madrid, the hammock was invented by the Indians—
“Gente
Dulce, benigna y mansa,”