In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

After leaving the Quindio trail we followed a narrow path through fields and forest for nearly a mile. It led to a neat, new cottage surrounded by pastures in which there were cattle and horses. The owner and his wife, middle-aged Colombians of the mestizo class, but of better appearance than the average, did not seem overjoyed to see us; they had no room, they said, for strangers. Explanations and the display of credentials bearing flaring, important-looking seals were of no avail; the people did not care to have the drowsy tenor of their ways disturbed by a couple of gringos. The region, however, was too alluring to forego, so we camped beside the house and took possession of the veranda for sleeping-quarters. There we remained a week, much to the displeasure of our unwilling hosts.

We had supposed that the presence of a wheat-field surrounded by primeval forest had led to an increase in the number of small mammals indigenous to the region, but this assumption proved right in so far as squirrels only were concerned. A granary had been built in the centre of the clearing, which was of considerable extent; bundles of grain were piled in it from floor to roof. Squirrels of three species came from the woods, and ensconcing themselves in the structure feasted on the wheat. They ran the entire distance between the forest and the house on the ground, taking advantage, however, of any logs or branches that littered the place. They were especially plentiful in the early morning and just before sundown. If one crept cautiously to the border of the field he was sure to see dark little forms scamper over the ground and disappear in the storehouse. The animals were very tame at first and did not leave their shelter until one was but a few yards away; then they appeared on all sides and ran quickly to the protecting woods. Later they posted a sentinel or remained on the alert, for no sooner did we reach one side of the clearing than all the squirrels hurried away on the opposite side, being careful to keep the granary between themselves and us. There were many stray dogs in the neighborhood; they pursued the squirrels while making their pilgrimage across the open space, and devoured any they succeeded in catching.

There were also other marauders that exacted a heavy toll in grain from the farmer. Yellow-throated woodpeckers (Melanerpes flavigularis) and green and yellow jays (Xanthoura yucas) were always about and frequently came to grief in our traps set for small rodents.

A species of pigmy opossum (Thylamys caucæ) lived in the woods. It is the size of a mouse, but has a longer tail. The slate-colored little animals prefer small cavities in tree-trunks for their homes, where they spend the days curled up in sleep; if disturbed they are very sluggish and may be taken in the hand, their only concern being to find a dark spot where they can snuggle up to one another and go to sleep again. At night they are more active and go on foraging expeditions for fruit, insects, and almost anything of an edible nature they can find.

The camp pet at this time was a young sloth (Cholœpus andinus). The slow-moving little beast reminded one of a “Teddy Bear,” and when it clambered among the branches of a tree it always recalled to me Hudson’s description to the effect that he “hugged the branches as if he loved them.” Our pet had been brought in by a native hunter who had shot the mother and found the young one clinging to her long, gray hair. It was easy to handle owing to its inactivity, but occasionally it struck viciously with its front feet, each armed with two formidable claws, and also snapped suddenly in an attempt to bite, its strong teeth enabling it to inflict severe injury. It ate quantities of tender green leaves at regular intervals, but it was always necessary to first sprinkle them liberally with water and then feed them to the little creature one at a time and in quick succession. I have kept a number of sloths at various times and found that they thrived on young shoots and buds of many trees and plants, such as cacao, cabbage, lettuce, and almost any succulent vegetation.

I know of no animal that appears more stupid and lifeless than a sloth. They move with great difficulty and in a sprawling posture on the rare occasions when they descend to the ground, on account of the peculiar formation of the feet; nor do they attain any great speed while moving in the tree-tops, where they always maintain an inverted position except when climbing up or down a trunk. When resting they roll up into a ball, and as a species of green alga not infrequently grows on the fur, they are very inconspicuous among the leaves and moss-covered branches of their home—at least when viewed from below. But from above they do not always escape the sharp eye of the harpy-eagle, which is their chief enemy.

In spite of its lifeless appearance, it would be difficult to find a mammal more tenacious of life; in this respect it resembles the reptiles. Sloths will withstand the most frightful wounds and frequently make their escape after having been shot many times. The natives are very fond of the flesh and not infrequently capture the animals when cutting down trees in clearing land; a favorite way to kill them is by drowning, but this is a lengthy and barbarous process, as it requires a long submergence before the creatures cease struggling and life is extinct.

People of the lower class attribute peculiar powers to the sloth. They say that when one of the animals finds it necessary to descend to the ground it is unable to climb back to its lofty perch; but a friendly cloud is always hovering near by which envelops it and carries it back to any desired station in the tree-tops. In some localities they also attribute the wild call of the giant goatsucker to the sloth. The only time I heard the latter utter any sound was when a mother called to her young that was a few feet away; she gave a fairly loud ‘peep’ and her offspring at once went to her.

After a time our work at Squirrel Woods was completed, so, much to the relief of the inhospitable couple, we left the place and returned to Salento, where we had better fortune and were well cared for by one Colonel Martinez; his wife had come from Bogotá, was a well-educated woman, and, what interested us more just then, was a splendid cook. The family conducted a fairly good posada and shop and had various other business interests, including several worthless mining claims along streams flowing into the Quindio River just below. A few excavations had been made into the hillsides; the largest was known as La Mina del Gallo and had yielded hundreds of tons of rocks and earth; but as not a speck of the elusive yellow metal they so eagerly sought had been forthcoming, the mine had been abandoned, and owls and bats inhabited the dark tunnel. The greater part of the mining population had deserted Salento for a place about ten miles distant, where extensive cinnabar-fields had been discovered. They expected to acquire fabulous riches extracting the mercury from the deposits. Some Englishmen headed by a man named Lloyd-Owen were also interested in the enterprise, but I learned later that the prospect failed.

At dusk we occasionally had a brief view of the Nevado del Tolima far to the east. The snow-capped summit is over eighteen thousand feet high, but we could never see more than a small portion of it on account of the ridges that surrounded it. At night the snowy dome gleamed white and frosty beneath a brilliant moon, and chill winds blew from the frigid heights and roared through the town. The paramos of Ruiz and Isabel, composed of high, cold valleys, plateaus, and snow-covered peaks are south of the Tolima. We straightway resolved to visit that region, and as the rainy season with its severe electrical storms was fast approaching, no time was lost in starting on the expedition. My experience on the Cerro Munchique was still too fresh to make me want to duplicate it or expose any other members of the party to a similar ordeal.