In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

A day or two after our arrival at Juntas a two-year-old child belonging to one of the families died. The news spread rapidly and by night the entire neighborhood had turned out for a wake. We followed the crowd. The baby, in a white dress, with bright red and green ribbon trimming, lay in a wooden box on the table. A canopy of muslin had been erected above the bier which was strewn with wild flowers. The room was packed to suffocation with the black forms of the populace, which glistened in the dim, flickering candle-light. At first bottles of aguardiente were distributed, and every one had a number of liberal-sized drinks. Then the older folks withdrew against the four walls and, squatting on the floor, sang or lamented as fancy dictated. The younger people divided into two parties and played games around the coffin. One of them was a kind of charade and, when the guessing side solved the riddle, they pursued and caught the others, amid loud shouts and laughter. I feared constantly that they might upset the coffin. Occasionally some one would stop long enough to pet or caress the dead little form, and address a few terms of endearment to it, such as pobrecito, angelito, or tan lindito. The revelry lasted until daylight; then a procession slowly wound its way to a newly dug grave and deposited its burden, leaving the only little mound visible that side of the Tamaná.

Christmas was drawing near. We were surprised to see the women apparently making preparations for a celebration, which is most unusual in South America. They worked several days cutting the weeds around the village and cleaning up the place. When we asked about it, they said it was not on account of the approaching fiesta, but a form of penance they performed annually in atonement of their sins. Apparently the men were without blemish, for they gazed upon the workers and addressed jocular remarks to them from the comfortable retreat of their hammocks, even enumerating particular misdeeds and suggesting special forms of penance that might be effective.

The next stage of our journey had to be performed on the river. We secured a huge bongo and stalwart negro paddlers, and December 21 found us speeding down-stream toward Nóvita. The Tamaná is a rapid stream, varying between one hundred and three hundred yards in width. Its bed is strewn with boulders, causing rapids easily navigable on the downward voyage, but difficult and dangerous to negotiate when bound up-stream. Then there are deep passages between high, crumbling banks, where the water glides silently onward like an olive-drab stream of molten glass. The densest of tropical jungles lines both banks; its matted walls facing the river are interrupted by small clearings at infrequent intervals, where low hovels stand surrounded by the rich foliage of banana and yucca plants. Chonta-palms, with bristling, spiny stems, rear their plumed heads above the other forest-trees, or droop over the water in a graceful manner, forming a dainty filigree against the brazen sky. The brassy, merciless sun blazed down with unrelenting vigor, and we were glad when dark storm-clouds obscured the sky and provided a greatly needed respite.

It was possible to proceed only to a point called Cabeceros, below which rapids of a formidable character obstruct further navigation. The few negroes living on the river-bank can usually be induced to assist in making the portage, men and women alike undertaking to carry packs to Tambito at the foot of the rapids. Here it was necessary to secure another bongo and the trip was resumed.

The Tamaná grows wider constantly. Cataracts are of more frequent occurrence and present greater hazards in their navigation. The bongo, made of a huge tree-trunk and measuring thirty feet in length, and a yard in width, was most seaworthy; but frequently it shipped water in alarming quantities, and scraped and bumped over the hidden rocks until we expected the craft to be rent asunder and flounder.

During the greater part of the afternoon we were in sight of a high, isolated mountain, appearing on the map under the name Cerro Torra. So far as I can learn no explorer has ever succeeded in gaining its summit, and when I beheld the vast stretch of impenetrable jungle extending from the river to apparently the very top of the mountain, I could readily understand why the few men who had attempted this piece of exploration had failed in their undertaking.

Late in the afternoon we landed at Nóvita. I was somewhat surprised at the size of the town, which consists of about fifty hovels. The white population, which was very small, consists mainly of traders, and is more or less transient. I was told that they remain in the region a year or two to buy gold and to sell their stock of provisions and merchandise at exorbitant prices, and then return to a more healthful climate—to suffer many years afterward from the effects of their sojourn in the Chocó.

Nóvita is essentially a mining town. A good deal of gold and platinum are washed out of the small streams that form a network in the surrounding country. The negroes and Indians bring in the precious metals in small quantities—wrapped in leaves—and trade them for tinned food and cloth. However, the town seemed to be on the decline in favor of Condoto, Pueblo Rico, and Quibdó, where richer mineral deposits had been located.

The forest contained comparatively little wild life, and that was typical of the Pacific tropical faunal zone. We daily took long tramps and discovered numerous things of more than passing interest. Among them was a colony of nesting black-and-yellow orioles (Icterus). The birds had selected a solitary ceiba-tree standing in the centre of a banana-field. It was seventy feet to the lowest limbs and the trunk was so thick and smooth that no predatory animal could climb it, which insured the safety of the colony from such a source of danger. The nests, like huge pears, dangled from the tips of the branches; I counted one hundred and four, and there must have been many others concealed by the foliage. The adult birds were busy and excited, and were coming and going in steady streams, keeping up their noisy chattering all the while. We found numerous bits of egg-shells, white with black dots, on the ground, indicating that the young were just hatching.

One evening as we were returning from a long hunt, we noticed lines of bats emerging from the little church standing on the edge of the village. Next day (Christmas) I visited this rendezvous accompanied by several negro assistants. The bats were all concealed within the board walls, so that it was impossible to get at them, but the negroes unhesitatingly tore away the slabs of flattened bamboo and soon had the room filled with a squeaking, fluttering swarm which they attacked with sticks. This method of attack proving too slow, they grabbed guns and fired into the masses amid wild shouts of merriment. When the pandemonium was over and the heap of slain had been collected, they respectfully removed their hats and in passing out of the church reverently bowed the knee before the altar.