The sun was now directly overhead, and the fierce rays entered the narrow confines of the canyon so that it was stiflingly hot. Angry peals of thunder warned us of the approaching storm, and red howling monkeys, disturbed from their midday rest, roared dismally. Above, the river flowed like a greenish stream of molten glass; below, it dashed through the gorge with a dull roar, and to the towering boulder in the centre clung a treasure, to possess which men had risked their lives; but on the very verge of success we seemed likely to fail. Even the Indians, pioneers of the jungle, shook their heads doubtfully and wanted to return.
We tried the only remaining resource. With poles and lines two of the Indians and myself picked our way to a number of small rocks that jutted out of the angry flood at the very mouth of the gorge. The other Indian spliced together joints of slender bamboo and climbed out into the branch of the fallen tree which had lodged against some rocks. From this precarious position he made repeated thrusts at the nest; finally it fell and began its maddening career in the whirlpool. Around it went, many times, and then shot straight for the gorge, swerving toward the rock on which Juan stood. As we shouted encouragement Juan dived. In spite of the fact that he was a powerful swimmer we doubted if we should ever see him again, but after what seemed minutes he reappeared, battling furiously with the flood that sought to sweep him into the maelstrom. We threw him a line and dragged him ashore. In his mouth he held the precious nest, a young bird, drowned, still clinging to the grass lining.
Later, and under circumstances hardly less thrilling, we found other birds and nests with both eggs and young, but we took only those that were absolutely necessary. The others, and there were many, we left to the eternal mystery of the wilderness, to dance in the shadows and to woo their mates beside the rushing waters; to rear their young and to lead the life that was intended for them from the beginning.
CHAPTER VII
CROSSING THE EASTERN ANDES INTO THE CAQUETÁ
Of the many little-known places in South America, the least known lie eastward of the eastern base of the Andes. One such region is the Caquetá of Colombia. We had been considering the feasibility of undertaking a trip into this country, but the departure for home of my companion, Doctor Allen, and Mr. Lloyd, from San Agustin, left me alone in the field, and I doubted the advisability of taking the journey without their assistance. From all the information I could gather, the crossing of the Eastern Range presented great difficulties and would have to be accomplished on foot. The rainy season had set in, adding to the difficulties of travel. Also, the rivers were swollen to such an extent that there was danger of our being stopped at any one of them; or, far worse, of being unable to recross them upon our return. However, a nearer view invariably changes the perspective, so I determined to approach the region as near as possible, gather all the data available, and then follow the course that seemed best.
Accordingly, we bade a reluctant farewell to San Agustin one Sunday morning. The entire village turned out to see us depart and gave us numerous tokens of their good-will and friendship in the form of embroidered handkerchiefs, panama hats, food, and pets. An old Indian solemnly presented me with a small monkey, which he said could cry if spanked thoroughly; he offered to give a demonstration of the creature’s accomplishment, but I assured him that his word was sufficient. A parrot was contributed by another person who said it would be good company, as it “conversed” well. The Vaya con Dios! of these simple, honest folk was touching, and we took away with us only the most pleasant memories and friendliest feeling.
After a three days’ ride through level plains and gently rolling grasslands we forded the Rio Suaza and drew rein in the town of Guadaloupe. It stands at the foot of the Cordillera Oriental. A trail was being constructed from this point across the mountains and into Amazonian drainage; however, work had little more than begun, and the reports of the route we had from the villagers were not very encouraging.
There was nothing of particular interest about the village. We moved to a site known as La Danta three thousand five hundred feet up the slope. There was abundant woods all around in which we hunted with good results nearly three weeks.
One day a party of Indians made camp on the bank of a creek not far from La Danta, and immediately built a rock and mud dam across the little waterway. Then they crushed a great many leaves of the yucca-plant and threw them into the stream. The milky juice quickly mingled with the water, and soon scores of catfish came to the top, stupefied by the poison, and floating on their backs. They were gathered by the basketful and taken away by the Indians. These catfish, living in rapid mountain streams, are provided with a sucking disk which enables them to attach themselves to a rock to rest; otherwise they would be washed down stream, as they are not very powerful swimmers.