In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

The slope is less abrupt than on the western side. On the second night a palm-leaf lean-to called El Paraiso was reached. The elevation was two thousand four hundred and twenty-five feet. A number of bedraggled and discontented laborers had erected this shelter and said they would stay there without doing another stroke of work until their pay, several months overdue, should arrive. Perhaps they are still camping there, unless the prospect of starving to death forced them to move, as we had heard several times that the foremen were in the habit of drawing the money for all the men under them, and then decamping for parts unknown.

Beyond “the paradise” the way lay through a region that might well be called El Infierno. There was an unbroken succession of pools and sinks so that we struggled onward hour after hour through water and thin mud several feet deep. Contrary to our expectations, we had been able to use the mules for very light packs on parts of the previous day’s journey; but now they floundered and caused so much trouble, that we heartily regretted not having left them behind.

On the following days the country was dotted with steep, rocky foot-hills, alternated with deep, muddy depressions. Rain fell almost continuously, but it served to keep away troublesome insects. The peons were cheerful withal and seemed to enjoy the experience in spite of the hard work. However, it was with a feeling of relief that we emerged from the mountainous country and entered a stretch of level forest, the elevation of which was one thousand feet. From the edge of this “plateau” we had our first view of the Caquetá—a perfect ocean of forest stretching out ahead as far as the eye can see, which on clear days is a distance of many miles. The sight is most impressive. Not a single rise is visible above the uniform expanse of green, as the trees appear to be all of the same height.

We stopped at the first native hut encountered, which was but a ten-minute walk from the settlement of Florencia. There was a clearing of considerable size; the greater part of it was overgrown with grass and weeds, but there were also fields of cane and plantains. The latter were the finest I have ever found in all South America—eighteen inches long and sweeter and better flavored than the best bananas. It was almost impossible to grow sugar-cane in any quantity; capibaras were abundant along the streams and made nightly inroads on the plantation, devastating large areas on each visit.

The great Amazonian forest extending on all sides was full of surprising sounds emanating from a fauna entirely new to us. For the first time we heard the clear, ringing whistle of the “false bell-bird” (Lathria cinerea). The penetrating whoo-ee-whee-oo filled the woods with music as the birds called to one another, but the obscurely colored singers were hard to see among the dark branches. The song contains several low, churring notes that are lost from a distance.

The abundance and variety of wild life was so great as to almost bewilder us and we worked day and night preparing the wealth of material that came into our hands. Working conditions were most unfavorable; it rained daily; sand-flies took away a great deal of the pleasure that each day brought in the form of new and interesting creatures, while mosquitoes and fleas insisted on gaining an entrance under the nets and making the nights disagreeable. Every member of the expedition suffered from malaria during our entire stay in the Caquetá region. Notwithstanding these handicaps, we lost not a single day, and the collections rapidly grew to record-breaking size.

It was, of course, necessary to depend to a certain extent upon native hunters. They were always carefully instructed as to the area they should visit and how to work it; from the results they obtained I could usually tell whether directions had been followed. One of these cazadores was a lazy, thoroughly good-natured half-breed named Abrán. He came in daily with a tale of woe, recounting in detail the great distance he had covered, the hardships of such a long tramp through the jungle, and—bringing few specimens. I pretended to believe his stories, knowing full well all the while that he had really selected a comfortable spot a mile or so away and then settled down on a log for a quiet day of smoking and day-dreaming. When any animal came within sight he shot it. In this manner he secured many of the shy, ground-haunting species, such as rails, tinamou, and ant-birds that one seldom sees while moving about through the forest. This was exactly what I wanted. It is all but impossible to find a native hunter with patience enough to sit and wait for these things, so while Abrán thought he was playing an easy game, he was in reality the most valuable peon in the outfit. His brother Moisés was of the opposite temperament; he walked many miles each day and considered it beneath his dignity to shoot anything but large, brilliantly colored birds, such as parrots, macaws, cotingas, and tanagers, or monkeys—in short, game worthy of a man’s efforts. The two brothers made an ideal combination.

Tree-fern, typical of the Andean forests.

Moisés had spoken frequently about a marvellous bird called tente which he said was found in the region, and of which he was determined to secure one as a pet for the patrón. One day he brought in a queer, frightened little creature—all legs and neck—that he proudly introduced as the tente. It was a young trumpeter (Psophia). After being tied up a few days it grew very tame and was given full liberty about the place. It walked slowly and in dignified fashion, catching flies and pecking at insects on the ground or walls; but if a dog should chance to pass near by it darted at it with outspread wings, making a loud, rumbling sound deep down in its breast; the dog always fled in terror. The bird increased rapidly in size and before long the beautiful metallic-blue throat-feathers appeared. When we emerged from the hammocks in the early mornings it was always there to greet us with low bows, spread wings, and deep murmurings. In travelling, a large-meshed fibre bag served as its container; upon being turned loose when camp was made, it first carefully dried its plumage before the fire, then strutted around a while, and finally flew into the branches of the nearest tree to spend the night. We kept this interesting little pet until our departure from Colombia, and then gave it to an acquaintance in Neiva, where it was well cared for.