Birds were extremely scarce and, strange to relate, exceedingly wary. Collecting them was heart-breaking work; the slopes are so steep, that it was impossible to walk many yards without becoming utterly exhausted, and tramping through the high, wet grass chilled the lower extremities to numbness. The slaty finch (Phrygilus) so common at Santa Isabel, and two species of honey-creepers (Diglossa) were by far the most common; followed by a queer, wren-like little bird (Scytalopus) called tapacola, which lives among the densest ferns and mosses; it was seldom seen, but a cheery whistle apprised us constantly of its presence. There was also a gorgeous humming-bird, the whole body being of the most resplendent, iridescent deep rose and green colors; we located a nest of this species, a tiny moss cup scarcely an inch across, suspended from a creeper dangling beneath a bower of protecting leaves; it held two minute eggs, so fragile that the mere touch of a finger would crush them.
One day we ascended the highest peak in order to obtain a good view of the surrounding country. The Paramillo rises like a rocky island, out of an ocean of forest. Clouds fill the depressions between the neighboring peaks, and surging, tumbling banks of white roll up the slopes or ascend in columns to spread out in funnel-shaped masses in the higher altitudes and become dissipated by the sun. To the southward rises the lofty Paramo of Frontino, many miles distant, the flat top dimly outlined in a grayish haze.
Toward the close of the tenth day, we heard loud calls and, soon after, our faithful porters dashed into camp. We were astonished at their number for, according to our agreement, only the original number was to return, there being no need for the trail-cutters; however, several additional men had arrived. Upon reaching the Paramillo, we had jestingly remarked that we should ascend the highest peak because we could perhaps see New York from the top; the extra men heard of this, and seriously explained that they had come to make the ascent in order to get a view of “Rome where the Holy Father lives!”
Early the next morning, we broke camp and started back. The homeward trip was much easier, for the packs were lighter, and the greater part of the distance was down-hill. After two days we emerged from the lower edge of the forest, and there was Don Julian and a delegation of natives waiting to convoy us back to Peque and welcome us home.
Don Julian provided horses for our return to Buriticá. They were unquestionably the poorest animals I had ever seen, and I disliked greatly to use them; but as no others were to be had it was a case of either taking the ones available or remaining in Peque for an indefinite period. However, they arrived safely in Buriticá after two days’ time, and having secured a new pack-train we started northwestward toward Atrato drainage.
Leaving the little town and the semiarid country surrounding it, we proceeded straight to the top of a ridge eight thousand feet high, where a narrow strip of forest grew; and then descended on the other side into the valley of the Rio Canasgordas. At this point the stream is a mere rivulet, but it widens rapidly and the fertile banks are planted in sugar-cane, maize, and bananas. Huts built of mud and grass, half concealed by orange-trees dot the narrow valley; near them half-naked, dark-skinned children, pigs, and chickens ran about in a care-free manner or stared at us as we passed.
Lower down the river is flanked by wide belts of tall bamboo. Birds were not particularly abundant, but occasionally we caught sight of a yellow-rumped tanager as the bird darted through the foliage; or heard the familiar kis-ka-dee of a tyrant-bird perched on some high branch to sing, and to wait for insect victims to come within range of its snapping, insatiable beak. We spent the first night in the town of Canasgordas, and the second in a dilapidated house known as Orobajo. The family living here was in great distress owing to an epidemic of some kind of virulent fever which had appeared in the district. There was no food in the house, with the exception of a few beans, but after scouring the neighborhood our cook succeeded in purchasing a hen and a dozen jarepas which we divided with the infirm family.
While waiting for supper we went on a tour of inspection over the premises and located a house-wren’s nest in the roof. It contained one young bird, and the people told us that the other had been killed by falling to the ground. Later we found several other nests of this species, but in no instance were there more than two eggs or birds in one nest. This fact is most interesting; in a temperate climate the house-wrens rear a large brood—eight being not an uncommon number of young; but near the equator two seemed to be the usual amount.
Below Orobajo the river is known as the Heradura. It flows past the village of Uramita, which was all but deserted. The fever that had invaded Orobajo had also visited this place and more than half the inhabitants had died. A few men were engaged in pumping salt water from shallow wells which was led in bamboo pipes to a battery of low pans where boiling evaporated the water and left the salt. So far as we could see there was no other industry in the town.
