In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Dabeiba on the Rio Sucio.

Dabeiba, our first objective, was reached the third day after leaving Buriticá. As we gained the summit of the last ridge, a wonderful view lay before our eyes. The little town, composed of whitewashed houses with red-tile roofs, glistened in a flat valley carpeted with the softest green. On one side a river, called the Rio Sucio, raged and fumed over a rock-encumbered bed; fields of cotton dotted its banks, the snowy bolls and yellow blossoms almost obliterating the large green leaves. Forested hills enclosed the peaceful view as with a protecting hand which would shield it from the terrors of the frigid Andes on one side, and the steaming Atrato lowlands on the other. In this garden spot we decided to remain, but our arrival was nearly marked by a tragedy. On account of the noonday heat I had tucked a towel under my hat which, hanging down in the back provided, in a measure, protection from the hot sun. One of our peons, in a spirit of fun, told several small boys we chanced to meet that I was the bishop come to pay the town a visit; the urchins rushed into the road and prostrated themselves at my horse’s feet, imploring a benediction. Fortunately the animal took fright at this unusual occurrence and bolted to one side before it could be restrained, narrowly avoiding trampling the kneeling forms in its path.

At Dabeiba we made the acquaintance of a tribe of interesting Indians—the Cuñas. They lived in banana-leaf huts, scattered over a wide area, but spent most of the time in town, looking into open doorways, begging for rum, or standing in silent groups on the street corners. They are a short, well-knit people of a dark-brown color. When in the forest they wear a breech-cloth only; but the priest has provided them with large muslin sheets that they promptly dyed a dirty-brown hue with achiote seeds, which they wear while in town. They also wore heavy necklaces of silver coins, and bunches of weeds tied about the neck for charms. At first sight it appeared as if they had no teeth, but further scrutiny revealed the fact that their dental equipment was perfect, though colored black from the juice of a fruit which they chew continuously. The body is liberally besmeared with grease—especially before they enter the river to bathe, so that the water rolls off as from a duck’s back. One of the men was entirely covered with star-shaped marks of a deep-blue color which had been stamped on with a die made of wood. They spoke practically no Spanish, but were a friendly lot and enjoyed being photographed.

In order to reach the best hunting-ground, it was necessary to go to the other side of the river, but this was not difficult owing to the fact that a raft ferry was available. Birds were plentiful about the outskirts of the town, though of species common to open country and easy to observe in more accessible regions; we therefore spent the greater part of our time in the forest.

One of our first and most interesting discoveries was a species of pigmy motmot (Hylomanes). It is no larger than a sparrow and has a very short tail in contrast to the long “pendulum” tails of the better-known varieties. This little blue-and-green bird lived in the dense vegetation on the steep slopes, and when several flocked together they joined in a loud, cackling chorus at frequent intervals.

The cotton-fields sheltered a varied fauna. Hummingbirds came to the blossoms, and numbers of fat, red insects resembling potato-bugs lived among the drooping white fibre of the opened pods. Doves ran over the ground, and small rodents had their burrows at the base of the thick stems.

While at Dabeiba we met one of the most delightful Colombians—a type which I am afraid is vanishing, even as the forests and virgin wilds disappear before the onslaughts of civilization. He had but recently penetrated farther into the wilderness, cleared a few acres of ground and erected a humble cabin of bamboo and wild banana leaves; to this he urged us to come for as long a time as we should care to remain; so one morning we gathered together the most essential articles of our equipment and tramped through the intervening eight miles of jungle to his home. The beauty of the forest is indescribable; and wild life was so abundant that by the time our journey’s end was reached we had attained such a stage of thrilling expectancy it was difficult to restrain our enthusiasm for the few hours needed to seek shelter indoors from an approaching storm. The shrill cries of parrots cleft the air; trogons cooed plaintively; toucans yelped and rattled; and from all sides came the whush-whush-whush of giant orioles’ wings as the black-and-yellow forms hurried by to seek their pendent nests swaying dizzily from the branches of some giant ceiba towering regally above the unbroken forest.

While we waited for the storm to subside, the cook shelled corn and then, placing it in a wooden mortar together with a handful of ashes, began to pound it to remove the skins. This operation required about half an hour, so frequently she paused to rest; but no sooner had she deserted her post than a swarm of cargador ants invaded the receptacle, and the first intimation we had of their presence was when a file of white kernels began to descend the side of the mortar and cross the floor at our feet. How the small insects are able to carry the large, heavy grains is a mystery. The burden weighs many times as much as the ant which bears it, and almost hides it from view. Later, we saw swarms of the same species at work in the clearing; they cut sections from the edges of corn leaves by digging one mandible into the leaf for a secure hold, and then rip toward it with the other; the cut is always circular. Most of the insects worked from right to left, but one out of every five seemed to be “left-handed” and worked in the opposite direction. When the section of leaf is detached it is dexterously swung over the cutter’s back, and away it marches with the green banner waving aloft. In addition to carrying this load, several small ants often mount on the leaf for a free ride to the nest.

That night another denizen of the wilds invaded the house; as we sat quietly in front of the hut listening to a shrill, uncanny oh-ho-ho-ho-ho coming from the forest, and which the natives said was the mating call of the three-toed sloth, but which we recognized as the song of a giant frogmouth or goatsucker, a cat owned by the family began to cut queer capers about the fireplace. A light revealed a good-sized bushmaster making its way across the kitchen floor. Whether the reptile had been attracted by the warm glow of the embers—for the rain had been followed by a decided drop in temperature—or had entered the structure to forage for mice, I do not know; but fortunately the cat had discovered its presence in time to prevent some one from stepping on it, and was striking at it playfully with its paws. After that the cook slept on a bench instead of on the earth floor, as had been her custom.

Our daily excursions took us far into the forest which invested the low, rounded hills in all directions. There were few trails, but a lack of undergrowth made walking easy. On one of our first hunting expeditions we found the rare ground-cuckoo (Neomorphus), a beautiful iridescent greenish-black bird which, on account of its terrestrial habits, has nearly lost the power of flight. Once before, I had seen this bird, and that was on the upper Orinoco, near the foot of Mount Duida. There the single individual was engaged in a curious game of tag with a tinamou; the birds chased one another about on the leaf-strewn ground, over logs, and through the underbrush, and jumped over one another’s back as if playing leap-frog. We also found the flat-billed motmot in considerable numbers. These birds usually clung to the lianas drooping in festoons and loops above the small mountain brooks, and were exceedingly stupid and unsuspicious. They uttered no note, and sat motionless many minutes at a time, silhouetted like dark, ragged spectres on their perches. Among the moss or green leaves their color blended well with the surroundings, and we doubtless passed numbers without being aware of their presence.