In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

The Hilo de Oro at the end of the voyage.

While waiting for a boat of ample size to take us up the river to San Fernando de Atabapo, we had time to explore the surrounding country and to visit the rapids, three in number, which obstruct the river. The woods are wonderful beyond description; most of the trees are gnarled and low, as if grown under the guiding hand of a skilful Japanese gardener, and have the appearance of being hundreds of years old. Stunted spiny palms rear their crowns here and there, and an occasional tangle of red-flowered creepers forms an umbrella-like mass on the tip of some slender, dead stub. The ground is sprinkled with rocks of fantastic shapes, and some are of enormous size, rising in needle-like, fluted columns, or as the crumbling tiers of massive walls amid the curiously distorted vegetation. Along the river are other masses of rock, but of an entirely different formation; we saw caves and grottos, and ledges honeycombed with hundreds of pot-holes exposed by the low water.

Beyond the woods are large areas of cacti, pineapples, and low, thorny bushes, springing from crevices in the granite ledges. Bird life is abundant and varied. Quail and red-breasted meadow-larks occupy the open country, as well as a species of the much-sought tinamou; but a bird that proved to be the most interesting was a small, obscure individual called nunlet or swallow-wing. All day long the little creature, about the size of a king-bird, black above and gray below, with a saffron band across the throat, sits on the top of some dead tree, seemingly asleep; but let a fly or an insect of almost any kind pass along and the bird immediately becomes charged with activity and darts into the air in hot pursuit, catches its victim, and returns to its perch with graceful flits of the wings. It remains on the same twigs for hours, and usually returns day after day. If a stick is thrown at it the little creature flies away and comes back again and again. But stupid as the bird appears to be, it is nevertheless a skilful architect. I have seen them dig perfectly round holes deep into a bank of sand so loose that the whole mass would crumble at my touch; while one bird digs with much scratching and working of wings, the mate sits on a branch near by and gives a twitter of alarm upon the approach of danger. Some members of the family build a huge pile of twigs on the entrance to their burrow to hide it. At the end of the tunnel, a foot or two back, the snow-white eggs are laid upon a thin layer of straw and feathers.

The highest falls in the river are known as Carretia, and are supposed to be about thirty feet high; they block the eastern channel of the river, here divided into two branches by the immense Isla de Raton. In the western arm the Raudal del Conejo and Raudal Saltinero effectively block this watercourse to navigation. It is said that the Spaniards built a road from Atures to the foot of the Cerro Sipapo above the falls of Carretia, and that the Indians still follow this route occasionally. If true, this was doubtless a great convenience, as it did away with the necessity of navigating some fifty-odd miles of the most difficult and dangerous waterway of the entire river.

A large boat called piragua was obtained at Maipures, and in this the expedition travelled to San Fernando de Atabapo in six days’ time. The river is dotted with a number of islands, the largest being the great Isla de Raton, all heavily forested; the current is frequently so strong that no headway could be made either by rowing or poling the heavy boat. At such times a thick cable of the braided fibre of a palm called chiquechique had to be requisitioned, and everybody walked on the bank, dragging the boat slowly along. The very first day the man in the lead ran into a bushmaster fully eight feet long, and narrowly escaped the vicious thrust of the deadly reptile; a charge of shot soon put an end to the creature’s menacing career, but the men jumped into the boat and did not want us to take along the dead snake, or they said its mate would be sure to follow and inflict a terrible revenge for the loss of its companion; this kind of superstition is very common among the natives on the Orinoco. Few of them would dare shoot a jaguar, as they firmly believe that for every one slain a member of their own family would be carried away by one of the huge spotted cats.

The country on the Colombian side, from below Atures onward, is level llano, covered with a good growth of grass, and with an abundance of water. Some day, no doubt, and in the near future, numerous herds of cattle will graze in the rich pasturage awaiting them, and another source will be added to the world’s limited supply of meat. A fringe of trees grows along the river; among them are the valuable “cachicamo” and “cedro,” the trunks of which are frequently fashioned into canoes by the natives.

The Vichada, at this season, had dwindled down until at its mouth it was not more than a hundred yards wide. We could see a range of hills far to the west, dimly outlined against the sky and finally fading into obscurity in the haze; in this direction the river has its origin. Several Piaroa families had settled near the junction of the two rivers and built a large hut of palm-leaves and grass. The men lounged in their hammocks all day long, drinking rum and fighting the clouds of sand-flies which feasted on their half-naked bodies; at night they crossed to one of the numerous sand-banks and collected basketsful of turtle eggs and also as many turtles as their canoes would hold. Some of their canoes were mere shells, so small that we could never learn how to negotiate them; no matter how quietly we sat they upset as soon as pushed out into the current, but an Indian or even two would calmly squat down in the bottom, take up their paddles, and glide away without the least concern.

The women were making cassava bread; after the tubers (Manihot utilissima) are ground and the juice has been extracted a thin layer of the coarse meal is spread on the bottom of a shallow pan about three feet in diameter; the heat causes the particles to adhere, forming a tough, round wafer which can be turned without breaking; it is thoroughly baked on both sides. When cold it hardens, and the huge slabs are then done up in bundles of twenty to forty each, tied up in plantain leaves, and in this way it can be kept indefinitely. This is the bread of the Orinoco, and is always carried as the main article of provision by Indians and travellers alike; when needed pieces are broken off, dipped in the river to soak a few minutes and then eaten. While not particularly appetizing, the slightly acid flavor is not unpleasant, and if there is time to freshly toast it just before using it is really quite palatable. Another article commonly prepared by the Piaroas is the bark of a certain tree, called “tabari.” Long, narrow strips are cut from the trees and alternately soaked in water and beaten between rocks until the thin layers separate into tissue-like sheets; these are used in rolling cigarettes.

One of the granite ledges flanking the river just above the Piaroa dwelling bears on its surface a number of curious figures, carved in the face of the rock; unfortunately the water was so low that we passed far beneath them, and I was unable to make out just what they were; but the canoemen who had seen them a number of times said they were figures of men and date back to prehistoric times.