In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

The nights are delightful in Cali. A refreshing wind springs up soon after sundown; the military band plays in the plaza, lights twinkle and the breeze sighs through the royal palms and orange-trees scattering broadcast snowy petals and heavy perfume. Only the gente are admitted into this little fairy-land. Gayly dressed and highly-rouged women, clothed in the extreme of fashion, parade along the winding walks; but it is considered in bad taste for them to appear without an escort. The poorer class, ragged and barefooted, gathers outside the iron fence and peers through the bars; the children run and play noisily on the neighboring streets. At last the bells in the cathedral boom the hour of ten; the band plays the national anthem, when every one stands, the men with uncovered heads. Then the crowd disperses quietly and orderly. Soon the town is wrapped in slumber with only the sighing wind and the occasional shrill blasts of police whistles to disturb the drowsy solitude.

It was said, that Cali had a population of forty thousand, but that figure doubtless included the populace of the suburban districts for a considerable distance. The city is bound to grow, however, on account of its favorable location in the fertile Cauca Valley, which is one of the garden spots of all South America.

The Cauca River is about four miles distant from the city, and the settlement of Guanchito is located on the river-bank. A little toy-like train makes frequent trips back and forth between the two points because the puerto, as Guanchito is commonly called, is of real importance. Steamers and launches from Cartago take on and discharge passengers and freight, and many rafts laden with green plantains and produce arrive daily. The village presents a scene of great activity during the morning hours; clusters of ragged little booths, like mushrooms, have sprung up during the hours of darkness where women, squatting under the shambling shelters, cook sancocho over charcoal braziers; files of peons hurry back and forth as they transfer the cargoes from rafts and canoes to the waiting freight-cars; and there is a great deal of good-natured raillery between the slovenly mozos who liberally patronize the eating and drinking places, and the stand-keepers who feign an air of coyness withal. Gradually, as the sun mounts higher the crowds grow thinner. Their morning’s work over, the people either depart via the waterway they had come, or take the train back to Cali.

An interesting ferry service is maintained at Guanchito. A stout steel cable has been strung across the river, and to a pulley running along it, two chains are fastened, their other ends being tied to either end of the boat. The latter is a huge, flat-bottomed affair, capable of holding many people and horses. Before starting across, the up-stream chain is shortened, so that the side of the boat presents a sharp angle to the current, and the craft is speedily pushed to the other side of the river.

Extensive marshes border the Cauca, a short distance above Guanchito. During the rainy season the water spreads over many miles of land, and is very deep; but in the dry season it recedes rapidly leaving a number of shallow and well-defined marshes and ponds. Wildfowl gathers in great numbers to spend the hottest months in these friendly havens. There were ducks of a number of species, including tree-ducks that make a shrill, whistling noise as they speed by and then drop on the ground near the marsh, to stand motionless and on the alert for possible danger before plunging into the water. Great gray herons croaked and waded sedately among the rushes, spearing frogs and fish as they went along. The horned screamer—a bird the size of a large turkey—is also an inhabitant of the marshes. It has rather long, but thick legs, that enable it to wade into fairly deep water, but also swims to floating islands of succulent water-plants which form a part of its food. The bird’s color is slaty black, the back being glossy; the belly is white; a horn, or caruncle, several inches long grows from the forehead and curves forward. The feathers are soft, and the tissues for half an inch under the skin are filled with air spaces; the natives say that this protects the bird from the bites of poisonous snakes, and it is not impossible that this pneumatic cushion could serve such a purpose, although it is hardly probable. The most remarkable thing about the bird, however, is its voice. Usually a pair sing together; they walk slowly back and forth, throw the head over the back, and emit powerful hoots, booms, and long-drawn, clear, ringing notes that, while harmonious and not unmusical, are nevertheless touched with pathos and conjure in one’s imagination a picture of some trammelled spirit of the wild yearning for redemption. Numerous small birds, mainly tyrant-flycatchers inhabit the thorny thickets growing out of the water, and build their huge grass nests within the safe barrier of thorn-armed branches.

The surrounding country of the Cauca Valley is fertile and productive of most of the things essential to the support of a contented and thriving populace. A great deal of the land is used for grazing cattle and horses, but it will soon become too valuable to use for this purpose on account of the limited amount available. A far greater revenue can be derived through cultivation.

Cattle grazing in the Cauca Valley.

Port of Guanchito.