In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

The remainder of the journey was through the heavily forested lowland; the last of the mountain ridges had been left behind.

During the dry season the caravans follow the courses of streams as much as possible. The water is low, and the wide, rocky margins serve as roads. This is far from being easy on the mules; the animals go stumbling and slipping along, but a good many miles are cut from the total length of the journey. Streams are encountered with frequency, and as one penetrates farther into the interior they become wider and deeper. We crossed not less than six fords in a single day, all between two hundred and three hundred feet wide, the water averaging from three to four feet deep. Although the current is strong, the mules are accustomed to this kind of work and usually manage to cross safely, often stopping in the deepest, swiftest spot to unconcernedly take a drink. Occasionally, however, one of the animals slips on a moss-covered boulder and falls; then it is a difficult matter to assist the drowning creature to his feet, as the swift water may roll him over, and the weight of the pack keeps him down. In any event, the least result of such an accident is the thorough saturation of everything in the pack, and this means a day’s loss of time while the soaked effects are spread out to dry. During the rainy season streams rise with startling rapidity, and parties have often been forced to camp on the river-bank many days until the water went down. To turn back is hopeless, as the last stream crossed is just as high as the one ahead; there is nothing to be done but wait.

The expedition in the Cuchicancha Pass.

Wild animals are particularly abundant in this section of the country. All day long we could hear the raucous scream of long-tailed, multicolored macaws (Ara) as they flew two by two overhead. Many hawks sat alertly on dead snags near the water, and black-and-white gulls flapped hurriedly up and down along the river. Occasionally we caught a glimpse of a small flock of muscovies, the largest of South American ducks, as the great, black birds flew heavily up-stream. There were also black guans, resembling small turkeys, which sat quietly in the tops of tall trees until we approached quite near to them; then, emitting a loud, mule-like bray, they set their wings and soared across the river or down into the underbrush. At night the forest was usually quiet, reminding one of “Pools of Silence.” Occasionally, however, the still air was suddenly rent by the most unearthly noise that mortal man ever heard, and the woods rang with the wild, insane cackle of forest-rails (Aramides). Beginning with a shrill oohoo-hee-cra, the demoniacal chorus continued several minutes without interruption, swelling constantly and finally ending with a few low, explosive cow-cow-cows. A number of birds always sang together, and the first time one hears the performance it is enough to make the flesh creep and the hair to stand on end; but even after becoming somewhat accustomed to the noise, it falls short of conducing to peaceful slumber, suggesting as it does the agonized shrieks of some tortured spirit of the jungle.

Night-monkeys (Douroucouli) were apparently plentiful, but we never saw them in the daytime. After darkness had fallen they began to move about in the tree-tops; one night a troop selected the tree under which we camped for the scene of their frolic, and kept us awake the greater part of the night. They jumped about in the branches, and from the swishing noises which reached us it was easy to imagine them enjoying a good swing up and down upon some particularly springy limb. They dropped leaves and twigs down upon the tent-fly, probably through accident, but perhaps prompted by the desire to find out if anything would happen. At frequent intervals they drew together in a close group to chatter in low, grunting tones, and then, coming to the conclusion that the queer-looking objects below them must be capable of performing some interesting action, again began to tempt fate by showering down more twigs and leaves.

In many places the receding water of the river had left isolated pools; these were teeming with fish of many species; some of them were of large size. A number which we caught had practically the entire tail and fins eaten off; their cannibalistic brethren had no doubt taken advantage of the circumstances in which they were all placed, and begun to devour them piecemeal, at their leisure.

The trees were tall and straight, and there was dense undergrowth near the rivers only. Mosses and epiphytes, so typical of the subtropical zone, were almost lacking, but frequently the wind brought the delightful fragrance of ripening vanilla-beans and the perfume of flowers. Great clusters of scarlet trumpetflowers dangled from the tips of slender vines, and from the tops of many of the trees drooped long garlands of huge white-and-blue flowers that resembled sweet peas; some of these blooms were two inches in diameter. There were also clumps of terrestrial orchids on some of the rocks, with slender spikes of deep purple flowers waving daintily under the impulse of each passing breeze.

Seven days after leaving Cochabamba we came suddenly upon the little cluster of grass and bamboo houses known as Todos Santos; there were exactly seven of them, two of which were of large size, partially enclosing a wide plot of ground carpeted with soft green grass. Tall forest hemmed in the settlement on three sides, and the Rio Chaparé, flowing through deep banks, formed the boundary on the fourth side.

The largest building was occupied by the corregidor, or federal agent, who generously provided us with accommodations; in addition to the several living-rooms there was an immense wareroom stored with hides, salt, and other articles of commerce. The remainder of the houses were occupied by families of Bolivians who possessed land or concessions in the neighborhood, and owned numbers of Indians of the Yuracaré tribe; these latter lived in long sheds built in the rear of the dwellings of the people they served. There was also a small church, but no shops of any description. In spite of its inconsiderable size, Todos Santos is a place of importance because it serves as an outlet for commerce from Cochabamba and Bolivia in general, and is the port of entrance for hides from Trinidad, and merchandise entering by way of the Amazon and Madeira-Mamoré Railroad. A small steamer, the Ana Catarina, was tied up against the bank, waiting for the water to rise sufficiently for her to proceed down the river; this boat plies more or less regularly between Todos Santos and Trinidad, and requires three days for the downward trip, and five days coming up. From Cochabamba to Trinidad is a distance of approximately two hundred and sixty-five miles, one hundred and sixty-five overland and one hundred on the river.