We arrived by starlight; and, whilst the baggage was being carried up to the rest-house and supper made ready, I lay in my hammock watching an exquisite moon rising from out the million tree-tops of the forest, with a foreground of dimly shining river. The music of falling water filled the air, and the stars gleamed like great lamps hung athwart the night. Wherever we may in future travel, a hammock shall always accompany me. It enables one to be made as comfortable as possible in two minutes, though for sleeping at nights we must confess to being luxurious enough to require camp-beds. To our delight, we each of us needed a warm blanket that night; and, when you have scarcely used the lightest blanket for two years, it is a real luxury to enjoy a good heavy one again. Rain fell all night long, and at dawn heavy mist-wreaths lay about the hills.
Mount Sakwai on Potaro River near Tukeit.
Watersmeet of Potaro and Amuk Rivers at Amatuk, showing Mount Kenaima on right and Mount Kukui in centre above river-mist.
Amatuk is the gateway to the beautiful Kaietuk Gorge. Looking upstream from the bay below the fall, we saw towering on one side the peak of Kenaima Mountain, and on the other side the vertical cliff-face of Mount Kukui. Just above Amatuk the Potaro emerges from between these mountains, and is at once joined from the right by the Amuk creek, which also flows in a narrow gorge, so blocked by huge boulders and so difficult of access that it has never yet been explored. Streams, which are almost better spoken of as cascades, spring down the faces of the cliffs, gleaming like white threads against the red sandstone. Another hint is thus given of the Roraima leit-motif which rules the land. We had, indeed, throughout our wanderings the impression of a mighty symphony. The wondrous Kaietuk Fall was the first movement whose introduction began with Amatuk. Thereafter we realized that several days of river and forest journey were but the transition passages to a movement of shining tablelands, whose jasper-bedded rivers repeat everywhere the same leit-motif, though with a myriad tiny variations, for all the streams of the highland savannahs tumble in cascades down vertical faces into a succession of pools, while long-sought-for and much-dreamt-of Roraima, with his cliffs over a thousand feet in height rising out of primeval forest, standing on his pedestal of rolling savannah uplands, with waterfalls leaping from his mysterious flat-topped summit, forms a magnificent résumé and finale of the whole.
Next morning, whilst the stores and baggage were being portaged from the bay below Amatuk to another boat moored above the falls, we had leisure to study the beauty of the cataract. The river was low, so we made our way to the edge of the water over rocks generally covered by the rushing stream as it changes from the normal dark—almost black—flow of its peaceful progress to the amber swirl and creamy spray of coming excitement. These diabase rocks are all flat-topped and deeply fissured, and they contain here and there curious “jigs,” made by pebbles swept round and round in some tiny whirlpool, till, as the long ages pass, they dig for themselves deep circular holes. These “jigs” are eagerly explored by the diamond prospectors, as sometimes they contain precious stones. I baled out one such deep, dark hole with the help of a Makusi, and obtained a plateful of extremely pretty pebbles, all tiny and agleam with many different colours, rose-red, turquoise-blue, pieces of malachite-green, and many a shining speck of quartz to raise my hopes. I felt that to be the actual winner of a real diamond, however small, would be a delightful experience; but my pebbles, although pronounced by the authority of Mr. Menzies and Haywood to be “good diamond indication,” did not, in spite of their intrinsic beauty, harbour any stray speck of real value. Nevertheless, I feel that diamonds will always have an added charm for me when I think of them as gifts from that lovely land of unknown streams and as the ornaments of Nature herself.
We spent a delightful three hours paddling upstream to the next portage at Waratuk, surrounded by the wonderful scenery of the gorge. Rain fell in little misty veils of shower; and exquisite forest fragrance, wafted to us from the banks, was strong enough to overpower even the smell of salt beef and pork which emanated from our provisions. Potaro here flows between flat-topped cliffs towering on both sides about a thousand feet above their own reflections, mirrored in the black water. The hidden bases of the hills are clothed in forest, while their sides are grim precipices, revealing overhangs of castellated rock and toppling crags with great fissures and clefts, wild and wondrous to behold.
At about noon we reached Waratuk, where another portage is necessary. This is a much smaller cataract than Amatuk. In fact, at high river, boats going downstream can run it, whereas no one would dream of running Amatuk, in the centre of which is a vertical drop. On the right bank at Waratuk stands a little shelter with corrugated iron roof, supported by wallaba posts. Under its cover we lunched, or rather took “breakfast,” as the midday meal is invariably called in this Colony; and at 2 p.m., when all our stores had been portaged, we set off again in another smaller craft known as the “parson’s boat,” used by the Church of England for the missionaries who at one time travelled up the Potaro to mission-stations, now abandoned.