Next morning, after paddling an hour and a half, we reached the watersmeet of the Potaro and the Chenapowu creek. This is the limit of navigation, for the Chenapowu is blocked by tacoubas and cataracts, and the Potaro itself, a short distance above Chenapowu, is impeded by serious rapids. The river being low had been favourable for our upstream journey, and we covered the thirty miles from Kaietuk to Chenapowu in ten and a half hours’ actual paddling. River travel is, of course, always governed by the state of the river; and Mr. Menzies told us that once in time of abnormally high flood he made the whole journey downstream from Chenapowu to Kangaruma, a distance of fifty miles, between sunrise and sunset. We, on our way back, there being then about three feet more water in the river than on our way up, paddled from Chenapowu to Kaietuk in six and a half hours; but we were far indeed from approaching Mr. Menzies’ record. At Chenapowu several trails from the highlands converge, and it was here that an old Swedish gentleman, Dr. Carl Bovallius, some years ago made a settlement which he called Holmia. He cleared a hundred acres of land and built himself a house, admirably situated on a knoll overlooking the watersmeet of the Potaro and Chenapowu, furnished his home with every comfort, and began a trade in balata with the Indians of the neighbourhood. Mr. Menzies did the transport work for him, and by his direction explored the forest trails to find a short-cut to the highland savannahs. It was thus that he found “Menzies’ Line,” which balata-laden Indians could travel in two days, and which is certainly a capital path from the Potaro to the highlands. We ourselves travelled over it. Its length was estimated by Dr. Bovallius’ foreman to be thirty-two miles; but, as the track is now interrupted by fallen trees, it must be somewhat longer, for détours have to be made to avoid all the bigger obstacles.
It is unfortunate that Dr. Bovallius did not come here as a younger man. He was over seventy years of age when he began his enterprise; and, though he lived to be seventy-eight, yet time was lacking for him to establish his work on firm foundations. When he died, the Indians carried off everything that could possibly be removed, and his entire clearing is now covered by secondary growth and the horrible “congo-pump,” which, bearing a ghastly resemblance to rubber, grows habitually wherever a clearing in the primeval forest has once been, and mocks at abandoned human endeavour. We could, however, still see traces of the roads and bridges which Dr. Bovallius had made, and a small corrugated-iron powder-store remains in good repair. Of the house at Holmia nothing is left save the four main posts and a few panes of glass scattered on the ground.
We approached Chenapowu in some anxiety, for at this point we were to leave the waterways and begin our long march overland; and it was here that Mr. Menzies had instructed the Makusis of the highlands to meet us as baggage-carriers. He fully believed that the Makusis understood and meant to execute his instructions, until, just before we got there, Johnny of Puwa observed casually that his people “Chenapowu side no come.” Unfortunately, on arrival, we found that Johnny had spoken but too truly, for at Chenapowu we found no one but John Williams, a tall Patamona, attired only in loin-cloth, knife, and belt, who, with his wife and children, was the sole inhabitant of Holmia. He came down to our boat and insisted on shaking hands with us, saying very firmly and politely, “How do you do?” but he equally firmly said, “Me no carry load.” In these depressing circumstances the only thing to be done was to camp for the time being on the site of Dr. Bovallius’ house. We never discovered why the Makusis had failed us; for, when we eventually reached the highlands, they were all eagerly awaiting us and most anxious to be of use; but it did not seem to have occurred to them that their services would be needed in the forest. Of course, explanations with a people whose best interpreters understand only a bare dozen words of the English language and can speak but half as many are apt to miscarry. Anyway, the Makusis were not there, and we were faced by a forest trek of thirty odd miles, with carriers insufficient to make the attempt. It was a difficult and unpleasant position.
As soon as the boats had been unloaded, and camp made at Holmia, we sent off two Indians, Robert and Hubbard by name, to Arnik village, which in Dr. Bovallius’ time was some two and a half hours’ walk from Holmia, and whence he supplied himself with ground provisions. We instructed these men to make great haste, and to induce as many as possible of the men of Arnik to return with them at once, bringing cassava for the forest journey, and we hoped to make an early start next day. Our stores were packed in the powder-house, and we sat down to await the arrival of the Arnik people with what patience we could muster, by the help of Sir George Trevelyan’s Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay. Our camp, shut in by congo-pump and dense secondary growth, was most unattractive. There were no mosquitoes—indeed, we never saw mosquitoes after Rockstone during our whole journey. But other horrible insects, such as cow-flies, sand-flies, and ticks, made life a burden. The day dragged wearily by and night fell with the usual heavy rain, but without any sign of the Arnik people or of our messengers. Early next morning Mr. and Mrs. John Williams called with their two children. Mrs. Williams wore a bead apron and had tattoo marks on her face and body. They asked for sugar; but John had been so little helpful that we did not feel in the mood to be very generous with that precious commodity, and consequently only gave a teaspoonful to each child, whereupon the family, apparently offended, disappeared into the forest and we saw them no more. All day we waited for the men of Arnik to arrive, but no one appeared; and when, as daylight died, heavy rain again began to fall, and we had finally to give up all hope of starting next morning, we felt thoroughly depressed and miserable. Before going to bed it was decided that at dawn Mr. Menzies should make a start, with all our Indians and as many loads as they could carry; take them to Akrabanna creek, where the trail to Arnik branches off from “Menzies’ Line”; should there deposit the loads at the junction of the trails, send the Indians back to us to be ready for further service, and himself go on to Arnik to ascertain the position. The inroad being made on our food-supplies, without our getting any nearer to the savannah plenty, was beginning to cause us great anxiety.
Next morning Mr. Menzies set off early, as arranged, with all the Indians, leaving Haywood as our only camp attendant. Haywood’s optimism and cheerfulness were unfailing, but even Macaulay failed to cheer us as the long hours crawled by. Heavy rain fell at intervals, and, imprisoned by sodden forest on all sides, the position was certainly not enlivening. During some hours we hoped that Mr. Menzies might return, having met the men of Arnik in the way; but we were disappointed, and
The weary day dragged to its rest
Lingering like an unloved guest.
Late in the afternoon nine of the Indians returned with a note from Mr. Menzies which informed us that Arnik village had been shifted to a considerable distance from its former site, but that he was going thither with one man, leaving two to guard the loads, and sending the others back to us. He suggested that we should move to Akrabanna next day, with as much of the baggage as the nine men could carry, and meet him there. This not very cheery epistle still comforted us much, because it accounted for Amik’s delay, and our spirits also rose at the prospect of moving on. After an early supper we had gone to bed with a bright camp-fire to cheer us, when we heard a shout, and then beheld the joyful sight of Mr. Menzies with a lamp, followed by Robert and Hubbard and a line of seven men and three women. As they filed past our tarpaulin, the firelight gleaming upon their naked brown bodies, I could have cried for joy. Mr. Menzies had met the men of Arnik on the trail before he reached the site of their new village; and it appeared that Robert and Hubbard had got there on the night of the day they left us, but had found all the men away hunting. A day had been spent in palaver and in making cassava for the journey, and therefore not until the morning of the third day did such hunters as had returned set out with our messengers for Holmia. With anxiety much relieved, we calmed our emotions and went to sleep. Heavy rain fell all night.
We struck camp early in the morning of the 31st December, 1915, and a walk of twenty minutes up the left bank of the Chenapowu creek brought us to the point where the Tumong trail branches off to the west. All previous travellers to Mount Roraima, via the Potaro, had gone by the Tumong trail; and, according to their accounts, it is by no means a good one. But we continued along the Chenapowu, and after another fifteen minutes forded the Wong creek, its tributary, while a further quarter of an hour brought us to the point where the Chenapowu creek itself is spanned by two tacoubas, for crossing at low water and at high water respectively. The silver-sand bottoms of these creeks contrast prettily with the deep amber bush water. Thence an ascent over a couple of low hillocks brought us after a walk of one hour and seventeen minutes from Holmia to a clearing on a bracken-covered sand-hill above the right bank of the Akrabanna creek, where there had once been a Patamona village, and where now the line to Arnik branches off eastwards from our trail. The Akrabanna falls into the Chenapowu, which latter creek, though invisible in the dense forest, continued on our right hand, until we saw it again five hours’ march farther on at its watersmeet with the Sirani-baru creek.
It was delightful to be up and doing, and we enjoyed our walk to Akrabanna very much. On Mr. Menzies’ recommendation, we had equipped ourselves with rubber sole canvas boots, and we found them most comfortable and practicable. Our feet were always getting wet, since we had constantly to wade across streams, but canvas dries quickly without getting stiff, and the rubber sole is a great safeguard against slipping. Moreover, it is possible to feel through it the nature of the ground underfoot, and whether it is likely to bear one or not. Forest trails are a mass of tangled roots covered by deceptive layers of fallen leaves, and one must, therefore, concentrate one’s attention upon one’s feet. To glance up even for half a minute, without first standing still, invariably results in a stumble or in goring the feet upon some spiky stump; but the path is springy underfoot, and it is possible to walk long hours without fatigue. Nevertheless, the monotony of forest trek is extreme. Generally you cannot see twenty yards in front of you. Indians walk so silently that sometimes the long file of carriers appears noiselessly and suddenly at one’s side, when one had perhaps believed them to be some distance behind. They do not speak on the line of march, and they move their feet very carefully, seldom cutting them. We soon became quite adept ourselves at walking quickly without stumbling, and at clambering over the fallen trees that barred our progress every few yards. It would not, I think, be possible for a woman to negotiate these trails in a skirt, for not only would it hamper her greatly in surmounting the continual obstacles, but it would at once become sodden with water from the dripping trees and bushes, and from the perpetual fording of streams, when water often rises nearly to the knees. I wore knickerbockers and puttees, and found myself able to move very quickly and easily.