We lunched at Akrabanna and considered the situation, which was not particularly reassuring. We could reckon on but seven carriers from Arnik, for the three women had only come sightseeing and were about to return to their homes, each one having an infant with her. They were neat, squat little people, attired only in the bead queyu, or apron, and carrying their children on the hip. We had, therefore, only twenty-one carriers all told, and of these the nine Demerara River men were totally inefficient. Not a cheerful outlook! So we reluctantly resolved that it would not be advisable to travel that day beyond the Akrabanna camping-ground, some thirty minutes farther on, where we would open all the boxes containing stores and pack the contents in quakes, thus appreciably lightening the loads. Having come to this decision, we descended to the Akrabanna creek, which is wide and crossed by a primitive bridge in the shape of an enormous tree lying athwart the stream. This tacouba was rather slippery, but rubber soles steadied our feet, and we crossed it and many others without mishap. After that, we ascended some distance up a sharp incline and chose a very nice camping-ground. We found a level floor for our tarpaulin, while the steep slope below promised good drainage. The trees around were magnificent, and the rare sunshine made all look charming. Bell-birds, giving thanks for the fine weather, sounded their musical “ding-dong” everywhere.
After establishing ourselves with all our comforts about us and a good fire burning, we wandered downhill to look at the rest of the camp, which was made some distance below us. We saw the seven men of Arnik busily engaged on making quakes out of split palm-stalks, having already thatched themselves a little palm-leaf banaboo. They were fine, strongly-built fellows, destitute of clothing save a loin-cloth, but their skins are so nice and red that their whole effect is eminently in keeping with their surroundings. They have also a fine native dignity about them. On they went with their quake-making, cooking, etc., without troubling themselves at all about us as we stood watching their extraordinarily dexterous fingers, and they talked, cracked jokes, and told stories among themselves like a gay dinner-party at some club. No word of English could they speak, save their names, which were Samuel, George, Austin, William, etc. Our “civilized” Indians were mostly lounging in hammocks. This sort of droghing was not what they liked at all. After surveying the loads, we realized that some stuff must be left behind, and we decided to leave to their fate our two side-tarpaulins, in future using our carpet as a wind-break or screen when needed, and also to desert a couple of tins of salt which we carried as barter. Money was no more use once the Potaro-Konawaruk Road was behind us. Then we dined under our tarpaulin, that good fellow Haywood making nothing of running up and down the hill between us and his “kitchen” with the viands. We had for supper soup, rice, and potatoes, with fried sausage, tea, bread and jam. Our bread lasted very well in a tin till we were on the savannahs and could obtain cassava. We went to sleep with a bright fire burning, and very snug in our blankets. There was tremendous rainfall as usual all night.
New Year’s Day also began with rain; and, after some delay in redistributing loads, we set off, following two of our men, appropriately named Moses and Aaron, through the wilderness, whilst Mr. Menzies came behind with the rest. From the Akrabanna to the Sirani-baru our trail crossed no water at all, save two small brooks, both of which are within half an hour’s walk of the watersmeet of the Chenapowu and Sirani-baru. The path runs for two and a quarter hours’ march dead level along a plateau, sometimes narrowing to a ridge, which, we assumed, must divide the valley of the Chenapowu on the west from that of the Akrabanna on the east. At the northern end of this plateau there is a stiff climb of 1,200 feet by terraced ascents from the Akrabanna, taking one hour and forty-six minutes, while at the southern end there is an easy descent of 800 feet, which lasts sixty-five minutes. The trail was very indistinct, and once or twice we lost it for a few minutes; for Indians are content to mark trails by merely breaking an occasional twig, and it is extremely easy to stray from the right line—in fact, one is bound to do so, unless an Indian guide is immediately ahead. We marched, of course, always in single file, one behind the other, looking warily at our feet and requiring all our energies for laborious scrambles over huge fallen trees and their ramification of branches. It was but rarely that anyone spoke, and our party of twenty-five souls scarcely broke the oppressive weight of silence that broods over the sombre forest depths, though sometimes birds, alarmed by the sight of us, sent shrill cries of warning through the tree-tops. In one place we crossed a deep fissure in the ground, resembling that of which I have spoken near the Kaietuk rest-house. No rain fell in the afternoon, but the dripping forest kept us very wet.
Our progress was slow on account of our lagging droghers, and we had to halt at the first of the two brooks between Akrabanna and Sirani-baru. The place looked an unpromising camping-ground; but it is wonderful how quickly the most desolate glade of rain-soaked forest assumes a snug and comfortable air when man has pitched his bivouac there. On this occasion, the ground being utterly sodden, we placed our spare tarpaulin on the ground, and caused the Indians to build us a side-screen of palm-leaves. Our excellent roof tarpaulin (twenty feet by fourteen feet) was soon spread; then our two camp-beds with their equipment of blankets, blue pillows, and mosquito-nets, our table and three chairs, lunch-basket with cups, spoons, plates, knives, etc., and my husband’s prismatic compass, boiling-point thermometer, and aneroid barometer, all combined to make the place look quite civilized and home-like. Mr. Menzies had a smaller tarpaulin, under which he slung his hammock and sheltered the baggage, whilst the Indians speedily rigged themselves up leaf-thatched benabs. Then, with a dozen fires burning all around, the whole aspect of the place changed in a twinkling.
Soon after we had made camp a few cheery sunbeams found their way down to us. In the forest sunlight falls like a most precious but sparingly-scattered largesse. Haywood provided us for supper with an excellent creole soup, piping hot, made of onions, potatoes, and salt pork. It was very welcome in the chilly damp, and we did it ample justice. Of course, there was a downpour all night.
There was also rain at dawn of the following morning, and showers alternated with sunshine during the whole day. We soon found ourselves at the edge of the Sirani-baru, within a few yards of its confluence with the Chenapowu creek. This is halfway-house between Holmia and the highland savannahs. We crossed the creek by means of a huge tacouba, and the trail ascended sharply on the other side. Ten minutes later Thomas shot a marm, and announced triumphantly, “Marmu for Mamma.” The Indians always called me “Mamma” and my husband “Pappa.” We plucked the bird on the spot, and then continued our march. When the Sirani-baru has been crossed, a very short ascent of 200 feet again takes the trail on to a level plateau, which continues until the path drops slightly to recross the Sirani-baru near its head after close upon three hours’ march, and that was all we achieved during the day owing to our laggard droghers. We were, in effect, making our way round the spur of Mount Kowatipu, which stood at our right hand; but nothing could be seen of the mountain, and the only object of interest during the day’s march was a deep excavation at the side of the trail. It may possibly have been made for gold, but it might equally well be natural.
Our Demerara River men were now very sulky, but the Arnik boys were as good as gold, and appeared to enjoy life. We took much interest in watching them. Primitive man is wonderfully neat and dexterous. He seems to be able to fashion a leaf or a twig to his will, be it spoon or basket or house that he wants; and it is touching to see him hold a palm-leaf carefully over his head to serve as an umbrella, or pick a large leaf to squat upon; for his primitive mamma has evidently taught him not to sit on damp ground. When missionaries or traders introduce clothes, the Indians soon suffer in health; for it never occurs to them to take their garments off, and they wear their sodden raiment day and night till they die of pneumonia. You cannot keep dry in the bush; and, as an American once observed to Mr. Menzies, while prospecting for gold with him in the forest: “In this place your shirt is sopping wet in two seconds, and three months won’t dry it.” Rain fell heavily all the time while camp was being made, and also most of the evening and night.
Next day we started in a downpour, and were instantly soaked to the skin. A climb of twenty-four minutes brought us on to the crest of the divide which, sloping down from Mount Kowatipu, forms at this point the water-parting between the Essequebo and the Amazon, 2,520 feet above sea-level. Here on a hill-saddle is a little swamp, out of which two tiny streams trickle in opposite directions, thus marking the divide. Thereafter the trail runs almost level for one hour twelve minutes to the point where the path over Nose Mountain from Arnik comes in from the east. After that you descend for twenty-six minutes and cross on stepping-stones the Huri creek (2,090 feet above sea-level), a tributary of the Yawong, which falls into the Kowa, and so feeds the Ireng and the Amazon. Next follows a steady and at times a steep ascent along undulating hill-ridges, narrowing in places to a knife-edge, until after one and three-quarter hours’ march from Huri creek the trail emerges from the forest into the Baramaku savannah at a height of 2,680 feet above sea-level. The character of the forest towards the end was quite different, and we had to push our way through tall bamboo grass and among thickets of small trees before we at last came out into the sunshine of lovely Baramaku-toy. “Toy” means “savannah” or open country in the language of the local Indians. I wonder if anyone can imagine the ecstasy it was to us rain-sodden, half-drowned rats who had not seen clear sky for seven long days to find ourselves out of the dark, gloomy twilight of the forest, standing in the scented flower-starred grass, able to look over long views of distant tiers of hills into the fading blue distance, whilst glowing sunshine warmed us through, and the most delicious, cool and fragrant breezes blew in our faces. Welcome seemed to smile from every blade of grass in that enchanting little place.
Baramaku Savannah.