These preliminaries being over, “gramophone talked,” with great success, and was duly handed over to Albert after he had been instructed how to work it, together with his church bell. No sooner had that been done than he proceeded to ring the bell as a summons to the villagers to come to church. Albert, who has strong ecclesiastical leanings, has set apart as a church in his village a very nice banaboo with a pointed apse containing a picture of the Madonna and Child. Logs on the floor serve as pews for the congregation, which trooped in dutifully at the sound of the bell—men, women and children, dogs and poultry. Then began a sort of religious service; for Albert conducts lengthy prayers and hymn-singing every morning and afternoon. We could frequently catch the words “Ave Maria” and “Spiritus Sanctus”; and, whenever the congregation fastened upon any phrase or tune they knew, they all shouted lustily together. Albert himself intones rather well, having been taught by an itinerant Roman Catholic priest. On every day we spent in the village Matins and Evensong were duly celebrated, while in the intervals the gramophone proved a great success. There are several houses in Mataruka, and also a corral for the cattle. At our request, a herd of about fifty head was driven into the corral for our inspection; and the Makusis said there were, in addition, plenty of wild cattle round about. Here we enjoyed a plentiful supply of new milk, brought to us in large gourds, and on our return journey a bullock was killed for our benefit.
The dogs of Mataruka were unfortunately even more insistent than those we had hitherto had to endure. Nothing was safe from the miserable starving brutes. They sprang upon the rough tables made of cross-wise branches and snatched anything that was put down for a second. Poor Haywood was almost beside himself, and was quite hurt with me for collapsing with laughter as a dog swallowed three eggs and made off with two fish that had been brought as a gift. The fish were certainly very stale and the eggs probably likewise, so it was not a matter to grieve over, as the loss of a precious ham at Chiung had been. We went to bed as usual at dusk. The night was chilly, and the glory of the stars above the wide plain was wonderful.
We were up again breakfasting on porridge and fresh milk by starlight with a sinking Southern Cross before dawn of day (9th January). There was, however, much delay in starting off, as we had an almost entirely new set of carriers. The Mataruka folk appeared to regard our expedition to Roraima in the light of a pleasure trip, and a large number of women, and even one baby in arms, accompanied us on the march there and back. I think they enjoyed the idea of a pilgrimage through the Arekuna country under a safe escort. There is no love lost between Makusi and Arekuna; the latter are stronger men and fiercer, but the former are much more numerous. So, our camp-followers being many, the usual load for a drogher, which is between fifty and sixty pounds, was considerably reduced, and several men carried next to nothing. Our rate of travel was thereby much accelerated, and everyone was extremely cheerful, regarding the whole jaunt as great fun.
From Albert’s village our trail ascended between Mount Mataruka on our right and Mount Kako on our left. The valley, up which we climbed, was very hot, even at half-past seven in the morning, and we wound up it with the sun at our backs towards an elusive pass over a succession of ridges, each one pretending to be the real summit, and when we had surmounted it, behold! there was yet another beyond. It was an exceedingly pretty valley with long golden grass, dotted with picturesque shade trees; but the Indians behind us set fire to the grass, and on our return it was a blackened desolation. Indians always set fire to the prairies when they travel, partly to keep the trails clear and make walking easier than it would be in long grass, and incidentally to drive away snakes, but partly out of merely childish pleasure in the blaze. It is very bad for the country, as the soil after a burning tends to get washed off the hills by the next heavy rain.
When, after climbing for an hour and a quarter, we really reached the final ridge at a point 2,350 feet above sea-level, the view was glorious and the air so keen and invigorating, so strong and beautiful, that with each breath we seemed to be drinking health and energy. From this pass the most striking feature of the landscape was Mount Chakbang, far away to the west-north-west. It looks in shape somewhat like a clenched fist, with one finger pointing up to the sky. This mountain is indeed a surveyor’s friend, for it is visible and unmistakable from nearly every elevated point in the country.
Joseph, our guide, a most picturesque bronze figure, with his scarlet loin-cloth, his little quake containing a hammock and drinking gourd on his back, and a pair of chickens on his arm to assist the commissariat, was always close to my husband, telling him the names of all the hills far and near, whenever we halted for observations. He was tall and very lean and carried a knife in his hand, with which he would gesticulate to himself as he walked, describing semicircles in the air with it, or pointing away to distant hills, evidently reciting in his mind all the different trails of the neighbourhood.
From the col between Mount Mataruka and Mount Kako, the trail taken by Joseph descended slightly across an upland savannah and led us in forty-five minutes to another col between the hills to the east of Rera, a plain almost as large as that of Mataruka and exceedingly well watered, draining into the Kotinga. Rera is Joseph’s home, and he pointed out his house far away to the south of the golden savannah on a knoll, where stood three banaboos with cattle grazing close by. No breath of air stirred in the Rera plain, and I was glad of my hammock. Johnny and Jack had evidently found my weight the day before more than they could bear, and had each provided himself with a tin canister instead; but I had two fresh volunteers, an old man, whose name did not transpire, and his son, who called himself “Misterquick.” Mr. Quick is an Anglican parson who used to visit the district. These two Makusis carried well; but Indians dislike weights on their shoulders, as they are accustomed to carrying on the back, and they often complained, “Mamma heavy.” I did not, however, require them to carry me for long at a time, though the hammock was very useful in enabling me to rest every now and then for ten or fifteen minutes without delaying the line of march.
After skirting the Rera plain for some distance past the foot of Mount Kurowya, we crossed a rather nasty little eta-swamp, and then turned off at a right angle to ascend a pass between Mount Kumâraying and Mount Sakmann—a steep and rocky track. Halfway up we stopped to take lunch, where a delicious rippling brook crossed our path. Unfortunately, there was little shade and no breeze, so it was very warm. We made an excellent meal off our Puwa beefsteak, for meat keeps several days in this atmosphere. We also took note of the extraordinary number of people in our train; but, as only nineteen claimed rations, we realized that the others had come independently for the sake of the journey. There were some uncommonly good fellows amongst our men. Daniel, Joseph’s great friend and ally, was a thoroughly hard-working boy. A younger Thomas formed with Haywood our commissariat, and a very efficient one too. Thomas carried the lunch-basket and all the materials and implements immediately necessary for making and eating a meal, and he stuck firmly to a position just behind Haywood, which meant that he was always well to the front. Thomas also became a very handy man about camp, and learnt with Indian deftness to manipulate our folding beds, chairs, and table. In return for these services, he was admitted to mess with Haywood, who took care that he should always have enough to eat, or rather that there should be plenty, for an Indian has an infinite appetite and can never have enough. Haywood observed to me once: “I does like to see Thomas eat. He eat so diligent”; and it was an apt remark, for Thomas would squat down to finish the remains in a saucepan with an air of rapt thought, the complete concentration of a man who is faced with one of the great tasks of life, and he would scour and scour again the inside of the pots with his spoon, until no smallest speck of food could possibly be scraped together, before he would consent to wash them. Thomas’s wife came too, carrying a baby, as well as a quake with their hammocks and food. I was rather anxious about that baby the first day, exposed to torrid sun with nothing on its head; but it was perfectly well and cheerful the whole time—a fine little boy. Johnny and Jack of Chiung were another pair of stalwart friends. Jack wore a felt hat with a green ribbon run in and out round the crown. It looked a very quaint apex to his brawny, bronze-red figure. He was an exceptionally powerful fellow, whilst Johnny was a dear old man to whom we became much attached. He would come holding out his hand, saying “Mamma” in a most appealing way, to beg for a piece of chocolate; and if I refused him a bit, he would sulk just like a spoiled child, and pretend to be deaf when spoken to. Then the “Pirate,” as we christened him on account of a red handkerchief he wore tied round his head, his real name being Alexander, was a cheery personage, always to the fore, despite the fact that he was very elderly; and he was closely followed by his nimble, if likewise elderly, wife. The “Nut,” too, having discarded necklaces and trousers, proved a useful retainer.
After our meal we started again up the hill. It certainly was a roasting climb; but a delicious breeze met us on the top and fanned us as we went down the other side. We descended into a small grass plain, at the end of which we crossed a narrow strip of bush, where, as usual, a path had recently been cleared for us; and then, following the bank of a delightful jasper-bedded little stream with pretty cascades and crystal clear water, we wound in and out between low hills in a narrow valley until the trail again took us to a hill-top, whence we perceived that we had come in a sweeping semicircle from Mataruka back to the Ireng, which was again at our feet. At this point we were two and three-quarter hours’ march from the col between hills above the east end of the Rera plain, say six miles by the trail in all its windings; but the distance back to the col between Mount Mataruka and Mount Kako was only four miles in the direct line of vision. Plainly, therefore, there must be some straighter, if more arduous, path over this stretch of country; and, as a matter of fact, the Arekunas who accompanied us on our return journey did make a short-cut, which took them from the Paiwa valley to the saddle between Mount Mataruka and Mount Kako without traversing the Rera plain. Their path was, however, described by Joseph, with an expressive gesture, as “Mountain-top, mountain-top, mountain-top.” We could now see the savannah peaks above Enamung as well as those near Puwa, and it would evidently be possible to reach Enamung from the Karto tableland by a route far more direct than ours had been. Indeed, Joseph afterwards told us of a trail leading from Karto village to Enamung in two stages. That would undoubtedly be the best line for any future traveller bound for Roraima, as the long détour through Chiung, Puwa, Mataruka, and Rera, is thus avoided. Still, we did not object to the longer march. It was all very delightful in the keen air and sunshine, and I realized with great thankfulness that I was now hardening to the sun and felt extremely fit and well.
From our hill-top we continued for some time along a ridge, descending gradually at first, and then sharply, till after twenty-three minutes’ walk we forded a beautiful clear stream, almost at the level of the Ireng, which it joined a short distance to our right. Then, on a low knoll beyond, we stepped upon some stone slabs with curious markings on them, and here Joseph said, “Makunaima pickaninny, he dead.” Makunaima is the goddess whose tears, shed for the loss of her pickaninny, are said to form Roraima’s waterfalls, and this we supposed to be the child’s burial place. Then came another little flat meadow, a strip of woodland over some undulating ground, and we again emerged into a large grassy plain in the middle of which stands Paröwöpö village. I say “village,” but there was only one banaboo and an open building, which the few women about the place called “church,” but which contained no holy pictures nor any sign of worship. Our whole party established ourselves in this “church”; and, while we took tea, the women brought cassiri for our droghers. As each fresh batch of men came in, the cassiri bowl was handed to Joseph to give them at his good pleasure. After tea we had some difficulty in getting our caravan to restart from Paröwöpö. They explained that Enamung was “far far”; but, Joseph having prescribed Enamung as our destination for the night, we would not listen, but pressed on.