Having partaken of a substantial breakfast, we bade adieu to our kind host, and again betook ourselves to our long and weary journey across the Pampas. Descending to the plain, stretching for a thousand miles to the foot of the Bolivian Andes, we at once entered into an entirely different country, showing unmistakable proofs of a diluvial origin. The soil, mostly a mixture of clay and sand, no longer offended the feet of our horses with those extensive beds of pebbles so trying to the poor beasts. The vegetation, also, whenever favored by some accident of the ground, showed a marked difference in character. The thorny mimosas, which only thrive in a gravelly soil, here disappeared altogether, and were replaced by dense groves of laurel and other balsamiferous trees. The Copernicia palms, so extensively used for thatching and other economic purposes, re-appeared at first in a few scattered clumps, and afterwards in countless multitudes, literally closing the perspective with their tall, slender trunks. This beautiful palm is known in the country under various names, according to the uses made of its separate parts. These are almost as numerous as the leaves of its dense, symmetrical foliage. Thus, by the rural architect of the Llanos, it is called palma de cobija—thatch palm. When its leaves are plaited and neatly braided into hats that never wear out, it bears the name palma de sombrero; and when the same are employed in driving off the myriads of flies that infest the premises, or in fanning the heated dweller in those regions, it is called palma abanico; and so on through a long catalogue.
A house thatched with this palm is not only impervious to the pouring showers of the tropics, but against fire also, as it is nearly incombustible: a hot coal dropped on it will only burn slowly where it falls, without spreading or raising any flame. It is, moreover, very durable and cool throughout the hottest months. All the fences and corrals of the region where it abounds are made of the entire trunks of this palm, while the cattle find a grateful shelter under its dense shade. The slowness of its growth, observable even after centuries have elapsed, is another curious peculiarity of this palm. When Europeans first penetrated this wild region, they found extensive tracks covered with low, apparently stunted plants, a few inches only above ground. According to the recollection of the oldest inhabitants, of whom there are many in the country, as I have already stated, these dwarfish palm forests have not altered very perceptibly during their lives. It must therefore have taken a full-grown plant thousands of years to attain the height of twenty feet, which is their average size.
Emerging from these extensive palmares—palm forests—we again found ourselves in the midst of the boundless plain, assuming here as desolate an aspect as if fire had passed over its entire surface, a dreary waste of dried-up swamps, parched by the burning sun. Dismal tracts of these terroneros, as they are termed, lay before us, having the appearance of an extensive honey-comb, over which our jaded beasts stumbled at every step, increasing our weariness to a state almost bordering on desperation. The action of the rains washing the earth from around the grass tufts, which are afterwards parched and hardened by the heat of the sun, leaves the surface of the ground covered with numerous little clumps of indurated clay, so closely packed that there was no footing for the animals.
Even the cattle seemed to have forsaken this inhospitable region, for, with the exception of a few stragglers, there were no signs of animation. Most of the cattle are transferred at this season to the fertile shores of the Apure and Portuguesa; or they abandon of their own accord these dreary wastes for well-known streams where they allay their thirst. Ours was intense on this occasion, while the tantalizing mirage, that singular atmospheric phenomenon so peculiar to arid deserts, haunted us incessantly with its rippling, vapory phantom, a feeling in which our poor beasts seemed to participate, as with outstretched necks and ears they snuffed in vain the far horizon in search of the reviving element. By an unpardonable oversight, our men had neglected to fill their gourds with water, and now we felt the want of it.
These scenes have been described so graphically by the eloquent pen of Humboldt, in his “Tableaux de la Nature,” that I will not attempt it further, but refer my reader to the following:
“When under the vertical rays of the never-clouded sun, the carbonized tufty covering falls into dust, the indurated soil cracks asunder as if from the shock of an earthquake. If at such times two opposing currents of air, whose conflicts produce a rotary motion, come in contact with the soil, the plain assumes a strange and singular aspect. Like conical-shaped clouds, the points of which descend to the earth, the sand rises through the rarified air in the electrically charged centre of the whirling current, resembling the loud waterspout dreaded by the experienced mariner. The lowering sky sheds a dim, almost straw-colored light on the desolate plain; the horizon draws suddenly near; the steppe seems to contract, and with it the heart of the wanderer. The hot, dusty particles which fill the air, increase its suffocating heat, and the east wind blowing over the long-heated soil brings with it no refreshment, but rather a still more burning glow. The pools, which the yellow, fading branches of the fan palm had protected from evaporation, now gradually disappear. As in the icy north the animals become torpid with cold, so here, under the influence of the parching drought, the crocodile and the boa become motionless and fall asleep, deeply buried in the dry mud. Everywhere the death-threatening drought prevails, and yet, by the play of the refracted rays of light producing the phenomenon of the mirage, the thirsty traveller is everywhere pursued by the illusive image of a cool, rippling, watery mirror. The distant palm bush, apparently raised by the influence of the contact of unequally heated, and therefore unequally dense strata of air, hovers above the ground, from which it is separated by a narrow intervening margin.”
Indeed, so perfect was this illusion of the mirage, that on one occasion Mr. Thomas and myself were entirely deceived by the appearance of a beautiful lake which we prepared to sketch. But what was our surprise when, on climbing a tree to obtain a better view, the phantom disappeared as if by magic! This occurs whenever the spectator places himself above the line of the natural horizon.
At length we reached a solitary pool of muddy water in the midst of the savanna, which was hailed with joy by man and beast; but, on nearer inspection, the thirsty travellers were seized with disgust and disappointment on seeing several dead and dying animals embedded in the mud. These quagmires form extensive barriers in some places, especially in dried-up creeks where hundreds of animals perish every year, being unable to extricate themselves from the adhesive quality of the clay. At our approach two hideous alligators rushed into the pond, and thus the scanty portion that had not been disturbed by the tramping of animals was in a moment thickened like the rest. However, there being no other alternative, we were compelled to follow the example of our sturdy Llaneros, who proceeded without much consideration to dip their calabashes into that species of mud soup; then covering the mouths of the totumas with our handkerchiefs, we sucked through them this miserable substitute for water.
About noon we descried a speck in the horizon, looking like a sail at sea. Increasing in size as we neared it, it soon appeared to be a solitary mound or promontory; by degrees it assumed more distinctness, finally presenting to our view all the luxuriance of tropical vegetation. This was the Mata de San Pedro, a sort of island grove of splendid forest trees, which, like a veritable oasis, stood in the midst of those desert plains, a relief to the parched and wayworn traveller. Mata is the name by which the natives designate these lovely gems of the Pampas, no less cherished than are those of the famed African Desert by the wearied caravan; like them, they receive appropriate names from some peculiarity of feature or other trivial cause, as Mata Gorda, Mata Redonda, &c. But whatever be the name, all hail with joy these verdant bowers, a cool retreat to every species of animal in summer, and a safe refuge during the season of floods, for, being somewhat higher than the surrounding country, they are rarely overflowed by the periodical inundations.
It was entirely dark on our arrival at the Mata, and we were then so weary that there was little inclination evinced to make any preparations for supper, and we were also greatly in need of water. Although the earth was parched by the long drought, Providence has placed a few feet below the surface an unlimited supply of the purest water. This can be obtained at any time by merely digging for it with a wooden pole sharpened at one end. In the present instance we were spared this trouble, as some of our people, well acquainted with the place, knew where one of these primitive wells could be found. Our first business, therefore, was to seek for the jagüey in spite of the deadly rattlesnakes said to abound there. From this we obtained sufficient water for ourselves and riding horses, the other animals being left to shift for themselves, always under the close vigilance, however, of the watchmen appointed for the night. These men had a hard task: apart from the fatigue of keeping awake and on horseback all night, they were in constant fear of a sudden stampede among the horses, which not unfrequently occurs. To provide against a contretemps of the sort, those in immediate use were secured nightly by straps attached to the feet, which prevented their straying far from the camp.