There is still living at San Fernando, a town at the confluence of the Apure and Portuguesa rivers, another individual equally bold in attacking crocodiles, in which warfare he uses only a wooden mace or club. He is possibly one of the greatest swimmers in that or any other country, having repeatedly accomplished the run between San Fernando and El Diamante—a plantation which he owns three miles below the town—without once stopping on the way. Armed with his heavy club in one hand, and a bottle of rum in the other, to keep himself in good spirits, this modern Hercules will, for the fun of it, during a spree, provoke a fight with a caiman cebado; and so effectual has been his warfare, that he has actually succeeded in driving them away from the pass, formerly so infested by them, that scarcely a year elapsed in which numbers of persons were not carried off by them, helpless washerwomen especially.
I observed, also, at La Portuguesa, a great number of fresh-water porpoises or toninas, as they are called there, swimming with rapidity against the current, and bending their backs gracefully like their congeners of the sea. Crocodiles appeared to avoid them, and would invariably dive out of the way at their approach. It is probable that from this circumstance arose the current belief that toninas will befriend persons when they chance to fall into the water, against the attacks of crocodiles. It is, moreover, asserted that these cetacea will rescue a man from drowning, pushing him on to the shore with their snouts. In acknowledgment of this animal philanthropy, the hand of man is there never raised against these inoffensive creatures; and so conscious are they of this, that they seem rather to delight in his neighborhood, sporting around the canoes which ascend the river, and spouting jets of water and compressed air like miniature whales.
CHAPTER IX.
THE APURE RIVER.
We tarried several days at La Portuguesa to afford our horses time to recover from the fatigues of the previous rough journeys. We also expected to incorporate there another drove, which having been kept throughout the summer grazing in the ever-verdant meadows of this river, were now in very fine condition. In the mean time, we were agreeably occupied in hunting, fishing and dancing; the people of the neighborhood being sufficient for our social entertainments.
Every morning we rode out to the savannas to hunt an ox for our meals. The remainder of the day was occupied in scouring the adjacent woods and plains after our steeds, who seemed as if conscious of the life that awaited them beyond La Portuguesa; for it required all the ingenuity and sagacity of the Llaneros to discover their hiding-places, and bring them again to the corrals. The evenings were devoted to dancing and singing by the light of half a dozen candiles, or lamps made of burned clay, and filled with the grease of crocodiles. The habitations being considerably scattered along the banks of the river, we employed a number of runners for the purpose of bringing the company to the fandango, as these nocturnal revelries are called, who came in canoes or wading through the mud as occasion required.
And now, refined and courteous reader, picture to yourself a motley assemblage, brought together without any regard to color, age, or position, under an open shed or barracoon dimly lighted, and you will form an idea of our soirées dansantes, which for merriment and courtesy might with good reason have been the envy of the most polished reunions.
The orchestra was composed of a guitar scarcely larger than the hand that twanged it, a banjo of huge proportions, and a couple of noisy maracas, rattle-boxes made from the shell of the calabash fruit, and filled with the seed of a Marantha or Indian shot. No music is considered complete without this accompaniment, which, as well as I could judge, filled the place of castanets, or the less romantic “bones” of negro minstrelsy. A wooden handle is attached to each, to enable the performer to shake them to and fro, which he does with appropriate gestures and contortions expressive of his different emotions. A corresponding choir of singers, picked from our own suite, was attached to the players. All Llaneros are passionately fond of music, and display considerable talent, composing many beautiful songs of a national character, called tonos or trovas llaneras. Few in the country are not gifted with the power of versification, and there are among them many famous improvisatori. Whenever two of these are brought together, a competition for the laurel crown is the invariable consequence. This amicable strife sometimes occupies several successive hours, ending only when one of the bards is fairly silenced by the other; the victor is then declared the lion of the fête and receives accordingly not only the congratulations of his admirers, but also secures the smiles of the most sparkling eyes in the company. It is really surprising to see men, who cannot distinguish one letter of the alphabet from another, compose and extemporize poetry which, although rude in character, is nevertheless full of interest and significance. Most of their songs and ballads refer to deeds of valor performed by their own heroes; while others recount their love adventures, and daily struggles with the wild and unsubdued nature which surrounds them. Their instruments, when handled with skill, produce very harmonious sounds. The bandola or banjo bears no resemblance to the one in common use among the negroes of the States. It is, in fact, a guitar of large proportions, shaped somewhat like the lute of old. The guitar of the Llanos is the reverse of its associate the banjo, being considerably smaller and with only five strings, on which account it is called Cinco. Still, it is a very noisy little instrument, all its cords being made to resound at once by running the fingers of the right hand up and down over them, while those of the left stop them at the right moment.
The dancers do not grapple with each other, as is the practice among some of the more enlightened, but dance alone, joining hands occasionally for a few moments, and then separating and whirling round by themselves. First, a woman paces round the room in double-quick step, looking for a partner; when a suitable one is found, a graceful waving of the handkerchief summons him before her; then both go through their evolutions until the woman chooses to withdraw. The man then with a polite bow invites a second partner, and so on to the end of the first dance. This is styled the Galeron, in which only the most skilful dancers take part, as it requires great flexibility of joint and limb to execute all the intricate and graceful posturings and swayings of the body, constituting the principal charm of the performance. They have a variety of other dances, such as La Maricela, El Raspon, La Zapa, &c., all of which, however, are of the same character, the chief difference being in the double entendre of the stanzas sung as accompaniment to the music. La Maricela, especially, is a very exciting dance, from the satirical bon mots hurled by the bard of the evening at each couple as they pass. The facility with which these verses are improvised is most amusing, and would even astonish the most accomplished Neapolitan improvisatore. Some of them are capital hits upon the personal appearance, &c., of the dancers, and none fail to find some point for ridicule.