I will conclude this chapter—already, I fear, too long—with some further remarks respecting the Salvaje, or “Wild Man of America,” as it is called by those who, to this day, believe that such nondescript—for no one seems to have ever seen it, except the footprints—exists in the wilds of Venezuela. Both Father Gumilla and Humboldt allude to the belief entertained by the people of those regions in the existence of a great anthropoid ape, which was reputed to build huts, carry off women, and devour jealous husbands. It is curious, however, to see how these two great expounders of nature’s wonders endeavor to solve the mystery. While the philosopher of the nineteenth century explains the “fable,” as he calls it, by suggesting the existence in these wilds of “one of those large bears, the footprints of which resemble those of man, and which are believed to carry off women,” the devout philosopher of nearly two centuries ago boldly ascribes the doings of the dreaded creature to no other individual than the Devil himself, ever anxious to do all possible mischief among Christians, especially those of the newly-organized missions of the Upper Orinoco and Meta rivers; in proof of this the good missionary father tells us that, “On one occasion, the infernal voice was distinctly heard by Capt. Don Domingo Zorrilla, a native of Rioja, in Spain, exhorting, from the top of a palm tree, the Gentile Indians, who were ready to come out of the forest and become good Christians, not to do it.” And, adds the credulous historian: “Alarmed with this terrific noise, the valiant captain inquired of the Christian cacique who accompanied him, from whence proceeded those frightful sounds? to which the cacique replied, that these were the utterances of the Devil, which the captain believed to be true, so great was the internal horror which he felt; and I too believed it, by the faith I had in the great veracity of said captain, and other unmistakable proofs I perceived afterwards at the distance of only two leagues from the river Ubocá, all of which happened on the 23d of February, 1716.”
Notwithstanding the strong faith entertained by the narrator on the “great veracity of the valiant captain,” I am of opinion that the roar of a well-organized band of araguatos was mistaken on this occasion for the utterances of his Infernal Majesty.
Still, the story of the Salvaje is not altogether discredited, even by scientific men of high standing; among the latter I may mention the accomplished author of the “Romance of Natural History,” who not only questions the authority of Humboldt in denying the existence of a great anthropomorphous monkey in America, but boldly comes in support of those who believe in this possible phenomena. I quote his words: “But it might be permitted, in return, to ask what “large bear” is known to inhabit Venezuela; and whether it is true that bears’ footsteps have a signal resemblance to those of men; and that bears especially attack women. Is not such a bear in South America quite as gratuitous as the monkey himself? And, since species of quadrumana are characteristic of the forests of that region, may it not be possible that some one rivalling man in stature and strength, may there exist, as well as in Africa and the Oriental Archipelago? The mighty gorilla himself has only just been introduced to us.”[34]
CHAPTER XX.
AMONG THE CROCODILES.
Having by this time completed our arrangements at Mata Totumo, we broke up our camp on the 15th of March and departed for Los Laureles, the ancient site of another cattle farm, now quite deserted, on the banks of the river Matiyure.
We found the house in ruins, and only a few remaining posts marking the boundary of the former corrals. The first duty, therefore, was that of repairing the fences, an operation which necessitated several days’ hard labor. Meanwhile I found much enjoyment in exploring the woody banks of the river, the wildness of whose aspect had for me a peculiar charm. They were my daily resort, where, encompassed by the glorious solitude, I essayed to picture for others those lovely scenes which still perfume the shrine of memory in all their dewy freshness. To one who loves “the cool sequestered haunts of Nature,” no spot could be more charming, nothing more inspiring than to recline under the venerable shade of some wide-branched guamo uplooking to the many-tinted clouds as they sweep in solemn majesty beneath the blue veil of heaven, and seem to melt into the tree tops in the distance—trees whose gigantic height and size, wall with magnificent vegetation the steep banks rising on either side of the river, mirrored in its tranquil surface. The harsh scream of the heron, or the ominous hootings of the tiger-owl, alone wake the echoes where else
“All things are calm, and fair, and passive—Earth
Looks as if lulled upon an angel’s lap
Into a breathless, dewy sleep.”