Still another mode of fishing, equally ingenious, is practised by the Indians when the waters commence to ebb towards the Orinoco at the end of the great floods, by means of strong stockades thrown across the outlet of the great lagunas, which are the receptacle of immense quantity of larger game, such as turtles and vagres (species of catfish) weighing from fifty to seventy-five pounds; laulaus or valentones, from two hundred and fifty to three hundred pounds; and above all, innumerable manatís, from five hundred to one thousand pounds. European Spaniards call this animal Vaca Marina, or sea cow, and the Brazilians Peixe Boi, ox-fish, from its feeding on grass, and other peculiarities which assimilate it to the bovine species. The manatí abounds in the Apure, the Meta, and most of the large tributaries of the Orinoco below the cataracts, and more especially in the lagoons formed by these rivers during the season of great floods, which he prefers on account of the abundant and tender food they offer them. Of this the astute Indians avail themselves to entrap them, as no sooner do the waters commence to fall than they watch attentively the channel through which the lake they have chosen as a fish-magazine—for no better name can be applied, from the finny multitude they secure there for months—is likely to drain off. To this spot resort the entire population of the village or tribe, who immediately commence to cut stakes of the requisite length and of great thickness, to resist the onset of the formidable phalanxes of monster fishes seeking a passage to the river. The stakes are then driven in the bed of the channel close enough to permit only the exit of the water and of the smaller fish, excluding the turtles and the fish of greater magnitude. The stockade is further reinforced by cross-beams of great strength thrown across the channel, firmly secured at both ends, and resting against the stakes; and for greater security they further strengthen them by an outer row of trunks of trees driven in the ground close to the stockade. It may appear superfluous to take such precautions against the apparently defenceless hosts imprisoned within the boundaries of the lagoon; but so great and powerful are in fact the avalanches of manatís struggling against this formidable barrier, that it is often found necessary to reinforce it twice, and even three times in the course of the season.
Indeed it is scarcely credible, the number and size of the creatures secured in this manner, whole tribes of Indians subsisting for months together on the supply afforded by one of these reservoirs; but as these lagoons eventually drain off towards the close of the rainy season, and the Indians cannot exhaust them in spite of their insatiate voracity, they are compelled at last, though reluctantly, to remove the obstruction in time to allow the fish to return to the bed of the stream before they are cut off from it; and it is asserted that on one occasion, having neglected this precaution in time, more than three thousand manatís, and a still greater number of large fish, perished in the shallow water of one of these lagoons, with the exception only of the turtles, who were, of course, in their element.
The manatí is a herbivorous animal of the cetaceous family, of which the whale is the type, and attains here from twelve to fifteen feet in length. Some are caught that weigh over a thousand pounds. In shape it resembles a seal somewhat, though its eyes and auricular organs are extremely small, but very acute, so much so that great care is required on the part of the fisherman who goes in pursuit of it, not to strike the sides of his canoe with the paddle and frighten the game off. Its principal means of propulsion exist in its tail, which is flat and round, from three to four feet broad, and very powerful; but it possesses in addition two pectoral fins, or armlets, situated at a proportionate distance from the head, and these enable the animal to come out of the water to browse on the rich herbage by the banks of rivers and lagoons: these armlets serve the female, in addition, to hold its young—always two in number, male and female—close to its breasts, until they are old enough to follow the mother and eat grass, their only food; and it is a curious fact, that although the mother often delights—as is the habit of these cetacea—in gambols in the water, when they sometimes jump several feet out of their element, they never lose hold of their twins.
The anatomy of this fresh-water whale is very curious, according to Humboldt, who dissected one while on his way to the Orinoco. “The upper lip was four inches longer than the lower one. It was covered with a very fine skin, and served as a proboscis. The inside of the mouth, which has a sensible warmth in the animal newly killed, presented a very singular conformation. The tongue was almost motionless; but in front of the tongue there was a fleshy excrescence in each jaw, and a cavity lined with a very hard skin, into which the excrescence fitted. The manatí eats such quantities of grass that we have found its stomach, which is divided into several cavities, and its intestines (one hundred and eight feet long) filled with it. Opening the animal at the back, we were struck with the magnitude, form, and situation of its lungs. They have very large cells, and resemble immense swimming-bladders. They are three feet long; filled with air, they have a bulk of more than a thousand cubic inches. I was surprised to see that, possessing such receptacles of air, the manatí comes so often to the surface of the water to breathe. Its flesh is very savory, though, from what prejudice I know not, it is considered unhealthy and apt to produce fever. It appeared to me to resemble pork rather than beef. It is most esteemed by the Guamos and Ottomacs; and these two nations are particularly expert in catching the manatí. The fat of the animal, known by the name of manatí-butter (manteca de manatí) is used for lamps in the churches, and is also employed in preparing food. It has not the fetid smell of whale oil, or that of the other cetaceous animals which spout water. The hide of the manatí, which is more than an inch and a half in thickness, is cut into slips, and serves, like thongs of ox-leather, to supply the place of cordage in the Llanos. When immersed in water, it has the defect of undergoing a slight degree of putrefaction. Whips are made from it in the Spanish colonies. Hence the words latigo and manatí are synonymous. These whips of manatí leather are a cruel instrument of punishment for the unhappy slaves, and even for the Indians of the Missions, though, according to the laws, the latter ought to be treated like freemen.”
The address displayed by an Indian of the Orinoco in capturing with the harpoon one of these monsters and bringing it into port, with only the assistance of his wife to paddle and steer the frail canoe, is most wonderful. While the woman propels the canoe, the man stands erect at the bow, watching intently the moment when the manatí comes up to the surface to breathe, which it does every few minutes. Off flies the double-barbed harpoon from the hands of the fisherman, and implants itself in the thick hide of the doomed monster, which no sooner feels the piercing blow, than away it darts at a fearful rapidity, dragging along after it the frail canoe, to the bow of which is attached one end of the thong made from the tough hide of the manatí, while to the other end is firmly secured the iron head of the harpoon itself. After vain endeavors to avoid the danger that threatens it, now dashing rapidly against the stream for an hour or so, now seeking the calm surface of a neighboring lagoon, during which time the sporting couple manage with difficulty to keep their seats at the bottom of the canoe, holding fast to the sides of it with both hands, the monster, bleeding and exhausted after its precipitate flight, begins at last to slacken its pace, and finally stops altogether. Now the hunter commences to pull it towards him with much caution; but no sooner does the animal perceive the dreaded canoe with its savage occupants, than off it sets anew at the same lightning speed, though this time of less duration; again the hunter pulls the game towards him, and again it endeavors to fly from him; but having lost nearly all its strength, and probably convinced of the uselessness of further efforts to escape, it now stops, rolls on its back, and calmly awaits its fate on the surface of the water. By this time the canoe is alongside of the captive, and, without further concern, the Indian cuts it open with his knife, and as soon as the water penetrates to its entrails, the great monster dies without a struggle. And now, “what shall we do with it,” in the midst of a river or lagoon four or five miles in width? How is this creature—weighing perhaps a thousand pounds, and nearly as long as the canoe—to be landed safely on the shore? How can a single man, assisted only by a frail woman, without firm ground to set their feet upon, manage to stow away the cumbrous load? Nothing easier, incredulous reader; “first catch the hare and then make the soup,” and this the Indian hunter daily practises in his native wilds, without much culinary advice from Mrs. Glass. Having secured their game, the hunters, or fishers, plunge in the water, swimming all the while with their feet and one hand, while with the other they tip over the canoe until it partly fills with water, which brings it on a level with the carcass of the manatí; this accomplished, the rest of the operation is easily done by sliding the canoe under the carcass, and then baling out the water by means of calabash cups, which cover their heads in lieu of hats. In proportion as they bale out the water, the canoe rises above the surface, and when sufficiently high to permit its being safely navigated through the boisterous waves of the Orinoco, the husband leaps on the head of the animal and calmly takes his seat, while the wife does the same on the broad tail of the monster fish, and directing the bow of the canoe towards the shore, they paddle themselves along with their cumbrous freight, which is soon disposed of among the numerous relations and friends, who anxiously await their arrival on the beach.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LAND OF EL DORADO.
“And yet unspoiled
Guiana, whose great city Geryon’s sons[51]
Call El Dorado.”—Paradise Lost, Book xi.