We were four days on the river Tua punting or paddling, according to the depth of water. When we reached the river Meta, we had already arranged the daily routine best suited to our requirements, and I might as well, once for all, describe it.
Our acting chief, Leal, ever watchful and alert, wakened us at about three in the morning. Every man had his appointed task: two of them prepared the indispensable coffee in the fashion of the land; others folded up the mats, the mosquito-bars, and whatever else might have been landed. Alex, Raoul, and I would in the meantime stand on the river brink, whilst two of the men poured upon us small cataracts of water drawn from the river in the coyabras or totumas cut from native gourds, which form an indispensable part of the domestic arrangements in the llanos. It would have been sheer madness to bathe in the river, with its rayas, or water-snakes, or perhaps some shy, dissembling alligator in quest of a tasty morsel.
Sandy beaches are the best places for camping on the shores of tropical rivers. They are dry, clean, soft, and perfectly free from snakes, scorpions, tarantulas, and all such obnoxious creatures, which are more likely to be found amongst the high luxuriant grass and the leafy trees.
Between four and five, as soon as it was ready, every man drank a large goblet of coffee and a small glass of aniseed aguardiente, which is said to be a specific against malaria. The men’s faith in the virtue of the distilled spirit was astounding; they never failed to take it, and would even ask for more, lest the quantity given were not enough to protect them from the dreaded illness. Though the merits of quinine are more universally acknowledged, it did not seem to be as acceptable, nor to be coveted with equal greediness.
We generally started at about five in the morning, paddling steadily till about eleven, when we landed as soon as we found a suitable spot, if possible shaded with trees. Here we would hang the hammocks, prepare the midday repast, and wait until three, letting the hottest hours of the day pass by. At this time the sun seemed to dart real rays of fire upon the burnished waters, whose reflection dazzled and blinded our eyes.
About three in the afternoon we would start again for two or three hours more, until a convenient beach was found; once there, the camp was formed without delay, the canoes tied up, the mats spread, and in a few minutes two huge bonfires, made of driftwood, sent their glad flames flickering in the night air. After supper we crept under the mosquito-bars, and waited for Leal to call us in the morning.
The seasons in the plains, as is well known, are sharply divided into dry and rainy. The first lasts from May to November, and the second from November to May. During the wet season it rains from eighteen to twenty hours out of the twenty-four; showers are not frequent during the dry season, but they fall now and then.
The third or fourth night that we spent on the banks of the Tua, I was awakened by feeling a moist sheet over my face, and at once realized that the heavy rain had beaten down the mosquito-bar. There was nothing for it but to cover myself with the waterproof poncho, sitting up for greater convenience, and disengaging myself from the fallen mosquito-net. There we all sat helpless under the dense cataract. The beach, slanting towards the river, bore with it the waters from the higher ground, and as my body made an indenture in the sand, I felt on either side a rushing stream. Fortunately, the shower was soon over, the bonfires were heaped with driftwood and blazed forth joyously. Coffee was specially prepared for the occasion, and we sat in the genial warmth of the flames until the sun burst forth on the horizon. That morning we did not start as early as usual: the tents and covers were spread in the sun, and after an hour or so were again dry and soft. Then we started on our journey, leaving behind us the discomforts of the night. The rain seemed to have gladdened the forest, and brightened the trees and bushes into a livelier green. During the journey we underwent a similar experience upon two or three other occasions.
As for food, we had a comfortable supply, and hardly a day passed without our having either some fine bird, or at times a larger piece of game in the shape of a species of wild-boar, fairly plentiful in that locality, the flesh of which is quite agreeable after one learns to eat it. Besides game, we also had plenty of fish. All this without counting the salt meat and tinned provisions. The birds most abundant were ducks of various descriptions, wild turkeys, and a beautiful bird of fine dark-bluish plumage, similar to a wild turkey, called paujil by the natives, the meat of which greatly resembles that of the pheasant.
At about this stage of the journey an incident took place which shows how even the humblest tasks in life require a certain degree of ability and experience. One day on the river Tua, Raoul—who, as I have said, was a great hunter before the Lord, and had no more esteem than most men for the milder arts—had brought down a beautiful duck of exceptional size, and of the kind known as ‘royal duck.’ Not satisfied with his triumph as a Nimrod, he took it into his head to cook the bird himself and rival the achievements of Vattel or Carême. He invited me to help him in his undertaking. My culinary attainments being purely of a theoretical kind, I promised him my moral support and hearty co-operation in the shape of advice. We invited Alex to share our wonderful supper, to which he replied that, being aware of the perils most incident to the efforts of inexperienced cooks, however enthusiastic they might be, he preferred the men’s supper, which, though humbler, was far more to be depended on. Heedless of this taunt, Raoul went on with his work. A pot filled with water was placed over the fire, and as soon as it was boiling the bird was plunged into it. In due course Raoul began to pluck valiantly; feathers black and bluish fell from his hand numerous as flakes of snow in a winter storm. When he began to tire after a while, I took the bird in hand, and continued the task, the feathers falling like dry leaves in the autumnal forest. After half an hour of steady work, when the ground was literally covered with black feathers, that blessed bird seemed untouched. We were beginning to feel anxious and hungry, and the tempting whiffs from the large iron pot, where the men were stirring their stew, stung our nostrils in a tantalizing fashion. However, it was now a question of pride and self-esteem, and we were bound to cook the bird at any cost. By-and-by Alex, holding a steaming plate in his hand, came to us and invited us to eat. Raoul rejected the offer, and though I was most anxious to accept it, I felt bound in loyalty to stand by him. We told Alex that we wanted to reserve the fulness of our appetite for our delicious bird, to which Alex replied that by the time that bird was ready we should certainly be hungry enough to devour it, leaving the bones quite clean. Raoul and I took turns at plucking the duck, which at last seemed to yield, showing a few whitish specks here and there devoid of all feathery covering. Seeing our plight, Fermin, who had stood by, not being called upon to help, seized the bird, declaring that we had allowed it to become chilled, and that the perfect plucking of it was well-nigh impossible. However, he undertook the job most courageously, and finally, taking advantage of the shades of night, which facilitated a compromise, we dropped that royal duck into the boiling water and pretended to enjoy our supper, such as it was, when ready. How much we ate is a question as to which I need not go into detail here, but I must own that in lying down upon my mat under the mosquito-bar I felt famished. From that day onwards both Raoul and I decided to forego all interference in matters culinary, beyond occasional advice. I have no doubt that, had Fermin or one of the men undertaken the task, we should not only have had our supper much sooner, but a dish fit for any man’s palate.