Down the Orinoco in a Canoe

by Santiago Pérez Triana

The Indians also prepare mañoc flour. The method is the same as in the case of casabe, only that before baking the pulp is allowed to ferment to a certain degree; after that it is baked and reduced to powder. This powder, mixed with water, makes an acid, refreshing drink. If sugar or molasses be available, they are added.

As I have said before, the Vichada Indians are expert weavers of hammocks, and carvers or makers of canoes. They fell a large tree, and, after months of labour, produce very fine canoes. The canoes, the hammocks, and the casabe and mañoc are sold to traders who realize large profits. A pair of trousers and a hat to the captain of a tribe are deemed a good price for a small canoe. Such articles as a cutlass, or an axe, are most highly prized by the Indians, and are paid for accordingly. It is pitiful to learn how these poor savages are cheated, when not robbed outright, by the pseudo-Christians who come in contact with them.

They also manufacture torches from resinous substances extracted from the forests. Some of these substances are excellent for caulking purposes, and, as they are found in great abundance, should constitute an important article of trade. A torch made from peraman about 3 to 4 feet in length, lighted as night set in, would burn with a brilliant yellow flame, and throw a strong glare over the camp in the small hours when the bonfires had been reduced to embers.

We had been on the Vichada about twenty-five days, when one of us developed symptoms of fever, and as these increased within the next twenty-four hours, we looked about for some convenient spot where we might rest for a few days, lest the attack might become really serious. It was our intention to build up some sort of hut—a comparatively easy matter, as some of our men were old hands at that kind of work. Fortunately for us, however, we met coming from the mouth of the Vichada a Venezuelan mañoc trader, who was sailing to one of the Vichada affluents, where he expected to receive a load of mañoc and casabe. The man’s name was Valiente. He had three canoes and ten men with him. We were delighted to meet him, as it had been impossible for us to gather correct information from the Indians.

He told us that we were still two or three days’ journey from the Orinoco, advised us not to put up at any of the beaches, but to push on to within a few hours of the mouth of the Vichada, where, on the left bank, we would find an abandoned caney that had been built by cattle-ranchers some years previously. He had just been there. It was possible, he added, that we might find some Indians in possession, in which case we should enforce the right of the white man and drive them out. At any rate, the caney was on high ground, the forests around were clear, and we should find it far more comfortable than anywhere else in that neighbourhood.

Following his advice, we hurried on as fast as we could, promising to wait for him at Santa Catalina, that being the name of the place. Valiente thought that he would start back in six or eight days.

In due course we reached Santa Catalina. On the high bluff, about 300 yards from the shore, we saw the welcome outlines of a caney; it showed unmistakable signs of having been built by white men. We could see from the river that it was inhabited. This was not so pleasant, but we had made up our minds that we would take possession of the caney with or without the consent of its occupants. If soft words proved insufficient, we were bound to appeal to the last argument of Kings and of men at bay—force.

I really did not feel inclined to violence; peaceful means and diplomatic parleying seemed to me preferable, but as we had no choice, following the practice sanctioned by experience, of preparing for war if you want to insure peace, we decided to make a great display of force, even as the Great Powers, with their military and naval manœuvres—a show of teeth and claws to overawe the occupants of the caney.

We moored on the bank near by. Notwithstanding my appearance, which, as I have chronicled in these pages, had warranted the belief in others that I belonged to the holiest of human professions, I was told off to ascertain whether we should occupy the premises peacefully or by force. I donned a red shirt, suspended from a broad leather belt a most murderous-looking cutlass and a six-shooter, cocked my hat sideways in a desperado fashion, and, full of ardour, advanced, flanked on either side by Leal and one of our men, each of whom carried a rifle and the inevitable machete. Verily, we looked like a wandering arsenal!

Remembering that the actor’s success is said to be greater the more he lives up to his part, I endeavoured to look as fierce as possible, and tried to call to mind scenes of dauntless courage, assaults of fortresses, heroic deeds from my historical repertory. I must have succeeded, for I felt uncommonly brave, particularly as there seemed to be no danger warranting our preparations.