Having shot nothing eatable, we reached a promising-looking playa at two o’clock and disembarked in search of some more turtle-eggs. We were busily engaged in excavating a nest, when Perkins saw a solitary canoe slowly making its way up-stream. Approaching the bank, we hailed the strangers, and they began to steer in our direction; as they came nearer we saw that they were all Indians, except one, who was a well-dressed, elderly white man. It was then that we became conscious of our clothes, or rather of our lack of them, for I was dressed only in a torn shirt, an equally torn pair of trousers, and a wide Stetson hat, while Perkins was clad only in a long shirt and his flowing beard.
Mastering our embarrassment, we introduced ourselves to the old man, who proved to be none other than Don Rogerio Becerra, the gentleman who had escorted the exiles down to the Caraparaná, from whence he was now returning to Mocoa. He seemed to be a very pleasant and agreeable man, and we held quite a conversation with him, in the course of which he informed us that the Corregidor, Don Gabriel Martínez, to whom Jurado had given us a letter, was on his way up also with his police force, and that we might expect to meet him in a couple of days. After a little more conversation he presented us with a live charapilla, of which he had several, and slowly resumed his long and tedious journey.
After unearthing the rest of the eggs, we, too, set out and continued our trip without any further incidents until about half-past five, when we stopped at a large playa. While I was engaged in cooking the dinner here, Perkins went out for a prowl with the shot-gun and succeeded in getting a large duck.
The following morning, December 22nd, we got an early start at six o’clock and continued the trip without incident until ten o’clock, when, owing to the stifling heat, we drew up to a beach and put up a new pamacari-frame, over which we laid our mosquito-bars to make a little shade. No sooner was this accomplished than the sun disappeared behind a cloud, a strong wind arose, and it began to rain in torrents. This kept up for some two hours, and, of course, we got soaked; at the end of this time, however, the sun came out again as hot as ever, and in another two hours we were dry.
Shortly after this we met a group of four or five capivaras trying to scramble up the crumbling, four-foot-high vertical bank of an immense sand island covered with a tall, dense grass. As soon as we got within range Perkins let fly at them with his rifle, while I did the same with the shot-gun; the only noticeable effect was to accelerate their frantic efforts to mount the bank. Then the swift current wafted us down opposite to them, and we opened up a hot revolver fire. One or two of them dived then, and another, with a desperate leap, got on top of the bank and instantly disappeared in the tall grass. By this time we were some distance past the spot where they had been, and as the current was very strong, we did not judge it worth while to go back, seeing that they had all disappeared.
On the following day we were again favoured, at about noon, with another heavy downpour. The wind was so strong as to cause large waves and make our progress exceedingly slow. When the storm passed, at about one o’clock, the sun again obligingly came out and dried our clothes for us, as on the previous day. A little after this we had the luck to shoot a turkey and find a large nest of turtle eggs; the charapilla that Don Rogerio had given us we still kept tied up on his back alive in the bow, intending to keep him for Christmas.
At about 3 p.m. we came in sight of a house, which, according to what Don Rogerio had told us, we surmised was Yaracaya, the rubber establishment of Señor Jesús López. Around the house was a little patch of clearing, planted with yuca, plantains, &c., while, surrounding this little piece of man’s feeble handiwork rose the unbroken stretch of primeval forest and the island-studded river, rushing onward to join the mighty Amazon.
Keeping in towards the right bank—upon which the establishment is situated—we were so engrossed in taking stock of the place that we got stuck on a submerged sand-bar and some difficulty was experienced in getting off it. Then a tall, dark, bearded man, dressed in a pair of checkered blue trousers and a white shirt, who proved to be López himself, came down to the bank, accompanied by a peon, and gave us a cordial welcome.
Leading us up the gentle slope, he conducted us into the house, which was built on posts about six feet above the level of the ground. It was of bamboo and split-palm, large and ample, and had a porch running along the front, which faced the river. Presently a tall, rather pretty woman appeared, whom he introduced to us as the wife of his partner, now absent on a trip to Iquitos, via the River Napo. In the kitchen we observed a number of Indian women busily engaged in making fariña.
We had not intended stopping here for more than an hour or so, but shortly after our arrival Perkins was attacked by a heavy dose of fever, and as López pressed us to stay, we were glad to accept his invitation. I spent most of the time in conversation with our host, who kindly supplied me with considerable information about the region of the Caraparaná.