On the Banks of the Amazon

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Continuing our voyage the next day, we passed amid groves of oranges and lemons, whose rich perfume was wafted across the water to us. Here also the mango, bearing a golden fruit, spread around its splendid foliage; while, above all, the beautiful cocoanut palm lifted its superb head. Now and then we saw monkeys gambolling among the trees, as well as many birds of brilliant plumage. Among others, a beautiful bird got up from a bed of reeds we were passing, spreading wide its wings and broad tail directly before us. John shot it, and the small canoe we sent to pick it up. It was about the size of a partridge, with a crane-like bill, a slender neck, and shorter legs than ordinary waders, though a wader it was. The plumage was shaded curiously in bands and lines with brown, fawn-colour, red, grey, and black, which Ellen said reminded her of a superb moth she had seen. It was the caurale, or sun-bird (Scolopax Helios), our books told us, found also in Demerara. Less attractive in appearance were the gallinazos, or vultures, the scavengers of those regions; while frequently on the mud banks we caught sight of alligators basking in the hot sun, often fast asleep, with their mouths wide open.

We reached Bodegas early in the day. It is a large village, built on a flat. In the rainy season it is so completely flooded that the people have to take refuge in the upper stories of their houses. Thanks to our friend Don José, and the exertions of his chief attendant, Isoro, mules were quickly procured; and as the attractions of Bodegas were not great, we immediately set off towards the mountains. John called Isoro Don José’s henchman. He was, like his master, of pure Indian blood, but of not so high a type. Still, he was good-looking, active, and intelligent. His dress differed only from that of Don José in being of coarser materials. We were at once struck with the respect and devotion with which Isoro treated his master, and with the confidence Don José evidently reposed in him. We had a journey before us of two hundred miles, which would occupy eight or ten days. The first village we passed through was built high up off the ground on stilts, for in the rainy season the whole country is completely flooded. After passing the green plain, we entered a dense forest. Road, I should say, there was none. Nothing, it seemed to me, could surpass the rich luxuriance of the vegetation. On either side were numerous species of palms, their light and feathery foliage rising among the other trees; bananas, with their long, glossy, green leaves; and here and there groves of the slender and graceful bamboo, shooting upwards for many feet straight as arrows, their light leaves curling over towards their summits; while orchids of various sorts, many bearing rich-coloured flowers, entwined themselves like snakes round the trunks and branches. Don José told us that in the rainy season this road is flooded, and that then the canoe takes the place of mules.

We put up the first night at a tambo, or road-side inn, a bamboo hut of two stories, thatched with plantain leaves. As the lower part was occupied by four-footed animals, we had to climb into the upper story by means of a couple of stout bamboos with notches cut in them. We here hung up our hammocks, and screened off a part for Ellen and Maria. Next day we began to ascend the mountains by the most rugged of paths. Sometimes we had to wind up the precipice on a narrow ledge, scarcely affording footing to the mules. It was trying to the nerves, for while on one side rose a perpendicular wall of rock, on the other the precipice went sheer down for several hundred feet, with a roaring torrent at the bottom. Wild rocks were before and above us, trees and shrubs, however, growing out of every crevice and on each spot where soil could rest, while behind spread out a wide extent of forest, amid which we could distinguish the river winding its way to the Pacific. Few birds or beasts were to be seen—the monkeys and parrots we had left below us; gallinazos, or black vultures, were, however, still met with, as they are everywhere throughout the continent, performing their graceful evolutions in the air, wheeling round and round without closing their wings, in large flocks, above the watery region we had left. The black vulture (Cathartes atratus), which closely resembles the well-known turkey buzzard in habits and appearance, performs, like it, the duty of scavenger, and is protected therefore by the inhabitants of all parts of the country. It may be distinguished from the latter by the form of the feathers on the neck, which descend from the back of the head towards the throat in a sloping direction; whereas the turkey buzzard has a frill of them completely round the throat. The head and part of the neck of the black vulture are destitute of feathers, and are covered with a black wrinkled skin, on which a few hairs only grow. “See, what grand fellows are these!” exclaimed Arthur. I gazed up. On a rock close above us stood a couple of large birds, which were unmistakably vultures.

“Dreadful-looking creatures,” cried Ellen. “They make me shudder. They seem as if preparing to pounce down on some little innocent lambs to carry them off.”

“It would prefer a dead mule, I suspect,” observed John. “Like other vultures, it is not nice as to the nature of its food. It is called the King of the Vultures (Sarcoramphus papa), properly so, for it is the strongest and bravest of the vulture tribe though inferior in size to the condor. Observe its head and neck, brilliantly coloured with scarlet and yellow to make amends for the want of feathers. On the crown of its head, too, is a rich scarlet patch. Close to the eye there is a silvery blue mark, and above it part of the skin is blue and part scarlet. The bill is orange and black, and those curious lumps or carbuncles on its forehead are rich orange. At the lower part of the neck it wears a black ruff. The wing feathers and tail are black, and the lower part of the body white, and the rest a fine grey satin colour.”

While John was speaking, the birds, spreading out their huge wings, glided off the rock, and then by an imperceptible movement of them soared upwards, and, hovering for a few seconds in the air, they darted downwards into the plain, and were lost to sight.

“You need not be afraid of their attacking any living creature, Señora Ellen,” observed Don José. “They have no relish for meat till it has gained a higher flavour than we should like, and dead lizards and snakes are much to their taste. Even those they discover, I believe, rather by sight than by scent.”

We had been proceeding along a somewhat broader part of the road than usual, though, as it was very steep, we climbed but slowly. Now rounding a sharp point, we came to a spot which made me wonder if those ahead could possibly have got by; and I could not help gazing anxiously downwards, almost expecting to find that some one had fallen over the precipice. Ellen kept up her courage admirably, and never hesitated to follow where others led. I could not help asking once if she did not feel afraid. “No,” she answered. “I always look upwards when I come to a difficult place, and so pass without alarm.” Ellen’s plan is the right one, metaphorically speaking, to adopt in all the difficulties and trials of life: look upwards, and we shall be carried safely through them. On we went till we found ourselves among a chaos of mountains, separated by ravines so deep that the eye could scarcely distinguish the rapid streams which found their way below. On one side rose into the clear blue sky the majestic summit of Chimborazo, while other peaked and round-topped mountains reared their heads proudly around. At length the summit of the sierra was reached, and our mules commenced a descent into the valley, drawing their legs together and sliding down with fearful velocity. I had bean anxious before, I was doubly so now; but the animals with wonderful sagacity kept the centre of the path, and in time I lost all sensation of fear, and could admire the beautiful scenery.

The tambos, or road-side inns, we stopped at were mostly huts of the rudest kind, with mud walls and floors, kept by Indians, and dirty in the extreme. The entertainment provided for us was boiled chicken and potato-soup, called in the mountains locro. Wooden spoons were served to enable us to ladle up the soup, but our fingers had to be used for the chicken, instead of knives and forks.

We seldom had an opportunity while on mule-back of exchanging thoughts except at the top of our voices, as in most places we were compelled to travel in Indian file, one following the other. We were once more ascending the steep side of the mountain, when, on rounding a point, we saw coming towards us a single traveller. As he caught sight of us he stopped his mule, and made signs for us to come on toward the spot where the greater width of the road would allow us to pass him. As we got up to him I saw that he was a negro, dressed in the usual poncho and broad-brimmed hat of the traveller in the Andes. Don José, John, and Arthur had ridden by, when the stranger’s eye fell on Maria.