Wanderings in South America

Their heads remain firmly supported by the bush-rope; many of their roots soon refix themselves in the earth, and frequently a strong shoot will sprout out perpendicularly from near the root of the reclined trunk, and in time become a fine tree.  No grass grows under the trees; and few weeds, except in the swamps.

The high grounds are pretty clear of underwood, and with a cutlass to sever the small bush-ropes, it is not difficult walking among the trees.

The soil, chiefly formed by the fallen leaves and decayed trees, is very rich and fertile in the valleys.  On the hills it is little better than sand.  The rains seem to have carried away and swept into the valleys every particle which nature intended to have formed a mould.

Four-footed animals are scarce, considering how very thinly these forests are inhabited by men.

Several species of the animal commonly called tiger, though in reality it approaches nearer to the leopard, are found here; and two of their diminutives, named tiger-cats.  The tapir, the labba, and deer, afford excellent food, and chiefly frequent the swamps and low ground, near the sides of the river and creeks.

In stating that four-footed animals are scarce, the peccary must be excepted.  Three or four hundred of them herd together, and traverse the wilds in all directions, in quest of roots and fallen seeds.  The Indians mostly shoot them with poisoned arrows.  When wounded, they run about one hundred and fifty paces; they then drop, and make wholesome food.

The red monkey, erroneously called the baboon, is heard oftener than it is seen; while the common brown monkey, the bisa, and sacawinki, rove from tree to tree, and amuse the stranger as he journeys on.

A species of the polecat, and another of the fox, are destructive to the Indian’s poultry; while the opossum, the guana, and salempenta afford him a delicious morsel.

The small ant-bear, and the large one, remarkable for its long, broad bushy tail, are sometimes seen on the tops of the wood-ants’ nests; the armadillos bore in the sand-hills, like rabbits in a warren; and the porcupine is now and then discovered in the trees over your head.

This, too, is the native country of the sloth.  His looks, his gestures, and his cries, all conspire to entreat you to take pity on him.  These are the only weapons of defence which nature has given him.  While other animals assemble in herds, or in pairs range through these boundless wilds, the sloth is solitary, and almost stationary; he cannot escape from you.  It is said, his piteous moans make the tiger relent, and turn out of the way.  Do not then level your gun at him, or pierce him with a poisoned arrow; he has never hurt one living creature.  A few leaves, and those of the commonest and coarsest kind, are all he asks for his support.  On comparing him with other animals, you would say that you could perceive deficiency, deformity, and superabundance in his composition.  He has no cutting teeth, and though four stomachs, he still wants the long intestines of ruminating animals.  He has only one inferior aperture, as in birds.  He has no soles to his feet, nor has he the power of moving his toes separately.  His hair is flat, and puts you in mind of grass withered by the wintry blast.  His legs are too short; they appear deformed by the manner in which they are joined to the body; and when he is on the ground, they seem as if only calculated to be of use in climbing trees.  He has forty-six ribs, while the elephant has only forty; and his claws are disproportionably long.  Were you to mark down, upon a graduated scale, the different claims to superiority amongst the four-footed animals, this poor ill-formed creature’s claim would be the last upon the lowest degree.

Demerara yields to no country in the world in her wonderful and beautiful productions of the feathered race.  Here the finest precious stones are far surpassed by the vivid tints which adorn the birds.  The naturalist may exclaim, that nature has not known where to stop in forming new species, and painting her requisite shades.  Almost every one of those singular and elegant birds described by Buffon as belonging to Cayenne are to be met with in Demerara; but it is only by an indefatigable naturalist that they are to be found.

The scarlet curlew breeds in innumerable quantities in the muddy islands on the coasts of Pomauron; the egrets and crabiers in the same place.  They resort to the mud-flats at ebbing water, while thousands of sandpipers and plovers, with here and there a spoonbill and flamingo, are seen amongst them.  The pelicans go farther out to sea, but return at sundown to the courada trees.  The humming-birds are chiefly to be found near the flowers at which each of the species of the genus is wont to feed.  The pie, the gallinaceous, the columbine, and passerine tribes, resort to the fruit-bearing trees.

You never fail to see the common vulture where there is carrion.  In passing up the river there was an opportunity of seeing a pair of the king of the vultures; they were sitting on the naked branch of a tree, with about a dozen of the common ones with them.  A tiger had killed a goat the day before; he had been driven away in the act of sucking the blood, and not finding it safe or prudent to return, the goat remained in the same place where he had killed it; it had begun to putrefy, and the vultures had arrived that morning to claim the savoury morsel.

At the close of day, the vampires leave the hollow trees, whither they had fled at the morning’s dawn, and scour along the river’s banks in quest of prey.  On waking from sleep, the astonished traveller finds his hammock all stained with blood.  It is the vampire that has sucked him.  Not man alone, but every unprotected animal, is exposed to his depredations; and so gently does this nocturnal surgeon draw the blood, that instead of being roused, the patient is lulled into a still profounder sleep.  There are two species of vampire in Demerara, and both suck living animals; one is rather larger than the common bat; the other measures above two feet from wing to wing extended.

Snakes are frequently met with in the woods betwixt the sea-coast and the rock Saba, chiefly near the creeks and on the banks of the river.  They are large, beautiful, and formidable.  The rattlesnake seems partial to a tract of ground known by the name of Canal Number Three; there the effects of his poison will be long remembered.

The camoudi snake has been killed from thirty to forty feet long; though not venomous, his size renders him destructive to the passing animals.  The Spaniards in the Oroonoque positively affirm that he grows to the length of seventy or eighty feet, and that he will destroy the strongest and largest bull.  His name seems to confirm this; there he is called “matatoro,” which literally means “bull-killer.”  Thus he may be ranked amongst the deadly snakes: for it comes nearly to the same thing in the end, whether the victim dies by poison from the fangs, which corrupts his blood and makes it stink horribly, or whether his body be crushed to mummy and swallowed by this hideous beast.

The whipsnake, of a beautiful changing green, and the coral with alternate broad transverse bars of black and red, glide from bush to bush, and may be handled with safety; they are harmless little creatures.

The labarri snake is speckled, of a dirty brown colour, and can scarcely be distinguished from the ground or stump on which he is coiled up; he grows to the length of about eight feet, and his bite often proves fatal in a few minutes.

Unrivalled in his display of every lovely colour of the rainbow, and unmatched in the effects of his deadly poison, the counacouchi glides undaunted on, sole monarch of these forests; he is commonly known by the name of the bush-master.  Both man and beast fly before him, and allow him to pursue an undisputed path.  He sometimes grows to the length of fourteen feet.

A few small caymans, from two to twelve feet long, may be observed now and then in passing up and down the river: they just keep their heads above the water, and a stranger would not know them from a rotten stump.

Lizards of the finest green, brown, and copper colour, from two inches to two feet and a half long, are ever and anon rustling among the fallen leaves, and crossing the path before you; whilst the chameleon is busily employed in chasing insects round the trunks of the neighbouring trees.

The fish are of many different sorts, and well-tasted, but not, generally speaking, very plentiful.  It is probable that their numbers are considerably thinned by the otters, which are much larger than those of Europe.  In going through the overflowed savannas which have all a communication with the river, you may often see a dozen or two of them sporting among the sedges before you.

This warm and humid climate seems particularly adapted to the producing of insects; it gives birth to myriads, beautiful past description in their variety of tints, astonishing in their form and size, and many of them noxious in their qualities.

He whose eye can distinguish the various beauties of uncultivated nature, and whose ear is not shut to the wild sounds in the woods, will be delighted in passing up the river Demerara.  Every now and then, the maam or tinamou sends forth one long and plaintive whistle from the depths of the forest, and then stops; whilst the yelping of the toucan, and the shrill voice of the bird called pi-pi-yo, is heard during the interval.  The campanero never fails to attract the attention of the passenger: at a distance of nearly three miles you may hear this snow-white bird tolling every four or five minutes, like the distant convent bell.  From six to nine in the morning the forests resound with the mingled cries and strains of the feathered race; after this they gradually die away.  From eleven to three all nature is hushed as in a midnight silence, and scarce a note is heard, saving that of the campanero and the pi-pi-yo; it is then that, oppressed by the solar heat, the birds retire to the thickest shade and wait for the refreshing cool of evening.

At sun-down the vampires, bats, and goat-suckers dart from their lonely retreat, and skim along the trees on the river’s bank.  The different kinds of frogs almost stun the ear with their hoarse and hollow-sounding croaking, while the owls and goat-suckers lament and mourn all night long.

About two hours before daybreak you will hear the red monkey moaning as though in deep distress; the houtou, a solitary bird, and only found in the thickest recesses of the forest, distinctly articulates, “houtou, houtou,” in a low and plaintive tone, an hour before sunrise; the maam whistles about the same hour; the hannaquoi, pataca, and maroudi announce his near approach to the eastern horizon, and the parrots and parroquets confirm his arrival there.

The crickets chirp from sunset to sunrise, and often during the day, when the weather is cloudy.  The bêterouge is exceeding numerous in these extensive wilds, and not only man, but beasts and birds, are tormented by it.  Mosquitos are very rare after you pass the third island in the Demerara, and sand-flies but seldom appear.

Courteous reader, here thou hast the outlines of an amazing landscape given thee; thou wilt see that the principal parts of it are but faintly traced, some of them scarcely visible at all, and that the shades are wholly wanting.  If thy soul partakes of the ardent flame which the persevering Mungo Park’s did, these outlines will be enough for thee: for they will give some idea of what a noble country this is: and if thou hast but courage to set about giving the world a finished picture of it, neither materials to work on, nor colours to paint it in its true shades, will be wanting to thee.  It may appear a difficult task at a distance; but look close at it, and it is nothing at all; provided thou hast but a quiet mind, little more is necessary, and the Genius which presides over these wilds will kindly help thee through the rest.  She will allow thee to slay the fawn, and to cut down the mountain-cabbage for thy support, and to select from every part of her domain whatever may be necessary for the work thou art about; but having killed a pair of doves in order to enable thee to give mankind a true and proper description of them, thou must not destroy a third through wantonness, or to show what a good marksman thou art; that would only blot the picture thou art finishing, not colour it.

Though retired from the haunts of men, and even without a friend with thee, thou wouldst not find it solitary.  The crowing of the hannaquoi will sound in thine ears like the daybreak town-clock; and the wren and the thrush will join with thee in thy matin hymn to thy Creator, to thank Him for thy night’s rest.

At noon the Genius will lead thee to the troely, one leaf of which will defend thee from both sun and rain.  And if, in the cool of the evening, thou hast been tempted to stray too far from thy place of abode, and art deprived of light to write down the information thou hast collected, the firefly, which thou wilt see in almost every bush around thee, will be thy candle.  Hold it over thy pocket-book, in any position which thou knowest will not hurt it, and it will afford thee ample light.  And when thou hast done with it, put it kindly back again on the next branch to thee.  It will want no other reward for its services.

When in thy hammock, should the thought of thy little crosses and disappointments, in thy ups and downs through life, break in upon thee, and throw thee into a pensive mood, the owl will bear thee company.  She will tell thee that hard has been her fate too; and, at intervals, “Whip-poor-Will” and “Willy come go” will take up the tale of sorrow.  Ovid has told thee how the owl once boasted the human form, and lost it for a very small offence; and were the poet alive now, he would inform thee that “Whip-poor-Will,” and “Willy come go,” are the shades of those poor African and Indian slaves, who died worn out and broken-hearted.  They wail and cry, “Whip-poor-Will,” “Willy come go,” all night long; and often when the moon shines you see them sitting on the green turf, near the houses of those whose ancestors tore them from the bosom of their helpless families, which all probably perished through grief and want after their support was gone.

About an hour above the rock of Saba stands the habitation of an Indian, called Simon, on the top of a hill.  The side next the river is almost perpendicular, and you may easily throw a stone over to the opposite bank.  Here there was an opportunity of seeing man in his rudest state.  The Indians who frequented this habitation, though living in the midst of woods, bore evident marks of attention to their persons.  Their hair was neatly collected, and tied up in a knot; their bodies fancifully painted red, and the paint was scented with hayawa.  This gave them a gay and animated appearance.  Some of them had on necklaces, composed of the teeth of wild boars slain in the chase; many wore rings, and others had an ornament on the left arm, midway betwixt the shoulder and the elbow.  At the close of day they regularly bathed in the river below; and the next morning seemed busy in renewing the faded colours of their faces.

One day there came into the hut a form which literally might be called the wild man of the woods.  On entering, he laid down a ball of wax, which he had collected in the forest.  His hammock was all ragged and torn; and his bow, though of good wood, was without any ornament or polish; “erubuit domino, cultior esse suo.”  His face was meagre, his looks forbidding, and his whole appearance neglected.  His long black hair hung from his head in matted confusion; nor had his body to all appearance ever been painted.  They gave him some cassava bread and boiled fish, which he ate voraciously, and soon after left the hut.  As he went out you could observe no traces in his countenance or demeanour which indicated that he was in the least mindful of having been benefited by the society he was just leaving.

The Indians said that he had neither wife, nor child, nor friend.  They had often tried to persuade him to come and live amongst them; but all was of no avail.  He went roving on, plundering the wild bees of their honey, and picking up the fallen nuts and fruits of the forest.  When he fell in with game, he procured fire from two sticks, and cooked it on the spot.  When a hut happened to be in his way, he stepped in and asked for something to eat, and then months elapsed ere they saw him again.  They did not know what had caused him to be thus unsettled; he had been so for years; nor did they believe that even old age itself would change the habits of this poor, harmless, solitary wanderer.

From Simon’s, the traveller may reach the large fall with ease in four days.

The first falls that he meets are merely rapids, scarce a stone appearing above the water in the rainy season; and those in the bed of the river barely high enough to arrest the water’s course, and by causing a bubbling, show that they are there.

With this small change of appearance in the stream, the stranger observes nothing new till he comes within eight or ten miles of the great fall.  Each side of the river presents an uninterrupted range of wood, just as it did below.  All the productions found betwixt the plantations and the rock Saba are to be met with here.

From Simon’s to the great fall there are five habitations of the Indians—two of them close to the river’s side; the other three a little way in the forest.  These habitations consist of from four to eight huts, situated on about an acre of ground which they have cleared from the surrounding woods.  A few pappaw, cotton, and mountain cabbage-trees are scattered round them.

At one of these habitations a small quantity of the wourali-poison was procured.  It was in a little gourd.  The Indian who had it said that he had killed a number of wild hogs with it and two tapirs.  Appearances seemed to confirm what he had said; for on one side it had been nearly taken out to the bottom at different times, which probably would not have been the case had the first or second trial failed.

Its strength was proved on a middle-sized dog.  He was wounded in the thigh, in order that there might be no possibility of touching a vital part.  In three or four minutes he began to be affected, smelt at every little thing on the ground around him, and looked wistfully at the wounded part.  Soon after this he staggered, laid himself down, and never rose more.  He barked once, though not as if in pain.  His voice was low and weak; and in a second attempt it quite failed him.  He now put his head betwixt his fore-legs, and raising it slowly again, he fell over on his side.  His eyes immediately became fixed, and though his extremities every now and then shot convulsively, he never showed the least desire to raise up his head.  His heart fluttered much from the time he lay down, and at intervals beat very strong; then stopped for a moment or two, and then beat again; and continued faintly beating several minutes after every other part of his body seemed dead.

In a quarter of an hour after he had received the poison he was quite motionless.

A few miles before you reach the great fall, and which, indeed, is the only one which can be called a fall, large balls of froth come floating past you.  The river appears beautifully marked with streaks of foam, and on your nearer approach the stream is whitened all over.

At first, you behold the fall rushing down a bed of rocks, with a tremendous noise, divided into two foamy streams, which at their junction again form a small island covered with wood.  Above this island, for a short space, there appears but one stream all white with froth, and fretting and boiling amongst the huge rocks which obstruct its course.

Higher up it is seen dividing itself into a short channel or two, and trees grow on the rocks which caused its separation.  The torrent in many places has eaten deep into the rocks, and split them into large fragments by driving others against them.  The trees on the rocks are in bloom and vigour, though their roots are half bared, and many of them bruised and broken by the rushing waters.

This is the general appearance of the fall from the level of the water below to where the river is smooth and quiet above.  It must be remembered that this is during the periodical rains.  Probably in the dry season it puts on a very different appearance.  There is no perpendicular fall of water of any consequence throughout it, but the dreadful roaring and rushing of the torrent down a long, rocky, and moderately sloping channel has a fine effect; and the stranger returns well pleased with what he has seen.  No animal, nor craft of any kind, could stem this downward flood.  In a few moments the first would be killed, the second dashed in pieces.

The Indians have a path alongside of it, through the forest, where prodigious crabwood trees grow.  Up this path they drag their canoes, and launch them into the river above; and on their return bring them down the same way.

About two hours below this fall is the habitation of an Acoway chief called Sinkerman.  At night you hear the roaring of the fall from it.  It is pleasantly situated on the top of a sand-hill.  At this place you have the finest view the river Demerara affords: three tiers of hills rise in slow gradation, one above the other before you, and present a grand and magnificent scene, especially to him who has been accustomed to a level country.

Here, a little after midnight on the first of May, was heard a most strange and unaccountable noise; it seemed as though several regiments were engaged, and musketry firing with great rapidity.  The Indians, terrified beyond description, left their hammocks and crowded all together, like sheep at the approach of the wolf.  There were no soldiers within three or four hundred miles.  Conjecture was of no avail, and all conversation next morning on the subject was as useless and unsatisfactory as the dead silence which succeeded to the noise.

He who wishes to reach the Macoushi country had better send his canoe over land from Sinkerman’s to the Essequibo.

There is a pretty good path, and meeting a creek about three-quarters of the way, it eases the labour, and twelve Indians will arrive with it in the Essequibo in four days.

The traveller need not attend his canoe; there is a shorter and a better way.  Half an hour below Sinkerman’s he finds a little creek on the western bank of the Demerara.  After proceeding about a couple of hundred yards up it, he leaves it, and pursues a west-north-west direction by land for the Essequibo.  The path is good, though somewhat rugged with the roots of trees, and here and there obstructed by fallen ones; it extends more over level ground than otherwise.  There are a few steep ascents and descents in it, with a little brook running at the bottom of them; but they are easily passed over, and the fallen trees serve for a bridge.

You may reach the Essequibo with ease in a day and a half; and so matted and interwoven are the tops of the trees above you, that the sun is not felt once all the way, saving where the space which a newly-fallen tree occupied lets in his rays upon you.  The forest contains an abundance of wild hogs, lobbas, acouries, powisses, maams, maroudis, and waracabas for your nourishment, and there are plenty of leaves to cover a shed whenever you are inclined to sleep.

The soil has three-fourths of sand in it, till you come within half an hour’s walk of the Essequibo, where you find a red gravel and rocks.  In this retired and solitary tract, nature’s garb, to all appearance, has not been injured by fire, nor her productions broken in upon by the exterminating hand of man.

Here the finest green-heart grows, and wallaba, purple-heart, siloabali, sawari, buletre, tauronira, and mora, are met with in vast abundance, far and near, towering up in majestic grandeur, straight as pillars sixty or seventy feet high, without a knot, or branch.

Traveller, forget for a little while the idea thou hast of wandering farther on, and stop and look at this grand picture of vegetable nature; it is a reflection of the crowd thou hast lately been in, and though a silent monitor, it is not a less eloquent one on that account.  See that noble purple-heart before thee!  Nature has been kind to it.  Not a hole, not the least oozing from its trunk, to show that its best days are past.  Vigorous in youthful blooming beauty, it stands the ornament of these sequestered wilds, and tacitly rebukes those base ones of thine own species who have been hardy enough to deny the existence of Him who ordered it to flourish there.