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Title: Our search for a wilderness
An account of two ornithological expeditions to Venezuela and to British Guiana
Author: Blair Niles
William Beebe
Release date: February 23, 2025 [eBook #75453]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Henry Holt & Company, 1910
Credits: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR SEARCH FOR A WILDERNESS ***
BY C. WILLIAM BEEBE
THE BIRD, ITS FORM AND FUNCTION
With colored Frontispiece and 371 Illustrations, chiefly photographed
from Life by the Author. _American Nature Series._ New York: Henry Holt
and Company. 8vo. $3.50 net.
THE LOG OF THE SUN
A Chronicle of Nature’s Year. With fifty-two full-page illustrations by
Walter King Stone, and numerous Vignettes and photographs from Life. New
York: Henry Holt and Company. 8vo., full gilt. $6.00 net.
TWO BIRD-LOVERS IN MEXICO
Illustrated with photographs from Life taken by the Author. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin Company. 8vo. $3.00 net.
OUR SEARCH FOR A WILDERNESS
[Illustration: (_Frontispiece_)
IN THE SOUTH AMERICAN WILDERNESS.]
OUR SEARCH FOR A
WILDERNESS
AN ACCOUNT OF TWO ORNITHOLOGICAL EXPEDITIONS
TO VENEZUELA AND TO BRITISH GUIANA
BY
MARY BLAIR BEEBE
AND
C. WILLIAM BEEBE
_Curator of Ornithology in the New York Zoölogical Park; Fellow of the
New York Academy of Sciences; Member of the American
Ornithologists’ Union and Corresponding
Member of the London
Zoölogical Society_
_ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS FROM LIFE
TAKEN BY THE AUTHORS_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
_Published April, 1910_
Stanhope Press
F. H. GILSON COMPANY
BOSTON, U.S.A.
To
JUDGE AND MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR
With the deepest affection and admiration
of
their Granddaughter
MARY BLAIR BEEBE
and of
C. WILLIAM BEEBE
PREFACE.
In the following pages we have set down the tale of two searches for
a wilderness. These two private expeditions were undertaken for the
purpose of learning something about the birds and other wild creatures
of countries further south than any we had yet visited. Both trips were
successful; for the regions we explored were wilderness wonderlands,—full
of beauty, abounding in the romance which ever enhances wild creatures
and wild men, and they were part of the great zoölogical “dark continent”
which we hope to devote our lives to studying.
On our first search the collecting of live birds was incidental, although
we brought back forty specimens of fourteen species.
On the second search, however, we took with us an assistant, Mr. Lee
S. Crandall. By his assiduity in trapping and in arousing the interest
of native coolie and black boys, he assembled a splendid collection of
almost three hundred living birds of fifty-one species. These we brought
to the New York Zoölogical Park, where no less than thirty-three species
were new to the collection. In addition many small mammals and reptiles
were collected.
PART I.
We left New York on February 22d, 1908, on the Royal Mail Steamship
“Trent,” and after touching at Jamaica, Colon, Savanilla and La Guayra,
we disembarked at Port of Spain, Trinidad, on March 9th. Leaving this
port in a Venezuelan sloop we cruised among the caños north of the
Orinoco Delta, and explored the country about the Venezuelan Pitch
Lake—La Brea.
To Mr. Eugene André of Trinidad, we are deeply indebted for a hundred
kindnesses which did much to make our trip a success. We wish also to
express gratitude to Mr. Mole, Mr. Anduse and especially to the late Mr.
Ellis Grell.
PART II.
On the 15th of February, 1909, we sailed from New York on the Steamship
“Coppename” of the Royal Dutch West Indian Mail, and with only a single
stop—Barbadoes—reached Georgetown, British Guiana, on the 24th of the
same month.
In British Guiana we made three expeditions; two as the guests of Mr. and
Mrs. Gaylord Wilshire, having as our objective points two gold mines in
the midst of the wilderness, the first at Hoorie in the northwest, the
second on the Little Aremu in central Guiana. On these expeditions we
were spared all the usual annoyances of transportation; food and servants
and everything at the mines were put at our service to facilitate our
study of the nature life of the country. The third trip to the savanna
region further south was made at the invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Lindley
Vinton, two Americans living in Georgetown, who placed their home at our
disposal while we remained in Georgetown.
During our entire stay in British Guiana we received unfailing courtesy
and kindness,—from the Governor, Sir Frederick Hodgson, down to the great
black hospitable wilderness police. Professor J. B. Harrison allowed us
to use the old aviaries at the Botanical Gardens, and with Mr. James
Rodway of the Georgetown Museum and Mr. B. Howell Jones, extended to us
all the courtesies in his power.
For figures 97, 98, 108, 144, and 158 we are indebted to Dr. Hiram
Bingham, and figures 83, 109, 130, and 131 are from photographs belonging
to the New York Zoölogical Society and were taken by Mr. E. R. Sanborn.
All the others were taken by ourselves with a Graflex Camera and 27-inch
Goerz lens, and a pocket Kodak, both 4 by 5 in size.
The first two chapters appeared in their original form in “Harper’s
Monthly Magazine,” and the third chapter in “Recreation.”
Our thanks are due to Dr. William T. Hornaday, Director of the New York
Zoölogical Park, for the leave of absence which made possible these
expeditions.
* * * * *
Three appendices have been added. The first is a classified list of
the birds, with their scientific names, which are mentioned in the
book; by no means a complete list of those observed. Reference to it is
facilitated by the superior numbers affixed throughout the text to the
names of the birds. The second appendix gives the native Guianan names
of the commoner species of birds. The third is a list of the insects
observed at Hoorie which have been identified up to the present time.
Wherever in this volume it has seemed best for any reason that certain
chapters should be written by one of the authors alone, the writer’s
name has been given at the head of the chapter. In all chapters not thus
designated the authors have collaborated.
MARY BLAIR BEEBE,
C. WILLIAM BEEBE.
_January, 1910._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PART I. OUR FIRST SEARCH.
VENEZUELA.
I. THE LAND OF A SINGLE TREE 3
II. THE LAKE OF PITCH 32
III. A WOMAN’S EXPERIENCES IN VENEZUELA 71
PART II. OUR SECOND SEARCH.
BRITISH GUIANA.
IV. GEORGETOWN 111
V. STEAMER AND LAUNCH TO HOORIE CREEK 134
VI. A GOLD MINE IN THE WILDERNESS 165
VII. THROUGH THE COASTAL WILDERNESS WITH INDIANS AND CANOE 214
VIII. THE WATER TRAIL FROM GEORGETOWN TO AREMU 244
IX. JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU 285
X. JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU (Continued) 316
XI. THE LIFE OF THE ABARY SAVANNAS 350
APPENDICES.
A. CLASSIFIED LIST OF BIRDS MENTIONED IN THIS VOLUME 389
B. NATIVE GUIANAN NAMES OF BIRDS 395
C. ALPHABETICAL LISTS OF BIRDS 397
INDEX 399
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FIG. PAGE
In the South American Wilderness. _Frontispiece_
1. Map of our Trip through the Mangrove Wilderness 2
2. Our Sloop entering the Mangroves 5
3. Scarlet Ibises in Flight 7
4. Young Mangrove Plants 11
5. The Crucifix in the Catfish 13
6. Parrot Puff-fish 15
7. Four-eyed Fish 16
8. Our Floating Home at La Ceiba 18
9. Exploring the Caños in a Dug-out 21
10. White Orchids 23
11. Sun-bittern 25
12. Solution of the Mangrove Mystery—an Anaconda 27
13. Hoatzins in the Bamboos on the Guarapiche 28
14. First Glimpse of the Venezuela Mountains 31
15. Colony of 150 Cassiques’ Nests in One Tree 33
16. Nest and Eggs of Yellow-backed Cassique 34
17. Venezuelan Tree Porcupine 36
18. Wild Chachalaca near a Guanoco Hut 38
19. Scorpion and its Young taken from Milady’s Shoe 39
20. Yellow Woodpecker 41
21. Owl Butterfly on Cocoa Bark 42
22. Lizard Alert on Trunk of Tree 44
23. The Same Lizard a Moment Later, Obliterated by Change of
Position 45
24. Nest and Eggs of Great Blue Tinamou 47
25. Woodhewer clinging to the Trunk of a Tree 50
26. Streaked Flycatcher 51
27. The Jungle Railroad 56
28. Spider Lilies near Pitch Lake 57
29. La Brea—The Lake of Pitch 59
30. The fatal “Mother of the Lake” 61
31. White-headed Chimachima Hawk and Eta Palm 62
32. Amazon Parrot Roost, Pitch Lake 63
33. The Home of the Amazon Parrot in the Middle of Pitch Lake 64
34. Amazon Parrot at Entrance of Nest. Fifteen feet away 65
35. Amazon Parrot at Entrance of Nest. Ten feet away 65
36. Amazon Parrot about to take Flight 66
37. Eggs and Young of Amazon Parrot in the Nest 67
38. Fish from the Pools in Pitch Lake. _Aequidens_ sp. 69
39. Fish from the Pools in Pitch Lake. _Hoplias malabaricus_ 69
40. Our Sloop at Guanoco 72
41. Venezuelan Soldiers on the “Pontón” Guard Ship 76
42. Captain Truxillo paddling us up the Guarapiche past Caño
Colorado 78
43. Sunset in the Mangrove Wilderness 80
44. The Silent Savages 81
45. Guarauno Indians coming to trade at Caño Colorado 83
46. Guarauno Squaws and Child with Monkey 85
47. Pitch Lake, showing freshly dug pit filled with water; an
older pit filled with soft pitch, both surrounded by
the hard surface pitch 88
48. Digging out the Black, Waxlike Pitch 90
49. Loading Pitch on the Hand Cars 93
50. Mangrove Wilderness from the High Land at Guanoco 95
51. Inhabitants of Guanoco assembled for a Dance 97
52. A Palm-sheath Rocking Toy 100
53. Sheath in Fig. 52, covering the Flower of a Palm 102
54. Priestless Chapel at Guanoco 105
55. Guarauno Indian Papoose 107
56. Map of our Three Expeditions into British Guiana 110
57. Street in Georgetown 113
58. Kiskadee Tyrant Flycatcher 114
59. Coolie Woman and Negress 117
60. The Georgetown Sea-wall 119
61. Toad 123
62. Arc-light 123
63. Victoria Regia in the Botanical Gardens 124
64. Lotus in Blossom 126
65. Taliput Palm in Blossom 128
66. Canal of the Crocodiles 130
67. Young Elania Flycatchers 132
68. Typical Indian House at Morawhanna 136
69. Three-year Olds at Home in their Wood-skin 138
70. Mount Everard 140
71. Sir Everard im Thurn’s House at Morawhanna 143
72. Palm Tanager 147
73. Frederick, the Carib Indian Boy 152
74. Our Tent-boat on the Barama River 159
75. Indian Boys in Dug-out 162
76. Crossing a Stream on the Hoorie Jungle Road 166
77. The Wilderness Trail 168
78. Engine House and Flume of Hoorie Gold Mine 172
79. The “Little Giant” at Work 175
80. Carib Hunter and His Children at Hoorie 178
81. Three Generations of Carib Indians 180
82. Mr. Wilshire and Crandall with Bushmaster 182
83. The Terrible Bushmaster 183
84. Panning Gold 186
85. Whip Scorpion or Pedipalp Spider 190
86. A Jungle Blossom 193
87. The Drowned Forest 199
88. Nests of Red-backed Cassiques 204
89. Barama River from Farnum’s House 216
90. Scene on the Barrabarra 219
91. Wake of a Manatee swimming up River 221
92. Manatee browsing close to the Bank 222
93. Manatee taking in Air and about to dive 224
94. A Vista of the Biara 226
95. Father Gillett and his Indian Boys 228
96. Tropical Luxuriance 230
97. Capybara on the Bank of a Stream 232
98. South American Thatched House and Nests of Green Cassiques 236
99. Miles of Lilies 239
100. The Road to Suddie 243
101. Gray-breasted Martins nesting on the Steamer 245
102. Coolies and their Wives fishing on the Essequibo 247
103. Falls at Lower Camaria 249
104. A Butterfly Mimicking an Orchid 251
105. Fresh-water Flying Fish 252
106. Salt-water Flying Fish 253
107. Cuyuni River 254
108. A Herd of Eight Capybaras, Six Adult and Two Young 255
109. Great Anteater 257
110. A Tacuba on the Cuyuni 259
111. Rapids on the Cuyuni 260
112. Rushing the Boat into the Rapids 261
113. Warping the Boat Through the Lower Whirlpools 262
114. A Rest midway up the Rapids 264
115. The Final Struggle up to Smooth Water 266
116. Shooting the Rapids at Full Speed 270
117. A Wilderness Passion Flower—Simitú 272
118. Our Camp on the Aremu River 274
119. Poling under Tacubas on the Little Aremu 276
120. Tree-ferns on the Little Aremu 278
121. A Sloth in Action 280
122. A Sloth Asleep 281
123. Where only Otters and Fish can pass 283
124. Aremu Gold Mine, showing Bungalow and Mine Shaft 286
125. Descending the Shaft 289
126. Walking Stick Insect 290
127. Scorpion and Caterpillar after their Battle 292
128. Milady and the Giant Mora Tree 296
129. Aërial Roots of Bush-rope 299
130. Tamandua 306
131. Agouti 312
132. Nest and Eggs of White-throated Robin 323
133. Section of Paddle-wood Tree 325
134. Phonetic Caterpillars 329
135. First Phase of Curassow Strutting, a Slow Walk with Raised
Tail. Rear View. 333
136. The Same. Side View. 333
137. Second Phase of Curassow Strutting 335
138. Third Phase of Curassow Strutting 337
139. Golden-crowned Manakin lifted from Nest 343
140. Young Dusky Parrots 344
141. Early Morning in the Wilderness 346
142. Indian Hunter bringing in a Peccary 347
143. American Egret on the Abary River Savanna 352
144. Nest and Young of Jabiru 354
145. Gray-necked Tree-ducks rising from the Savanna 356
146. Our Bungalow on Abary Island 358
147. Map of Abary Island 361
148. Abary River, showing High Growth on West Bank 362
149. Spider Lily near Abary Island 363
150. Nest of a Hoatzin in the Mucka-mucka on which these Birds feed 366
151. The Author Photographing Hoatzins 367
152. (A) Female Hoatzin flushed from her nest; the Male Bird
approaching 369
153. (B) Female Hoatzin in the same Position, the Male having
flown nearer 370
154. (C) Male Hoatzin alarmed and about to take Flight 372
155. (D) Female Hoatzin crouching to avoid Observation 373
156. (E) Female Hoatzin taking flight, with wings fully spread;
a second pair of birds leaving their nest in the
background 375
157. Flock of Eleven Hoatzins 377
158. Crocodiles on a South American River Bank 380
159. Lagoon between Abary Island and River 382
160. Young Spur-winged Jacana 384
PART I
OUR FIRST SEARCH
VENEZUELA
[Illustration: FIG. 1.
MAP OF NORTHEASTERN VENEZUELA]
CHAPTER I.
THE LAND OF A SINGLE TREE.
One day late in March, just as the tropical sun was sinking from view,
our barefooted Spanish crew pulled up anchor from the muddy bottom of
Port of Spain’s harbor. Slowly the sails filled, and the spray began to
fly from the bow as we steered straight into the crimson path of the
sunset. Behind us the lofty Trinidad ranges glowed softly; great velvety
peaks and ridges, purpled by distance, gilded by the last rays of day.
Then the twilight passed swiftly as if the sun had been quenched by the
waters which covered its face; the mountains became merged into the
darkness of the sky, and the city of busy life behind us melted into a
linear constellation of twinkling lights.
We had chartered a little sloop of twenty-one tons, the “Josefa Jacinta”
(_Ho-say’fah Hah-seen’tah_) manned by a captain, a cook and a crew
of three. At her masthead flew the flag of Venezuela. With a month’s
provisions in the hold and all the varied paraphernalia of a naturalist,
we were headed for the northern part of the Orinoco delta in search of
the primitive wilderness of which we had dreamed.
Jamaica, Colon, Savanilla, La Guayra had passed in quick succession, and
we were surprised to find Trinidad the most modern and wide-awake of
all. The well-appointed hotels, the trolleys, electric lights, museums,
and newspapers of Port of Spain, the wireless station even now flashing
its aërial messages from yonder peak,—all boded ill for our search for
primeval conditions. Was there no spot left on earth, we wondered, which
could truthfully be called an untrodden wilderness!—jungles untouched
by axe or fire, where guns had not replaced bows and arrows; where the
creatures of the wilderness were tame through unfamiliarity with human
beings!
* * * * *
The Southern Cross rose and straightened its arms; the Pole Star hung low
in the north. As the night wore on, an ugly sea arose and half buried our
little craft in foam and spray. A cross-wind disputed our advance and the
strong tide drove us out of our course. But our captain had navigated
these waters for more than half a century, and we had no fears.
The following day was as wild as the night, and no living thing appeared
in sky or sea, save a host of milky jelly-fish (_Stomolophus meleagris_).
They kept below the surface, and seemed to suffer no damage from the
roughness of the water. In an area of a square yard we counted twenty,
and for hour after hour we passed through vast masses of them, extending
to the farthest waves visible on either hand and as deep down as our
eyes could penetrate—myriads upon myriads of these lowly beings, each
vibrating with life, and yet unable to guide its course against the tide,
or to do aught but pulsate slowly along.
Later in the day, although the water grew less rough, the whole company
sank lower in the muddy depths—muddy, because the brown waters of the
great Orinoco hold sway over all this gulf and scatter out at sea the
sediment washed from the banks far inland.
Finally the storm passed and we saw a blue cloud to the north, hinting
of the great mountain ranges of the Spanish Main. Ahead, a low green
mist along the horizon told us we were nearing shore. This became more
and more distinct until we could make out individual trees. By noon we
had left the tumultuous waters of the Gulf of Paria, and were floating
quietly on a broad stream between two majestic walls of green; we had
entered our wilderness, and the silence and beauty of our reception
seemed all the more vivid after the noise and turbulence of the wind and
water behind us.
[Illustration: FIG. 2. OUR SLOOP ENTERING THE MANGROVES.]
Our first impression was of a vast solitude. It was midday, and the tide
was almost at its height. With limp sails we drifted silently onward,
not a sound of life coming from the green depths about us. We skirted
the mangroves along the south bank, moving more and more slowly, until
at last we rested motionless on the water, between the blazing sky
overhead and the muddy depths beneath. The tide had reached its highest,
and, like the living creatures of the jungle, rested in the midday heat.
The captain gave a gruff order in Spanish, and the anchor splashed into
the water, dragging the chain after with a sudden roar and jangle which
echoed from shore to shore—jarring the silence as would a shriek of pain
in a cathedral.
A chatter came from the mangroves near at hand, and high up among the
dense foliage we saw the first life of the continent—a wistful little
human face gazing out at us, a capuchin monkey striving with wrinkled
brows to make out what we were. At his call two others came and looked;
then, as our sail came down with a rattle of halyards, the trio fled
through the branches with all the speed which four hands and a tail could
lend.
We spent the afternoon in getting our floating home ready for use.
No more waves would be encountered, so everything was unlashed.
Stereo-glasses, camera-plates, and ammunition were placed ready to hand;
the galley stove was moved far forward, and a mosquito-proof tent of
netting was erected under the tarpaulin in the stern.
The sun had sunk low in the west when we saw a long, narrow dug-out canoe
coming downstream. An Indian woman and her baby were crouched in the bow,
while in the stern a naked Indian paddled swiftly and silently. His skin
shone like coppery bronze in the sunlight, his long black hair was bound
back from his face by a thong of hide. In front of him rested a bow and
arrows and a long fish-spear. Silently he approached and in silence he
passed—unheeding our salutations.
[Illustration: FIG. 3. SCARLET IBISES IN FLIGHT.]
One more beauty of this wild wonderland was vouchsafed us before night
fell. We had been disappointed in the birds. Where were the myriads
of water-fowl of which we had heard? We had seen nothing—not a single
feather. But now the scene slowly changed. The tide was falling rapidly,
swirling and eddying past the boat, and the roots of the mangroves began
to protrude, their long stems shining black until the water dried from
them. Mud-flats appeared, and suddenly, without warning, a living flame
passed us—and we had seen our first Scarlet Ibis[27].[A]
Past the dark green background of mangrove foliage the magnificent bird
flew swiftly—flaming with a brilliance which shamed any pigment of human
art. Blood red, intensest vermilion, deepest scarlet—all fail to hint of
the living color of the bird. Before we could recover from our delight
a flock of twenty followed, flying close together, with bills and feet
scarlet like the plumage. They swerved from their path and alighted
on the mud close to the mangroves, and began feeding at once. Then a
trio of snowy-white Egrets[32] with trailing plumes floated overhead;
others appeared above the tops of the trees; a host of tiny Sandpipers
skimmed the surface of the water and scurried over the flats. Great Cocoi
Herons[31] swept majestically into view; Curlews and Plover[18] assembled
in myriads, lining the mud-flats at the water’s edge, while here and
there, like jets of flame against the mud, walked the vermilion Ibises.
Terns[14] with great yellow bills flew about the sloop, and Skimmers[17]
ploughed the surface of the tide in endless furrows. Macaws[61] began to
pass, shrieking as they flew, two and two together—and then night closed
quickly over all. From the zenith the sun had looked down upon a stream
as quiet as death; it sank upon a scene full of the animation of a myriad
forms of life.
As dusk settled down and hid the shore from our eyes, another sense was
aroused, and to our ears came the sounds of night in these tropical
jungles—a thousand cries, moans, crashes; all mysterious—unexplainable.
In time we became so accustomed to them that we could distinguish
repetitions and details, but this first night brought only a confused
chorus of delightful mystery, now broken by a moment of silence, now
rising to an awe-inspiring climax. One sound only remained clear in our
memory, often repeated, now uttered in lower, now in higher tones—a
terrible choking sigh. It might have been the last death gasp of some
great monkey, or the pitiful utterance of hopelessness of a madman.
With the turn of the tide we raised anchor and drifted through the
night—mile after mile for six hours, and then anchored again. And thus it
was that we came to our wilderness.
* * * * *
Not until we had been in the mangrove jungle for many days did we begin
to realize its vastness, its mystery, its primeval character. Just four
hundred and ten years ago Christopher Columbus sailed through the gulf we
had left and gazed on the dark forest in the heart of which we now were.
Throughout the whole extent of the mangrove wilderness we found no hint
that conditions were not as they were in 1498.
One of the most astonishing things about the mangrove forest is the
apparent diversity of its plant life. Until one actually comes within
reach of trunk and leaves it is impossible to believe that all this
forest is composed of a single species of plant. The foliage of some of
the trees is light, of others dark; here stands a clump of pale beechlike
trunks, there a dark, rough-barked individual is seen. The manner of
growth of the young and old trees is so different that a confusion of
mingled trees, shrubs, and vines seems to confront one. But everywhere
the mangrove reigns supreme. It is the only vegetable growth which can
gain a footing in this world of salt water. In fact, it makes its own
footing, entangling and holding mud and débris about its stems, and ever
blindly reaching out dangling roots, like the legs of gigantic spiders.
Far out on the tip of a lofty branch a mangrove seed will germinate,
before it falls assuming the appearance of a loaded club from eight to
fifteen inches in length. One day it lets go and drops like a plummet
into the soft mud, where it sticks upright. Soon the tide rises, and if
there is too strong a current the young plant is swept away, to perish
far out at sea; but if it can maintain its hold, roots soon spring out,
and the ideal of the mangrove is realized, the purpose for which all this
interesting phenomena is intended: the forest has gained a few yards, and
mud and leaves will soon choke out the intervening water.
The mangroves have still another method of gaining new territory. Aërial
roots are thrown out from branches high in air, swinging downward and
outward with a curve which sometimes wins three or four yards ahead.
Like hawsers thrown from a vessel to a wharf these roots clutch at the
mud beneath, but where the current runs swiftly they swing and dangle in
vain, until they have grown so heavy that they touch bottom some distance
downstream. We made use of these dangling roots as anchors for our canoe,
bending the elastic unattached end upward and springing it over the
gunwale.
Throughout all this great region there is not a foot of solid ground. In
one place we pushed a tall shoot some eight feet in height straight down
through the mud, and it went out of sight. A man falling on this mud, out
of reach of aid, would vanish as in a quick-sand. So the wild creatures
of the mangroves must either swim, fly, or climb. No terrestrial beings
can exist there. We once selected a favorable place, and for fifty
yards made our way over the roots and branches before exhaustion and an
impassable gap of mud and water stopped all progress. As never before
we realized how safe from man are the denizens of these strange swamps.
Monkeys fled swiftly before us, birds rose and flew overhead, while we
painfully crept and pulled ourselves along over the slippery stems.
[Illustration: FIG. 4. YOUNG MANGROVE PLANTS.]
More wonderful even than the coral polyps are these mangroves, for by
this plant alone all this region has been rescued from the sea and built
up into land. In future years, as the mud banks become higher and are
fertilized by the ever-falling leaves, other growths will appear, and
finally the coast of the continent will be thus extended by many scores
of miles of fertile soil.
A network of narrow channels stretches through this wilderness and
allowed us to explore the far interior in our shallow curiara or dug-out.
Thus we spent days and weeks in search of the creatures which lived
in this land of a single tree, and here we learned how delightful the
climate of such a region can be. Every night we slept under blankets, and
during the day the temperature ranged from 66° at five and six o’clock in
the morning to about 86° at noon, although we were within nine degrees
of the equator.[B] One could paddle all day with more comfort than on a
hot summer day in the north. By day mosquitoes were generally absent, and
only a few biting flies reminded us of the “terrible insect scourges”
of the tropics. Life was delightfully new and strange, with the spice of
danger ever attendant upon the exploration of unknown lands.
[Illustration: FIG. 5. THE CRUCIFIX IN THE CATFISH.]
The fishes attracted our attention from the first. When we came on deck
before sunrise for a plunge, our little vessel would be surrounded by
hosts of catfish (_Pseudaucheniplerus nodosus_) all, like our sloop,
headed upstream against the tide. They would bite indifferently at bait,
a bit of cloth, or a bare hook, and were delicious eating. On the bottom
our hooks would sometimes be taken by great fierce-whiskered cats,
bedecked with long streamers, which gave no end of trouble before they
were quieted. They were pale yellow, and the head and back were encased
in bone; Maestro—the cook—called them the crucifix fish, and later showed
us why. On the under surface of the bony armor is a large cross with a
halo about it just above the arms. The crew never caught one of these
fish without making the sign of the cross in their right palm.
When the tide was half down the funniest of puff-fishes (_Calomesus
psittacus_), or tambourines as the Captain called them, would take our
bait. They were from three to five inches long, white below, and pale
greenish above crossed by seven black bands, the first across the mouth
and the seventh at the tip of the caudal fin. There was also a black
patch at the base of the pectoral fins. The iris was bright lemon yellow.
When gently scratched on the lower parts, or sometimes even when just
lifted from the water they would swell up into a round ball. They were
covered with short, stiff bristles which stood on end when the fish
was inflated, and their comical appearance was increased by the four
rodent-like incisor teeth in the front of the mouth. When thus inflated
with air they were helpless for a time, and if thrown back, floated belly
upward at the mercy of the wind and current, until they were able to
collapse to normal size.
On one of our first excursions among the mangroves in our small canoe
we made a most interesting discovery. Here and there, sprawled out on
the mud-flats, were small crocodiles, and occasionally a large one would
rush off into the water at our approach. Hugging the edge of the tide
where the ripples lapped back and forth on the black ooze were many
other living creatures. For a long time we could not make them out,
but finally, drifting silently upon a whole school, we knew them for
four-eyed fish (_Anableps anableps_)—strange creatures which we had hoped
to see.
[Illustration: FIG. 6. PARROT PUFF-FISH.]
We came to a tiny bayou, shaped like a bottle, from which four Little
Blue Herons[34] flew as we approached. We placed our dug-out corklike
athwart the mouth and anchored with our crossed paddles. The air was
warm, bees hummed about the tiny four-parted flowers of the mangroves,
and a great blue morpho butterfly flapped past, mirrored in the water
beneath. Then came tragedy—never far off in this land of superabundant
life. A small clay-colored crocodile made a sudden rush at a ripple,
and a quartet of four-eyes shot from the water in frantic fear. One was
slower than the rest, and the fierce jaws of the diminutive reptile just
grazed him. Another fell back downward in the ooze, and in a twinkling
was caught and dragged into the depths. No wonder the poor little
four-eyes are ever on the lookout for danger and spend most of their time
where they merge with the ripples along the shore, when such enemies are
on the watch for them!
A whir of wings sounded, and a Kingfisher[69] alighted within arm’s
reach. But such a Kingfisher!—the veriest mite, clad in a robe of
brilliant emerald and orange. So small was he that it seemed as if the
tiniest of minnows must choke him. He seemed to be of the same opinion,
for while we watched him he caught only the insects which passed him in
mid-air or which were floating on the water.
[Illustration: FIG. 7. FOUR-EYED FISH.]
By far the most numerous, and in their way the most interesting of the
mangroves’ inhabitants, were the crabs. There were untold millions of
them, all small, all active and keen of vision. If we sat quietly,
they would appear from everywhere, peeping out like little gnomes from
their perches on the mangroves, forever playing their noiseless little
fiddles. These tiny tree-folk not only played, but danced. Let us picture
a scene constantly enacted, so close to us that we could all but touch
the performers. Two crabs approach each other, now fiddling vigorously,
now waving their diminutive pincers back and forth over their heads as
a ballet-dancer waves her arms. They move never in straight lines, but
sideways, now running back a few steps, now forward, until at last they
meet, and each grasping the other’s claws, raises them aloft, and then
for five minutes they circle about in most ludicrous imitation of a
waltz. All this usually takes place on the _lower_ surface of a mangrove
trunk, the inverted position apparently making no less secure the footing
of the little dancers. We could not decide whether this performance was
in the nature of courtship or just pure play.
What we did discover concerning the lives of these crabs was full of
interest. Hundreds of the smallest-sized ones lived in holes in the mud,
and when the tide went down they came out and ran about—intent on some
all-important business of their little existence. Another class of larger
individuals had their holes near the roots of the mangroves, one (rarely
two) good-sized crab apparently taking possession of each root. Here he
disported himself, running up and down, from the water into the air with
no change in speed, and here, strangest of all, he grew to resemble his
home root. There was as great diversity among the roots as among the
larger trunks—whitish, black, mottled, and all intervening shades. It was
a fact, of which we had hundreds of daily proofs, that the crabs were so
like their particular root that often we could not detect the quiescent
crustacean when within a foot of our faces.
There was one group of five black roots forming a rough circle about a
single mottled root. As we approached, a crab ran down each stalk into
the water, and as we peered down and saw them go into their holes, we
could at a glance tell the mottled crab from the five black ones. Even
the roots which were as yet a foot or more above the bottom mud each had
their occupant, which thus had to swim upward from his hole before he
could grasp his swaying perch.
[Illustration: FIG. 8. OUR FLOATING HOME AT LA CEIBA.]
A third class of crabs lived among the higher trunks and branches of the
mangroves, and, except where there was a highroad of some large trunk
dipping into the water, these less fortunate fellows had to scamper in
frantic haste up the roots of their larger brethren. The indignant owner
would rush at the trespasser with uplifted pincers, sometimes forcing
him to leap for his life. Where an unusually large tree was frequented
by many crabs, their carapaces bore a close resemblance to its pattern
and hue, but among these more aërial and roving crabs the mimicry was, on
the whole, less striking than among the sedentary class. In the latter,
protective coloration was carried to a greater degree of perfection than
I have ever seen it elsewhere. These were loath to leave their roots and
swim, preferring to run swiftly down until they reached the mud. This
habit made it easy to catch them, merely by taking the end of the root
aboard and shaking it, when the unsuspecting crab would rush down in all
haste into a pail or jar held at the bottom.
They have many enemies, not only among fish, reptiles, and birds, but
even some of the mammals, such as opossums and monkeys, catch and devour
them in large numbers. We saw a beautiful Hawk,[54] bright chestnut in
color, with a pale creamy head and black throat, dashing at them and
skilfully catching the unfortunate crabs in one outstretched foot.
Scores of other beings of still more lowly degree swarmed about us, but
as the tide lapped out of our little bayou, the four-eyes again attracted
our attention. They began to get restless, swimming back and forth and
shuffling over the mud, until at last in desperation at the ebbing of
their element, they made a dash to get past us into the open water of
the caño. Some dived, but so buoyant are they that they can scarcely
stay below a second, and soon popped up on the surface again. Others
scrambled, rolled, and squirmed along over the ooze on each side of us,
many making good progress and escaping. We caught several and placed them
in an aquarium for study. When hard pressed in deep water these curious
fish progress by a series of leaps—up on their tail end and down again,
up and down again, describing a series of curves and making very fast
time.
When examined closely we see that these fish have only two eyes, but
these are divided in such a way that there appear to be double that
number. There are two distinct pupils, one elevated above the head like
the eyes of a frog, the other separated by a band of tissue and below
the water-line. So when the fish floats in its normal position at the
surface the upper pupils, fitted for vision in the air, watch for danger
above, while the lower pair keeps a submarine lookout for insect food and
aquatic enemies.
Monkeys are perfectly at home in this land of branches, the ever-cautious
capuchins and now and then a long-limbed spider monkey swinging through
the trees with as easy a motion as the flight of a bird. Biggest of all
are the great red howlers, who keep to the deeper, more narrow channels,
and in the evening and again at dawn send their voices to the farthest
limits of the mangroves. They do not howl, they roar, and the sound is
perfectly suited to such a wilderness as this. Before the first signs of
day light up the east, a low, soft moaning comes through the forest, like
the forewarning of a storm through pine trees. This gains in volume and
depth until it becomes a roar. It is no wind now, nor like anything one
ever hears in the north; it is a deep, grating, rumbling roar—a voice of
the tropics; a hint of the long-past ages when speech was yet unformed.
We grew to love the rhythm of this wild music, and it will always be for
us the memory-awakening sound of the tropical wilderness.
The wealth of life in this region was evident when we began to explore
a river flowing down from the highlands in the far-distant interior of
Venezuela. One could spend a year here and not begin to exhaust the
wonders on every hand.
With every high tide the Captain would pull up anchor and shift our craft
a little upstream, until at last our keel touched bottom and we could
go no farther. We anchored firmly and buoyed ourselves by ropes to the
nearest trees so as to keep on an even keel. This, our home for a time,
was in a little bight of the Guarapiche (_War-ah-pee’chy_) River, where
two tumbled-down, long deserted Indian huts still retained the name of La
Ceiba. We were so close to the left bank that at low tide we could walk
ashore on oars laid down over the mud. Here the birds came and fed and
bathed, here the howling monkeys roared over our very heads and Macaws
swung and shrieked at us.
[Illustration: FIG. 9. EXPLORING THE CAÑOS IN A DUG-OUT.]
One night, during a heavy downpour of rain, we were suddenly awakened by
a medley of cries, imprecations, shrieks and yells. Flashing the strong
electric bulb we saw through the sheets of rain a very large curiara run
afoul of our shore line; piled high with luggage, with several screaming
women perched high on the bundles and boxes. Four pigs, tied feet upward,
swelled the chorus in their fear of a watery grave and four men told us
what they thought of us in the present and where they hoped we would
spend the future centuries until the world’s end. Our Captain was out of
his hammock in a moment and in tremendous basso profundo he silenced all,
save the pigs, and rapidly gave directions to our crew to row upstream
against the swirling current, clear the curiara and shift it outside the
danger zone. Between breaths, he incidentally described minutely to the
terrified natives what he knew would be the ultimate fate of such fools
as tried to descend a river on the wrong side. It was a miracle that the
whole outfit did not overturn—a narrow dug-out, measuring about twenty
feet in length by two in width, striking full force against a rope in the
blackness of the storm.
Early in the morning the roaring of the monkeys would awaken us, and
after a hasty breakfast we would start out in our little boat. At this
time everything is dripping and fresh with dew, and there is a bite and
tang in the air which reminds us of Canadian dawns. It is still dusk,
and the lines of mangroves on either side show only as black walls. For
some minutes hardly a sound breaks the stillness except the distant
roars and the drip, drip of our paddles. Then a sudden splashing and
breaking of branches shows that we are discovered by a pair or more of
capybaras (_Hydrochoerus capybara_), those enormous rodents which would
pass as guinea pigs in Gulliver’s land of giants. Now an overhanging
branch drenches us as we brush against it, and as it is pushed aside a
whole armful of orchids comes away, the pure white blossoms (_Epidendrum
fragrans_) filling the caño with their sweetness. Now the delicate
foliage of a palm is silhouetted for a moment against the brightening
eastern sky, and a mass of great convolvulus blossoms shines out from
the shore. By this we know that we are not many miles from dry ground,
and other growths are already beginning to dispute the dominance of the
mangroves.
[Illustration: FIG. 10. WHITE ORCHIDS.]
Silence again, to be broken by one of the most remarkable and startling
outbursts of sound which any living creature in the world can utter. A
series of unconnected sighs, shrieks, screams, and metallic trumpet-like
notes suddenly breaking forth apparently within thirty feet, is surely
excuse enough for being startled. The hubbub ceases as abruptly as it
began; then again it breaks out, now seeming to come from all directions,
even from overhead. The author of all this is the Chachalaca[7]—a bird
not larger than a common fowl, but with a longer tail. It spends most of
its time on the ground or among the lower branches of the trees in the
swamps. It was seldom that we caught sight of one, but we shall never
forget the first time we heard their diabolical chorus.
The sun’s rays now light up the narrow path of water ahead of us, and a
thousand creatures seem to awaken and give voice at once. Two splendid
Yellow and Blue Macaws[61] fly high overhead, their screams softened by
the distance; a flock of great white-billed, Red-crested Woodpeckers[88]
drum and call; from the bank comes the rolling cry of the Tinamou and
the sweet, penetrating double note of the Sun-bittern[24]; Hummingbirds
squeak in their flight as they shake the dew-drops from the orchids above
us; squirrels with fur of orange and gray scramble through the branches,
fleeing before the little capuchin monkeys. Then, one after another,
three splendid Swallow-tailed Kites[58] dash past us at full speed,
brushing the surface of the water and floating upward again.
Swallows,[119] emerald and white, catch the flies which hover near us;
a big yellow-breasted Flycatcher alights for a moment on the bow of
our boat—and a tropical day is fairly begun. These and a hundred other
creatures about us bathe, sing, and seek their food during the fresh
hours of early morning. Then, as the sun rises higher and its heat draws
a hush over all, the notes of the birds die away, leaving the insect
vocalists supreme. Butterflies click here and there, a loud humming tells
of huge wasps winging their way on murderous missions, but above all
rises the chant of the cicadas. The commonest of these grinds out harsh,
reverberating tones—whir-r-r-r-r-r! wh-r-r! wh-r-r! wh-r-r! wh-r-r!
rolling the r’s in the first utterance for a minute or more, then ending
in a series of short, abrupt whirs.
Then another cicada, a giant species, sends his call through the jungle;
he has two strings to his bow, one a half-note higher than the other, and
on these he plays for five minutes at a time. It is Chinese music to the
very tone. Sometimes his tune ends in a rising shriek, and we know that
one of the big blue wasps has descended on him and stabbed him in the
midst of his love-song.
[Illustration: FIG. 11. SUN-BITTERN.]
The day wears on, and even the cicadas become quiet. The sun is overhead
and the air full of tropical heat. In the shade it is always comfortable,
and in the full glare of the sun one perspires so freely that the heat is
hardly felt.
As we paddle lazily along, a great Tegu Lizard (_Teius nigropunctatas_)
scrambles slowly along the bank; now crawling over a muddy expanse, now
taking to the water to avoid a bushy tangle, folding back his legs and
swimming with long graceful sweeps of his tail. As we watch him he leaps
at several little crabs and catches them before they can escape into
their holes.
We eat our luncheon in the shade of a clay bank, the first hint of dry
land we have seen along the caño, and here we watch the little crocodiles
basking in the sun and the crabs scuttling over the mud. A bird of
iridescent green and orange swoops down to our very faces, and hangs
swinging in a loop of a tiny liana on the face of the bank. The next
instant it vanishes into the earth, darting into a hole hardly larger
than the crab-holes around it. We have found the home of a Jacamar.[86]
At the end of the short tunnel are four round white eggs laid on the bare
clay.
While examining the nest we hear at our very feet the terrible night
noise—the muffled choking sigh which has come to us every night since we
entered the mangrove wilderness. We are standing in our narrow dug-out,
which the least movement will overturn, and for an instant it is indeed a
question whether we can control ourselves enough to keep it from filling.
Now the mystery solves itself as a large anaconda (_Eunectes murinus_)
nine or ten feet long, slowly winds out from a hole in the bank beneath
the surface of the water and slips into the depths of the muddy current.
Then the tide laps a little lower, and a big bubble of air, caught in the
entrance of the serpent’s lair, frees itself with a sudden gasping sob.
When the tide is rising or falling over these large openings in the mud,
the air escapes from time to time with the terrifying sound which has so
long puzzled us. Our mysterious nocturnal creature is thus explained away
in the prosaic light of day.
[Illustration: FIG. 12. SOLUTION OF THE MANGROVE MYSTERY—AN ANACONDA.]
An hour later as our dug-out rounds a sharp bend in the caño, there comes
to our ears a series of rasping cries—hoarse and creaking as of unoiled
wheels. The glasses show a flock of large, brown, fowl-like birds in
a clump of bushes overhanging the water. Their barred wings and tall,
delicate crests tell us that they are the bird of all others which we had
hoped to see and study. We are floating within a hundred feet of a flock
of Hoatzins[11]—the strange reptile-like, living fossils which are found
only in this part of the world, and which are closely related to no other
living bird.
[Illustration: FIG. 13. HOATZINS IN THE BAMBOOS ON THE GUARAPICHE.]
As we draw near, the birds flutter through the foliage as if their wings
were broken. We find that this is their usual mode of progression, and
for a most interesting reason. Soon after the young Hoatzins are hatched
and while yet unfledged they are able to leave the nest and climb about
the branches, and in this they are greatly aided by the use of the wings
as arms and hands. The three fingers of the wing are each armed with a
reptile-like claw, and at the approach of danger the birds climb actively
about like squirrels or lizards.
It has usually been thought that when they grow up they lose all these
reptilian habits and behave as conventional feathered bipeds should. But
we find that while, of course, the fingers are deeply hidden beneath the
long flight-feathers of the wing, yet these very feathers are often used,
fingerlike, in forcing aside thick vines, the birds thus clambering and
pushing their way along.
It was with the keenest delight of the pioneer and discoverer that we
watched these rare creatures. Although they do not nest until July and
August, yet we found them in the very trees and bushes which held the
remains of last year’s nests, thus revealing their sedentary life during
the rest of the year. And day after day and week after week we learned to
know that they would be found in this or that tree and nowhere else; they
were veritable feathered sloths. They fed chiefly upon leaves, but fish
also entered into the bill of fare of at least one individual.
We shot two, one for the skin and the other for the skeleton, and we
found the plumage in a very worn and ragged condition, the wing feathers
especially so, where the branches and leaves had rubbed and worn away the
barbs. Throughout the noonday heat these birds were always to be found
in the foliage overhanging the water, ready when disturbed to flop and
thrash a few yards through the mangroves and bamboos.
After many days of pure delight, our note-books filled and our
photographic plates more than half gone, we decided to see something of
the Venezuelan dry land. We would go on and on until we had left the
mangroves with all their unpeopled mystery behind us, and see what new
surprises the villages of the Guarauno (_War-ah-oo’no_) Indians and the
jungles of the foot-hills would afford.
At nine o’clock one night, when the stars alone cast a faint weird light
over everything, we sent two of the crew ahead in the rowboat to keep our
bow straight, and then began a long night of noiseless drifting with the
tide. It was a night to remain forever in our memory. The men relieved
their monotonous towing with strange wailing chants; on each side the
mangroves slipped past, black and menacing; invisible creatures snorted
and splashed in sudden terror as we rounded each turn; great fireflies
burned on the trees and were reflected in the water, and to our ears
came the roars of the four-handed folk, the calls and screams of night
birds, the metallic clinks of insects, and ever the gasps and chokings of
the serpents’ burrows—hardly less sinister now that we had solved their
mystery.
Throughout all the night we passed up one caño, down another, past miles
and miles of black foliage, all alike to us, almost indistinguishable
in the starlight, yet early next morning as we rose to rout the cloud
of mosquitoes about our head nets, the captain said in his soft Spanish
tongue, “The mountains of my country should be in sight ahead.” And,
indeed, an hour later, as the day dawned, we could discern the blue haze
in the north which marked the high land out.
Toucans, big Muscovy Ducks[43] and Snakebirds[48] flew past us; great
brown Woodpeckers and flights of Parrakeets swung across the caño;
dolphins played around us, but we heeded them little, all eager to press
on and see the new land.
So we sat far up in the bow and watched the mountains take form and
the palms upon them become ever more distinct. From a land of mystery
untrodden by man, we were soon to come upon a bit of land so prized by
man that nations had almost gone to war over it—La Brea (_Bray’ah_)
the strange lake of pitch hidden in the heart of the forest, with its
strange birds and fish and animals; lying on the borderland between the
foot-hills of the northern Andes and the world of mangroves which for
many days had held us so safely in its heart.
[Illustration: FIG. 14. FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE VENEZUELAN MOUNTAINS.]
CHAPTER II.
THE LAKE OF PITCH.
Heretofore we had sailed and paddled through a land of mangroves and
water, where, with the exception of one or two tiny muddy islets in the
forest, there was no solid ground. One day the last of innumerable turns
of a narrow _caño_ brought our sloop in sight of real earth—the first dry
land of eastern Venezuela. A rough wooden wharf supporting a narrow-gauge
line of rails appeared, and beyond rose a steep hill, dotted here and
there with little thatched huts, each clinging to a niche scooped out of
the clay. We were at the village of Guanoco (_Wah-no’co_), the shipping
point of the pitch lake. A few steps beyond the last hut and one was
in the primeval forest—so limited is man’s influence in this region of
rapidly growing plants.
For five miles the little toy rails zigzagged their uneven way through
the jungle. On one side was swamp, into which one could penetrate but a
short distance before encountering the advance-guard of the mangroves,
the front of the vast host which stretched eastward mile after mile to
the sea. West of the track the land rose ten or twenty feet in many
places, but even where level it soon lost its swampy character. At the
end of the line the strange pitch lake itself appeared as a great plain,
on the borderland between low swamps and the foot-hills of the mountains.
This was our tramping-ground, and we found it a veritable wonderland of
birds and beasts and flowers.
[Illustration: FIG. 15. COLONY OF 150 CASSIQUES’ NESTS IN ONE TREE.]
One of the first things which attracted our attention were the Orioles or
Cassiques[151]—great black and yellow beauties with long whitish beaks
and an infinitely varied vocabulary. In the north our eyes are gladdened
by the sight of a single pair of Orioles flying about their nest in the
elm; here in a single tree there were sometimes over one hundred and
fifty inhabited nests, most of which were two feet or more in length. The
more we watched these birds the more interesting they became. They showed
a real intelligence in the selection of a site for their nests. Monkeys,
tree-snakes, opossums, and other bird-eating creatures were abundant
hereabouts, and for a colony of these conspicuous birds to conceal their
nests successfully would be impossible. So their homes are swung out in
full view of all. But one or two precautions are always taken. Either the
birds choose a solitary tree which fairly overhangs some thatched hut, or
else the colony is clustered close about one of the great wasps’ nests
which are seen here and there high up among the branches of the forest.
[Illustration: FIG. 16. NEST AND EGGS OF YELLOW-BACKED CASSIQUE.
Observe the Extra Shelter Roof. The lower opening was made to show the
egg chamber.]
The Indians and native Venezuelans never trouble the birds, which have
been quick to realize and take advantage of this fact, and weave their
nests and care for their young almost within arm’s reach of the thatched
roofs. No monkey dares venture here, and the mongrel dogs keep off all
the small nocturnal carnivores.
But a colony of Cassiques which chooses to live in the jungle
itself would have short shrift, were it not for the strange communal
guardianship of the wasps. These insects are usually large and venomous,
and one sting would be enough to kill a bird; indeed, a severe fever
often ensues when a man has been stung by half a dozen. So the birds
must in some way be immune to the attacks of the wasps. Perhaps their
wonderfully complete armor of feathers, scales, and horny beak accounts
for this, while their quickness of vision and of action enables them to
save their eyelids—their one unprotected spot. Although the Cassiques
cannot have learned from experience of the terrible wounds which the
wasps can inflict, yet they are keenly alive to the advantages to be
derived from close association with them.
The wasp’s nest is built far out on the tip of the limb of some forest
tree, and the long pendent homes of the Cassiques are placed close to
it, sometimes eight or ten on the same branch, and others on neighboring
limbs, so near that the homes of insects and birds rattle against each
other when the wind blows.
One such community was placed rather near the ground, where we could
watch the inhabitants closely. Frequently when one or two of the big
birds returned to their nests with a rush and a headlong plunge into
the entrance, the whole branch shook violently. Yet the wasps showed no
excitement or alarm; their subdued buzzing did not rise in tone. But when
I reached up and moved the branch gently downward, the angry hum which
came forth sent me into the underbrush in haste. From a safe distance I
could see the wasps circling about in quick spurts which meant trouble
to any intruder, while the excited Cassiques squeaked and screamed their
loudest. Whether the slight motion I gave to the branch was unusual
enough to arouse the insects, or whether they took their cue from the
cries and actions of the alarmed birds, I cannot say.
The nests are beautifully woven, of very tough palm leaf shreds and grass
stems, in shape like tall vases, bulging at the bottom to give room for
the eggs and young birds, and with an entrance at the side near the top.
We found still another instance of the unusual ability of these birds to
adapt themselves to changing conditions. Those nests which were already
deserted or with young ready to fly had simple rounded tops arching
over to protect the entrance from the sun; but in the nests which were
in process of construction, now at the beginning of the rainy season
in early April, there appeared an additional chamber with a dense roof
of thatch, in which one of the parents, the male at least in one case,
passed the nights, safe from the torrents of sudden rain.
[Illustration: FIG. 17. VENEZUELAN TREE PORCUPINE.]
Another larger species of Cassique,[150] dull green in color, built
solitary nests, three feet or more in length, but seldom near the homes
of men or wasps. Here and there in the jungle some lofty tree raised its
huge white bole free of vine and liana, and smooth as a marble column,
towering far above all its fellows; and out on the very tip of one of its
swaying branches the nest was woven—safe from all tree-climbing enemies.
The notes of these birds were like deep resonant cowbells, ringing
through the jungle, clear and metallic.
During our stay in the village of Guanoco we had abundant opportunity to
observe the relations of a tiny hamlet like this to the great world of
primeval nature all around. The jungle pressed close, instantly filling
any neglected corner with a tangle of vines and shrubs, ever ready to
sweep over all and reforest the little clearings about the huts.
Sloths were rare near the village, as it had long been a favorite Sunday
amusement to go out and bring in one or more of these defenceless
creatures for dinner. But tree porcupines (_Sphingurus prehensilis_),
with bare, prehensile tails and faces like little manatees, were
common, as were those gentle little creatures of the night, kinkajous
(_Cercoleptes caudivolvulus_), or “couchi-couchis” as the Indians call
them. Catching porcupines and sloths is about as exciting sport as
picking blackberries; the porcupine being too confident in its battery of
spines to attempt to escape; the sloth relying with pathetic faith on its
wonderful resemblance to a bunch of moss or leaves.
The “English Sparrows” of the village were beautiful olive-green Palm
Tanagers[144] and great sulphur-breasted Flycatchers[102] which shrieked
_Kiss-ka-dee!_ at you as you passed by. The French in Trinidad tell you
that the bird says _Qu’est-ce-qu’il-dit?_ but the Spaniard, true to his
poetic temperament, says, “_No, Señor, el pájaro dice ‘Cristofué!’_”
which seemed especially appropriate at this Easter season.
Every day one or two wild Chachalacas[7] would fly from the jungle to an
open space near one of the huts and feed fearlessly with the chickens for
an hour or longer.
[Illustration: FIG. 18. WILD CHACHALACA NEAR A GUANOCO HUT.]
To our northern minds the most remarkable thing was the innumerable
variety of all forms of life. Seldom did we find many individuals of any
one species, but always there was a constantly changing panorama. We
would make a careful list of birds seen near our house, noting certain
ones for future study, and the following day scarcely one of these would
be visible, but in their place birds of strange form and colors. The
same was true of the insects and the result was as bewildering as it was
fascinating. Our habits of observation had all to be changed. Except when
birds were actually nesting, we could never be sure of seeing the same
species twice, although there was never any doubt that each day would add
many new forms to our lists.
Though we tramped for miles along the narrow Indian trails and spent many
days in swamps and dark jungles, yet we were troubled scarcely at all
with noxious insects. “Jiggers” there were in moderate numbers but one
could “collect” more in one day in Virginia than in a month here at this
season. During our entire stay we saw only about three or four minute
ticks, while mosquitoes were absent, except at night. If we dug in rotten
logs, we were sure to unearth centipedes and scorpions, many of them,—but
otherwise we rarely saw them. Once, indeed, a mother scorpion (_Centrurus
margaritatus_) with half a hundred young ones on her back was discovered
in a shoe, bringing to mind the old nursery rhyme.
[Illustration: FIG. 19. SCORPION AND ITS YOUNG TAKEN FROM MILADY’S SHOE.]
We found that much of the jungle was almost impenetrable, and on one of
our first excursions we were fortunate enough to find a means of making
the birds come to us from the deeper recesses of the forest. As we left
the doorway, a silent little shadow fitted into the pommerosa tree in
front of us, and soon among the glossy leaves came a sound which we had
heard day and night, but the author of which had thus far evaded us. It
is impossible to put into words, but it may be imitated by a monotone
whistle, of about four notes to the second, of A above middle C. The
glasses showed a mite of a Pygmy Owl[60] glaring at us with wide yellow
eyes, and firmly clutching a dead bird, half as large as himself. Later,
when standing at the edge of an impenetrable tangle of thorny vines and
vainly trying to discover what bird was singing in loud, ringing tones
within it, we thought of the fierce little owl, and concealing ourselves,
gave the call of _Glaucidium_. The effect was instantaneous; the song
near us ceased, and with angry cries a pair of beautiful Black-capped
Mocking-thrushes[126] flew almost overhead. Black-tailed Euphonias[139]
and Grassfinches followed, Bananaquits[137] whirred about us, and within
a few minutes thirty or forty birds had testified to the hatred in which
the little Owl is held.
A great surprise to our northern eyes was the Yellow Woodpecker,[90] not
uncommon here, and clad in bright yellow plumage from crest to tail.
It was very conspicuous in flight, but when it alighted, merged with
the lichened bark and spots of sunlight. One bird was very tame and
frequented a tree close by our window.
One of our first walks led us through a narrow valley or gorge to the
westward, shaded by ranks of tall palms and with isolated banana and
cocoa plants, hinting of native Indian clearings long since overwhelmed
by the luxuriant jungle growth. Wasps and other Hymenoptera outnumbered
other insects at this season, and one could have collected scores of
different species in a few hours. A few Heliconia butterflies drifted
across our path, and now and then a giant morpho shot past like a meteor
of iridescent blue. Other great butterflies (_Caligo ilioneus_) were
iridescent blue and brown above, while the under sides of their wings
were mottled and with a great eye-spot on each of the hind wings, which
gives them the name of the owl butterfly. But however much, in an insect
cabinet, the expanded reverse of the wings suggests the face of an owl,
the spot, as we observed it in the forest, seemed rather to render the
insect invisible. These great fellows would shoot up to a lichen-covered
trunk and drop lightly upon it, and unless one’s eyes had followed
closely, the butterfly vanished like magic. Creeping up to one we secured
its picture, the mottlings on its wings merging it with the lichens, and
its owl-eyes becoming the painted facsimiles of darkened knotholes, or of
little atoll-like fungus rings.
[Illustration: FIG. 20. YELLOW WOODPECKER.]
One is constantly impressed by the abundance and variety of these
protective adaptations. Instead of one’s eyes becoming more accustomed
and trained in detecting these deceptions, the puzzles increase, and
one becomes suspicious of everything. Every few minutes we are halted
by a curled leaf which resembles some great caterpillar, or by a partly
decayed fruit which may prove to be a curiously marked beetle. Many of
these are such exact counterparts that we have to touch them to undeceive
ourselves. After seeing some bats hung in the shadows between the
buttressed bases of great trees, we imagine them in every patch of moss
or dried leaves.
[Illustration: FIG. 21. OWL BUTTERFLY ON COCOA BARK.]
The resemblance to inanimate objects is never violated and often
remarkably heightened by the little creatures of fur, feather, scale or
armor of chitin. The bats never alight in a close compact mass, but each
isolated, with its wings partly spread, and often extended _irregularly_,
one webbed hand higher or farther out than the other, thus presenting
a dull, irregular outline, at which we should never have looked twice,
had not the little beasties become frightened and flown. A butterfly
(_Peridromia feronia_), mottled and pearly on the upper side, snaps
clicking to a lichened trunk and alights head downward with wings flat.
Beneath they are white and conspicuous. The inverted position allows the
hinder wings to be pressed flat to the surface of the bark, while the
slight shadow caused by the prominence of the body in front is thus below
and invisible. Another, brilliant red on the upper side and irregularly
marked below, never alights, as far as our experience went, except on
some lichened trunk. In this case however the wings were held tightly
together, and the insect always in a head downward position. The insect
took to wing so quickly that only a hint of the red was visible.
We never could tell what new form of protective resemblance would next
come under our notice. Here and there in the woods we found trees which
had fallen in a clear space and had torn out their roots in the fall,
forming a great bank of earth and mould, held together by the network of
root fibres. Hanging suspended by slender root tendrils were many small
pellets of earth slowly swaying and disintegrating. We found that some of
these were not mere accidents of inorganic forces, but were the nests of
a small mud wasp made in a roughly circular form and moulded to one of
the many rootlets.
Lizards perhaps more than any other group of backboned animals become
part and parcel of their surroundings in form and color. We sometimes
found dull gray and green fellows on the trunks of trees or the ends
of half rotten logs, which almost defied the efforts of the eye to
disentangle them from the lichens and moss amid which they clung.
When one of these did move it was with such celerity that the eye
unconsciously swept onward, impelled by momentum, and overshot the spot
where it stopped. Then another careful search was necessary to rediscover
the reptile.
[Illustration: FIG. 22. LIZARD ALERT ON TRUNK OF TREE.]
This same glade was the favorite haunt of two kinds of small Manakins,
the Gold-headed[108] and the White-breasted.[111] The former was a mite
of a bird, barely four inches in length, jet-black as to body and wings,
but with a cap of gold pulled down over his head and ears. If his eyes
were black and beady like those of his near relatives, the harmony of
his head-dress would be disturbed, so Dame Nature has sifted the gold
over his eyes as well, and the yellow irides are almost invisible among
the feathers. Such coloring renders him part of his beloved gorge. If he
sits in the shade his body vanishes and his head is naught but a spot of
sunshine; if his perch is in sunlight, the tiny, headless body conveys no
hint of a living bird.
His cousin, the White-breasted, is black and white and the four outer
feathers of the wing are very narrow and curved. These are the strings
upon which he plays an æolian song of love, for every time he takes to
flight a loud humming sound is produced. The females are dull olive in
color but easily recognizable by their orange feet and legs. Sometimes
three suitors would buzz and hum together about one of these sombre
little ladies in the gloom of the gorge.
[Illustration: FIG. 23. THE SAME LIZARD A MOMENT LATER, OBLITERATED BY
CHANGE OF POSITION.]
The rotten trees and palm stubs were filled with interesting insects; big
black palm weevils (_Rhyncophorus palmatum_) an inch and a half long,
and huge brown cockroaches three inches from head to wing-tip (_Blaberus
trapezoideus_). With a machete we cut open one log, which was like bread
in consistency, and found two centipedes, three scorpions, one of them
a whip scorpion, a huge beetle larva, a small snake, with a faint band
about its neck (_Homalocranium melanocephalum_) and most interesting of
all, a Peripatus.
Perhaps the reader here wonders to himself what a Peripatus is, and it is
a pity that this most important creature has no common name. We may call
it a worm-like caterpillar or a caterpillar-like worm, for its claim to
fame rests upon its position as a so-called missing link. We know that in
long ages past the ancestor of the butterflies, beetles, wasps, spiders
and crabs was a worm-like creature, primitive in structure and in no way
hinting of the beautiful organisms which were to be evolved in succeeding
epochs. Hiding away from light, in the warm moisture of decaying wood,
the little Peripatus has lived on and on, age after age, with little
apparent change, until we find it to-day combining the simpler characters
of the lowly worms with those of the vastly higher caterpillars.
The Peripatus which we unearthed, or rather unlogged, was of a rich,
dark reddish hue. It was caterpillar-like in general appearance, but not
divided into segments, while the number of its very simple feet and its
method of progression brought to mind the millipedes. The long, slender
antennæ were constantly in motion, changing and extending, feeling about
and retracting.
Glancing at the leaf of a low shrub, we saw what we supposed to be two
bits of dried, rolled-up leaf entangled in a strand of spider web and
being whirled about by the wind. When we saw that this motion continued
after the breeze had died down, we became interested. We discovered
that the two objects were tineid moths of a dark pearl color, waltzing
about with the most graceful and airy motion imaginable. With closed
wings they whirled round and round by means of their legs alone, and,
most remarkably, both going in the same direction, although this was
frequently changed, the reversal being almost instantaneous and without
an instant’s loss of the smoothness of the rhythm. Now and then their
circles overlapped, but at the first danger of collision the tiny
dervishes both retreated without stopping their dance. Presently one flew
away, and the other shifted to another leaf near by, and recommenced his
waltz alone. It was a surprise to find these little winged millers in the
rôle of graceful dancers. The reason of it remained a mystery.
[Illustration: FIG. 24. NEST AND EGGS OF GREAT BLUE TINAMOU.]
These incidents are quoted as some among the myriad interesting doings of
the little folk which we observed in the heart of these great jungles.
As we walked on, virgin forest surrounded us, with great trees centuries
old, chained and netted together by miles upon miles of lianas. Now and
then we entered a clear glade festooned by a maze of ropes and cables,
with here and there a lofty monkey-ladder leading upward by a wavy series
of narrow steps. The cicadas filled the air with the oriental droning of
their song, and a big Red-crested Woodpecker[88] called loudly from a
half-rotted, vine-choked tree. From the undergrowth came a soft rolling
trill, a crescendo of power and sweetness, and when our Indian carrier
whispered, “_Gallina del monte_,” we knew we were listening to the call
of a Great Blue Tinamou[1]—one of those strange birds looking like brown,
tailless fowls, but of so generalized a type that they form in many ways
a link between the ostrich-like forms and the rest of the bird world. The
bird which was calling soon became silent, but creeping slowly along we
were fortunate enough to discover its nest on a bit of sunny turf near
the end of a log in a partially overgrown clearing. All the delights of
bird-nesting seemed consummated the moment we caught sight of the two
wonderful eggs before us. The nest was merely a hollow scratched in the
grass, but the sun was reflected from two shining spheres of metallic
greenish blue, like two huge turquoises polished as by the wheel of a
lapidary. Never were such eggs; they seemed of hard burnished metal, more
akin to the stones lying about them than to the organic world, and yet,
even as we looked, there appeared a tiny fracture, and in a few minutes
the beak of a Tinamou chick had broken through to the outer air. The
glistening cradle of stone would soon fall apart and give to the tropical
world another life—one more mote among the millions upon millions about
us.
Now and then we would come across a huge low mound, clear of undergrowth,
dotted with holes from which well-trodden paths led off in every
direction. Some of these were six inches in width, so that we could
easily walk in them. A twig poked down the holes and twisted about would
come up covered with angry ants, great brownish-black fellows with a
grip like a bulldog. Even this simile fails, for these insects will allow
their heads to be pulled off before they will let go.
Everywhere the ants attracted our attention; huge black giants
(_Neoponera commutata_), which seemed never to have anything to do
but parade slowly up and down the trunks of trees; and the ever-busy
parasol-ants, hustling along in single file, waving their green banners
and clinging faithfully to them while falling down terrific precipices
three or four inches deep. We dug into their nests and found their fungi
gardens, one part of which would be freshly planted with neat black balls
of chewed-up green leaves, while in another part the fungus was well
grown—a meshwork of gray strands whose fruit was ready to be plucked and
eaten.
The hunting-ants (_Eciton_) surpassed all the others in interest. Day
after day we would come across their great armies, and we spent many
hours of keen enjoyment watching their advance. We had read of their
appearance and habits; we had heard them compared to Goths and hordes of
savages, but no description prepares one for the actual sight. We watched
in particular one large army which carried on its operations only a short
distance from our house.
Long before we came within sight of the ants themselves their presence
would be heralded by the flock of birds which kept just in advance,
feeding upon the insects which flew up from the van of the ant legions.
In one such assemblage most of the birds were Woodhewers, big,
cinnamon-colored, creeper-like birds which hitched up the tree trunks
and now and then swooped down to the ground, snatched an insect and
swung back to the trunk. This flock of birds showed other methods of
feeding; Hummingbirds appeared from nowhere, dashed down to a tiny insect
and vanished into space; Anis[80] blundered along, looking as if their
wings and tails were too loosely attached for use; Ant-birds crept low
through the bushes and carried their prey to a twig to eat; two American
Redstarts[128b] and several Tyrant Flycatchers caught their prey by
a sudden dart and a snap of the beak. One species in particular, the
Streaked Flycatcher,[105] was always attendant on the ants and always
fearless, watching us and yet never missing a chance to snap up a passing
insect.
[Illustration: FIG. 25. WOODHEWER CLINGING TO THE TRUNK OF A TREE.]
As we drew nearer, a strange rustling sound reached our ears, like the
regular pattering of raindrops, and before we knew it we were standing in
the midst of thousands of active ants, whose rushing and scrambling about
over the dead leaves caused the loud rustling. In a few seconds twenty
or thirty ants had climbed upon and above our shoes, and their sharp,
nipping bites sent us in haste to the flanks of the army, where we freed
ourselves from the fierce creatures. These ants are not large, varying
from a fifth to a third of an inch in length, dark in color, with lighter
red abdomens.
Until one becomes accustomed to these scenes of carnage the sight
is really terrible, especially when one lies down flat and takes an
ant’s-eye view of the field of battle. Yet such is the fierceness and
savage fury on one side and hopeless terror or frantic efforts to escape
on the part of the victims that it needs but little imagination to stir
deeply one’s sympathies.
[Illustration: FIG. 26. STREAKED FLYCATCHER.]
In place of the steady advance of a well-drilled army, presenting a solid
front of serried ranks, the formation of the hunting-ants may be compared
to an innumerable host of cavalry scouts who quarter the ground in every
direction, the whole army slowly advancing and including new territory in
the scene of operations. Frequent flurries or louder rustlings follow the
discovery and the subsequent terrible struggle of some quarry of noble
size—a huge beetle or mighty lizard.
One fact impressed us from the first: every creature aroused by the ants
seemed to know instinctively of the awful danger. Whether through odor or
sight or sound, the alarm always carried its full meaning. Insects which
ordinarily would escape the collecting net by a single quick motion, here
dashed away with such terror that they often flew against our clothes or
a tree, and were hurled to the ground. Lizards took shelter under our
shoes or shot off like streaks of light for many yards. Our presence and
that of the predatory birds was disregarded in the efforts to avoid the
danger which generations of inherited experience had made the most vivid
in life.
Insects which usually feigned death as a means of escape, when disturbed
by these ants used all the motor organs given them by nature to flee from
the dreaded foe. Escape seemed to be the result of accident with all
wingless creatures, even with those possessing good eyesight, for the
first blind terrified rush as often carried them to certain death in the
thickest of the host as it did to safety in the van or on one side of the
ant army. Even wings were not a surety of escape. Twice I saw moths arise
heavily from their hiding-places with a half-dozen of the little fiends
clinging to their legs and wings. One was snapped up, ants and all, by
a big Flycatcher, and the other fell among the quartermaster’s brigade
in the rear, where every ant within reach dropped his load and hurled
himself upon the newcomer.
Here and there one might observe good-sized balls of ants rolling about,
and in the centre would be some hard-cased beetle or other insect, who
gave up only after killing and maiming a score of his assailants.
We dropped five big black ants into the midst of the marauders, and
witnessed a combat as thrilling as the contest between the Greeks and
Persians. Four of the insects alighted on a small rounded stone over
which three hunting-ants were scurrying. Without hesitation the black
giants fell upon the brown warriors and tore them limb from limb, with
the loss of only half a leg. This is not a very serious handicap, when
one has five and a half robust limbs left! The fifth big fellow dropped
upon a mass of ants piled like football-players upon a struggling
scorpion, whose sting was lashing the air in vain. The big ant started
another ripple upon this pool of death, which soon smoothed away, leaving
no recognizable trace of him. But the quartet of big-jawed fellows on
their rock citadel fought successfully and well. No ant which crept to
the top ever lived to return for help. The four flew at him like wolves
and bit him to death. Soon a ring of hunting-ants formed around the
stone, all motionless except for a frantic twiddling of antennæ. They
were apparently excited by the smell of the blood of their dead fellows,
and only rarely did one venture now and then to scale the summit. When we
left, two hours afterward, the army had passed, and left the stone and
its four doughty defenders, who showed no immediate intention of leaving
their fortress.
The ground over which the hunting-ants passed was absolutely bare of
life, and, contrary to the rule in human armies, it was among the
camp-followers and foragers that the most perfect discipline reigned. In
the rear of the main army were lines upon lines of ants laden with the
spoils: legs, bodies, and heads of insects and spiders, bits of scaly
skin of lizard or turtle, joints of centipedes and scorpions, and here
and there a piece of ragged but gaudy butterfly-wing borne aloft like the
captured standard of some opposing force.
We followed three lines of supply-carriers and found that they converged
on some sheltered hollow in a tree or under a boulder or root. Here were
massed countless hordes of ants clinging together like a swarm of bees.
In the centre were the queen, eggs, and young of these nomadic savages,
resting thus temporarily until the far-distant scouts should report
another shelter, when the whole community would shift to the new home,
farther along on the line of march.
The army in which we were especially interested seemed to be carrying on
their hunting in a rough circle about the temporary home, and perhaps
this is a common habit. Certain ants apparently serve some function of
direction or means of communication, for they keep to one place for
a half hour at a time and twiddle their antennæ with every ant which
approaches.
It was when the hunting-ants discovered the nests of other species of
ants that warfare, true to its name, was waged. One could watch as from a
balloon, mimic Waterloos and Gettysburgs, and sad to relate, in the case
of inoffensive species, plunder, murder, and abduction by the wholesale.
After studying the ways of these merciless creatures, we could seldom
walk through the quiet, sunlit jungle, with blossoming orchids everywhere
overhead and the songs of birds and pleasant hum of insects in our ears,
without thinking of the tragedies without number ever going on around us.
Used as we were only to the small lightning bugs of our northern summer
nights, the big luminous elater beetles (_Pyrophorus_ sp.) were ever of
interest. The two thoracic lights are placed on the outer posterior edges
and give out a pale greenish glow of great intensity. We could easily see
to read and write by their light, and by placing a half dozen of these
insects in a glass we could use them instead of our electric flash.
When we examined them carefully we were surprised to find that there was
another area of illumination on the abdomen, below and just behind the
insertion of the third pair of legs. When fully illuminated this area
was brilliant and of a figure ∞ shape. The light however was radically
different from that of the thorax, being yellowish, and candle-like,
giving an illusory impression of an opening from the incandescent
interior of the insect. When the insect settles to rest the only visible
illumination is from the pair of thoracic lights, but in flight the
abdominal searchlight comes into play, burning brightly with a strong
yellowish glare quite different from the green thoracic lights.
As we lay at night half asleep we would sometimes be awakened by the
droning of one or two big elaters, whose intermittent flashes would
illumine the whole room. More than once we had to capture the intruders
with the butterfly net and banish them before we could get any sleep.
We chloroformed two of these luminous beetles and pinned them in an
insect box. Two evenings afterward when we had occasion to add more
insects, the box was opened and to our surprise the little lanterns were
still aglow and hardly less brilliant than when the insects were alive.
They had been dead forty-eight hours and yet their light still shone
ghostly white, lighting up the other insects in the box.
One evening we found a tiny wire worm, the larva of some small species of
elater, which was highly phosphorescent. Although only about one-half of
an inch in length, the whole head, the posterior segment and a spot on
the side of each of the others was bright. Watched as it moved smoothly
and rapidly along, it reminded us of a ship passing at a distance at
night with the lights streaming from the port-holes.
Our trips to the pitch lake on the early morning engine will never be
forgotten. A warning toot from the diminutive whistle hurries us through
our breakfast, and we hasten to the track and see our cameras and guns
loaded on one of the little square wooden “empties.” We mount the
wood-filled tender of the engine, which with many complaining creaks and
jolts get under way, backing slowly around the curve which hides the last
sign of civilization and buries us in the jungle.
For nearly twenty years these little toy engines have bustled and elbowed
their way over the snaky rails, until the jungle and its people have come
to look upon this narrow winding steel path as part of the general order
of things. The underbrush creeps close, and only the constant whipping of
the engines and cars beats down the growth between the rails.
[Illustration: FIG. 27. THE JUNGLE RAILROAD.]
As we start, the last bats of night dash into the dark jungle, and their
diurnal prototypes, a flock of graceful Palm Swifts,[71] swoop about
overhead. To our ears there comes the _finalé_ of the morning chorus
of distant red howlers and the first deep-toned boilings of the giant
Cassiques.
All along the line, beasts and birds show their lack of fear of the
rumbling cars. A party of chattering little monkeys sit and gibber at
us and rub their dew-drenched fur. Their parents and great-grandparents
had found nothing to fear in this strange thing which, five times each
day, crawls back and forth on its narrow trail, and why should they do
more than look and wonder? As we come in sight of the muddy banks of the
little river, a great Parrot shrieks in derision at us from the top of
a dead stub by the track, executing slow somersaults for our benefit.
Instinctively we look for a chain on its leg and a food cup near by!
A splash draws our eyes downward, and from a maelstrom of muddy water
shoots a villainous sting ray. A school of little staring four-eyes skips
over the water, and near the swampy, farther bank, a sprawling half-grown
crocodile watches us—as quiet as a stranded log.
[Illustration: FIG. 28. SPIDER LILIES NEAR PITCH LAKE.]
The air blows cool and damp on our faces, and we long for the keen power
of scent of a dog. Even to our dull nostrils every turn of the road is
full of interest. A swamp, thickly starred with dainty spider-lilies,
comes into view, and we inhale draughts of sweetest incense; Easter
Sunday is at hand, and the very wilderness reminds us of it.
With every breath of air the great palm leaves flick myriads of drops to
the underbrush below, with a sound as of heavy rain. The trunks are black
and soaked, and there is not a dry frond for miles. A sudden curve brings
another loop of the river into view, with a foreground of scuttling crabs
and mangrove seedlings. Here a wave of coarse, salty, marsh smell fills
our lungs—not stagnant, but redolent of the distant sea; the smell that
makes one’s blood leap. The next quarter-mile is covered with lilies
again. From their perfume we enter a zone of recently cut grass—and the
incense brings to mind northern hay-fields and the sweet-grass baskets of
the Indians. What new pains and pleasures would be ours could we possess
the power of scent of some of the “lower” animals!
Temperate succeed tropical vistas; we see what at first appears to be a
grove of young chestnuts rising from rhododendrons and guinea-grass. A
Spotted Sandpiper[22] heightens the illusion, and the picture is complete
when a familiar milk-weed butterfly floats by and alights on a red and
yellow tansy. But just then a Macaw shrieks from a near-by tree—the
road-bed turns and reveals a tangle of palms and scarlet heliconias—a
monkey climbs up a leaf large enough to shelter half a hundred of his
kind. Strange palm fruits come into view, some like enormous clusters
or bunches of grapes—each fruit as large as an orange; or again a huge
feathery, dependent frond of dust-brown blossom and fruit protected by an
overhanging spathe like a huge umbrella.
[Illustration: FIG. 29. LA BREA—THE LAKE OF PITCH.]
The jungle never gives up the struggle against the invading rails.
Beneath the cars the constant friction only dwarfs the growth, and we
find here miniature plants blooming, fruiting, and scattering seed;
plants which elsewhere reach a height of five or six feet. It is an
interesting case of quick adaptation to unfavorable conditions.
The vegetation presses on every inch of the track, striving ever to close
up the long scar through the heart of the forest, and only by systematic
cutting is the way kept open. The advance of the jungle host is most
interesting. Thirty feet from the rails the growth is primeval, a dense
mass of entangled and interlaced vines, shrubs, palms, and giant trees,
the boles of the latter shooting up and up through the mass and bursting
into bloom high overhead. Nearer the track we find a phalanx of green
banners and the wonderfully brilliant red and yellow flower stalks of
the quick-growing heliconias. In front are the rough scouts, the real
advance-guard of strong, thorny vines growing in close entanglement—a
living _chevaux-de-frise_, inconspicuous and yet offering the greatest
resistance. Under this shelter the larger but slower-growing components
of the jungle take root and gather vigor, until, if not cut out with the
hardest labor, they soon rear their heads from their nursery of vines and
brambles, and the shining rails vanish from view.
All the creatures of the forest cross and recross the track freely,
even in front of an approaching train. Water-fowl, Sun-bitterns[24]
and the weird-voiced Trumpeters[25] walk up and down, and flocks of
Seedeaters[132] drift here and there, gleaning seed from between the
rails. The Trumpeters were a great surprise to us, as this is the first
instance of their being found north of the Orinoco River. One day we see
the leaves part, and a long, low-shouldered reddish form slouches across
before us, without even a glance at us, and we know it for the first
South American puma (_Felis concolor_) which we have seen. Another “red
lion,” as the natives called it, with two cubs, was seen not long before.
Only the sloth is barred. He comes close to the endless swath; he wanders
from tree to tree up and down, peering dully out across the track, but he
cannot cross. The twenty-foot treeless embankment is as impregnable to
him as a sheer wall of rock. With a weird cry he turns back and starts in
another direction through the branches.
[Illustration: FIG. 30. THE FATAL “MOTHER OF THE LAKE.”]
We reach the lake long before the dew is dried and before the freshness
of the dawn is dissipated. Hurrying over the planks and the temporary
rails laid for the workman’s hand-cars, we push on a half-mile or more
to the southward, where nothing hints of man’s proximity. To the north
and west are irregular peaks running off into a blue and misty range—the
foot-hills of the Spanish Main. To the south the high woods are close
to us and tower high overhead, but even with the eye of yonder lofty,
soaring Vulture we could see no mountains in that direction—nothing
but flat, green miles of mangroves, stretching to the horizon over the
immense delta of the Orinoco. The pitch lake itself is surrounded on
all sides by dense forests, the front ranks of which are made up of the
marvellously tall and graceful moriche palms. There is one oasis in this
pitchy expanse—Parrot Island it may be called. To this shelter, guarded
on all sides by soft, quaking pitch, Amazon Parrots come at dusk by
hundreds, roosting there until the next morning.
[Illustration: FIG. 31. WHITE-HEADED CHIMACHIMA HAWK AND ETA PALM.]
Near the northern edge is the “mother of the lake,” just above the
deep-hidden source of supply, where the pitch is always soft, and where
no vegetation grows. It is a veritable pool of death, and nothing can
enter it and live. The lizards and heavy-bodied insects which scamper
over the rim are often clogged and drawn down to death. A jaguar, leaping
after a Jacana, slipped in shortly before we came and made a terrible
fight for life. Half blinded, its struggles carried it only farther
outward, but fortunately the end came mercifully soon.
[Illustration: FIG. 32. AMAZON PARROT ROOST, PITCH LAKE.]
All the rest of the lake is a varied expanse of black pitch bubbles,
short grass, clumps of fern and sedge, with occasional isolated palms.
Flowers of many kinds and colors spring from the heart of the raw pitch
itself. Jacanas[23] rise before us with loud cries and flashing wings of
gold. One may walk over the lake at will, morning and evening, but in the
heat of midday, in many places, one’s shoes sink quickly unless one keeps
constantly on the move.
White is not a very common color in nature, and yet here, in striking
contrast with the inky blackness of the pitch, most of the birds show
large patches of this color. In the distance are always to be seen Snowy
Egrets[33] and immature Blue Herons[34]—spots of purest white, while near
at hand, absurdly tame, a big hawk forever soars slowly about or perches
on some great frond of a tall palm. It is a White-headed Chimachima
Hawk[56] with plumage of white, save for back, wings, and tail.
[Illustration: FIG. 33. THE HOME OF THE AMAZON PARROT IN THE MIDDLE OF
PITCH LAKE.]
The two most abundant small birds are chiefly white in color. Both
are Flycatchers, one with white head and neck—White-headed Marsh
Flycatcher[98]—perching in the reeds and making fierce sallies after
passing insects, while even more beautiful and conspicuous are the little
terrestrial Flycatchers—White-shouldered Ground Flycatchers[97] or
“Cotton Birds”—which scurry along the ground over pitch and fallen logs.
Their tails continually wag from side to side, and they come within a few
feet of us, uttering low inquiring notes: _pit! pit!_ They too are clad
in white, except for back, nape, wings, and tail.
[Illustration: AMAZON PARROT AT ENTRANCE OF NEST.
FIG. 34. FIFTEEN FEET AWAY.
FIG. 35. TEN FEET AWAY.]
We follow one about, watching it through the ground-glass of the
camera, when we blunder into a thicket of dry, crackling twigs. A
sudden rustling sound draws our attention, and we look up and find
ourselves within a few feet of a dry palm stub. Around the roughened
stringy bark peers a green head with wide, yellow eyes, and we stiffen
into immobility. The position is anything but comfortable; thorns are
scratching us, flies are tickling our faces, but we dare not move. After
five minutes, which seem hours, the big Yellow-fronted Amazon Parrot[64]
withdraws, and we hear a scuttling within the stub. Silently and with the
greatest caution we step backward, and after a rest we arrange our plan
of attack.
[Illustration: FIG. 36. AMAZON PARROT ABOUT TO TAKE FLIGHT.]
These birds usually nest in hollows in the tops of the tallest,
most inaccessible trees, and this is a golden opportunity—one in a
lifetime—for a photograph of a Parrot at home.
[Illustration: FIG. 37. EGGS AND YOUNG OF AMAZON PARROT IN THE NEST.]
The entrance is rectangular, about three by six inches, and some five
feet above the ground. Painfully I pick my way to the side of the stub,
and bracing myself, focus on that spot of black on the trunk. Then Milady
rustles the weeds in the rear of the stub. Again a rustling, and on the
ground-glass of my Graflex flashes the green head. Snap! I have her! and
with the slowest of motions I change plates. While she is engrossed with
the disturber in the rear I advance a step and get another picture. Then
screwing up my speed-button, I push slowly forward, and just as she is
about to hurl herself from the stub I secure a third photograph. Off
she goes to the nearest palms, shrieking at the top of her lungs, and is
joined by her mate.
We cut a hole in the trunk near the ground, and there find the nest of
the parrot. Three white eggs, one of which is pipped, and a young bird
just hatched reward us, all resting on a bed of chips. The diminutive
polly is scantily clothed with white down, and while in the shade lies
motionless. When a ray of warm sunlight strikes it the little fellow
becomes uneasy and crawls and tumbles about until it escapes from the
unwelcome heat. During its activity it keeps up a continuous, low,
raucous cry like the mew of a catbird. Far out on the expanse of black
pitch—six feet in the depth of this dark cavity!—this little squawking
mite surely had a strange babyhood to fit it for its future life in the
sunlight among the palms.
It was the Yellow-fronted Amazon Parrot,[64] a common species with
dealers everywhere, but we shall never see one in a cage, uttering inane
requests for crackers, without thinking of the interesting family we
discovered at the pitch lake.
We found strange fish in the pools of water scattered over the lake.
Some must have wriggled their way over dry land for some distance to get
there. There were round, sunfish-like fellows (_Aequidens_) and others,
long and slender, with wicked-looking teeth (_Hoplias malabaricus_). Most
curious of all were the Loricates or armored catfish, with a double row
of large overlapping scales enclosing their body from head to tail. Like
the Hoatzins among the birds, these fish are strange relics of the past,
preserved almost unchanged from the ancient fossil Devonian forms.
[Illustration: FISH FROM THE POOLS IN PITCH LAKE.
FIG. 38. _Aequidens_ Sp.
FIG. 39. _Hoplias Malabaricus._]
Days passed like hours in this wonderland, and the time for returning to
civilization came all too soon. The strange living beings which filled
jungle and air and water, made us long for the leisure of months instead
of weeks, in which to study all the infinite variety of life which
surrounded us.
Our last view of Venezuela was like the first—a panorama of silent,
majestic green walls, guarding a stream of brilliant copper; every one of
the untold myriads of beating hearts beyond the walls resting silent in
the noonday heat, waiting for the coolness of evening to awaken them to
activity. To some it would bring song and happiness with nest and mate,
to some combat, to others death.
CHAPTER III.
A WOMAN’S EXPERIENCES IN VENEZUELA.
(_By Mary Blair Beebe._)
The doings of the creatures in fur, feathers and scales kept us keenly
interested from morning to night, yet in our wilderness search there
were many unnatural history experiences—some disagreeable, others
thrilling—but all so wholly delightful in their charm of strangeness
to the woman who enjoyed them that the picture of our wilderness seems
incomplete without them.
Life on board a Venezuelan sloop is quite unlike any other experience in
the world. Neither the woman who sits under the awning of a luxurious
yacht nor her more adventurous sister who sails her own catboat over
turbulent waters can form any idea of the daily life aboard such a craft.
The night we set forth in our tiny sloop from the Island of Trinidad,
headed for an unexplored part of the Orinoco delta, it was hard to
realize that we were at last bound for South America, the land of our
dreams. As you know we were, for the present, owners of a sloop flying
the Venezuelan flag and manned by five men, of whom only the Captain knew
a word of English. The charm of exploration and adventure laid a spell
upon us both—El Señor Naturalista and me—and we watched in silence the
sunset sky and the dim receding shores of Trinidad.
But there was a certain stern reality about that first night aboard the
“Josefa Jacinta” that soon broke in upon our reveries. When we descended
to the tiny cabin to unpack, the sloop had begun to pitch heavily and
we set ourselves to solve the problems of unstable equilibrium, which
constantly shifting angles of 30° to 40° presented in both floor and
walls. By courtesy we called our domicile a cabin, and we found that it
would hold two people—at a pinch!
[Illustration: FIG. 40. OUR SLOOP AT GUANOCO.]
We unearthed our unused pneumatic mattresses and rigged up our gilded
foot pump. For fifteen minutes W—— worked, then the mate was called and
took a hand. Were we on a sinking ship and manning the pumps for our
lives, greater exertions could not have been made, and the reward was a
thin film of air within the rubber bed. Then we unscrewed the decorative
but useless contrivance, and W—— began to blow. This proved effective,
and in a few minutes we had placed the soft, air-filled cushions in our
respective bunks. We dubbed these bunks catacombs at once, for the tiny
niches into which we later crept were more like the vaults of a tomb than
aught else.
I doubt if either of us will ever forget that first night. Beneath the
flooring and behind the planked sides of the vessel was a mysterious
underworld, densely populated by rats of most sportive disposition. How
they managed to live there we never discovered, for we neither caught
sight of one throughout the voyage, nor were we ever troubled by raids on
biscuits or other edibles.
There seemed to be some kind of a running track extending around the
hidden depths of the sloop. A race would start near the stern, the
contestants tearing around W——’s bunk; then the footfalls would die out
toward the bow to become audible almost at once on my side—a medley of
sound indicating a mob of invisible rushing creatures, galloping down
a mysterious homestretch. For some time we expected the goal of each
race to be some part of ourselves or our luggage, but the “heat” would
invariably end on the under side of the partition within a few inches
of my ear, and then would follow a general mêlée and fight, punctuated
with shrill squeaks and squeals and vicious blows and sounds of tumbling,
rolling bodies. Were we in the mood we might have learned much of rat
vocabulary. But we did not then know that these strenuous rodents never
penetrated to the upper portions of the sloop and this uncertainty kept
alive our interest in their manœuvers throughout the night.
Silence was unknown during this first night, and while the rats were
resting, other things occupied our minds and kept away _ennui_—and sleep.
The gurgle and splash of bilge water was a steady accompaniment of the
pitch and toss of the sloop, while now and then a sinister trickling
came to our ears. We called up to the captain and inquired about it, and
were assured that it was “only a leak!” He had looked for it many times,
but could not locate it. This gave us food for thought, besides adding
decidedly to the slowness of the ticking of the watch marking the passage
of the hours of darkness. I lay in my berth as long as I could endure it;
dreaming now and then of being buried alive, then rising with a start
and striking my head against the coffin lid of my catacomb. At last I
abandoned it for the floor of the cabin, sloping and under five feet in
total length though it was. I found it was better to be huddled in a
forlorn little bundle on the floor than in that hole which by no stretch
of the imagination could be called a berth.
Overhead the crew worked fitfully all night long. I could move the hatch
curtain, look up and see the sturdy old Captain with his hand on the
rudder—a picture which was to become familiar to us through many nights.
What a picturesque old figure he was—rugged and stern, yet as gentle and
courteous as any gentleman of the old school—and bearing his three-score
and eight years with wonderful vigor. Now and then his deep voice would
rise above the roar of wind and waves in hoarse commands in Spanish to
the crew. Then he would push the rudder hard up, the boom would swing
over with a jerk which made the whole sloop tremble and a wave would
wash over the deck and send a trickle of cold drops down upon my face.
Smothered exclamations from the crew and the sound of their bare feet
splashing along the deck would end the audible part of the manœuvre. Then
I would shift to meet the new angle of the floor and wait for the next
race of the rats.
Now and then the Captain would reach behind the hatch curtain for his
watch and examine its dripping face by the light of the candle in the
compass box. “_Faltan las cinco á la una_,” he would mutter, and I knew
that midnight had passed and that somewhere in our wake, morning was on
its way to end this night of nights. The tempest increased and tossed
our sloop like a flying leaf. Sometimes it seemed as if we never would
right ourselves after heeling far over into the depths. But the calm face
of our helmsman dispelled all uneasiness, and I lay staring into the
darkness, feeling myself the veriest atom amid this fierce tumult.
To this moment I cannot tell how long it took us to get from Trinidad to
Venezuela across that awful Gulf of Paria. To me it seemed an endless
space of time—day succeeding night—with choppy seas, ominous noises in
the pitching cabin, hot sleepy hours on deck in the shade of the sail,
with the great green waves forever rolling after and breaking partly over
us. By the Captain’s reckoning, however, it was the noon of only the
second day which revealed the distant shore, and soon we forgot all the
discomforts of the past hours in the wonderful beauty of the scene before
us—the still, brassy waters and the rich green mangroves.
Entering the wide Caño San Juan we dropped anchor in the lee of a
solitary guard ship, a poor derelict, a rusty and worn-out freighter,
whose last days were to be spent here in the calm waters at the edge
of the mangrove forest. Our little sloop was soon over-run with young
custom-house officials from the guard ship, curious but courteous, and
far more appreciative of the stiff rounds of rum which our Captain
willingly served to them under our direction, than of our gilt-sealed
letters of introduction.
If we would but take their photographs on board the “Pontón,” they would
row us close along the shore while we waited for the “fulling tide,”
as the Captain called it. Of course we agreed. Shouldering their rusty
muskets they stood in a row to be photographed,—young inexperienced
boys, whose idle days on the derelict were spent in drinking, smoking
cigarettes and lying in hammocks playing the mandolin, watching for the
rare sloop or schooner which might enter Venezuela by this desolate and
unfrequented caño.
We promised to send them the pictures; but Captain Truxillo said
afterwards with a sad shake of his head that they would have lost their
positions long before the pictures could reach them. No one ever stayed
long; there was always someone to carry reports to Castro of treachery
and plotting, and there would be new faces on the “Pontón,” to stay a
little while and then to disappear like their predecessors.
[Illustration: FIG. 41. VENEZUELAN SOLDIERS ON THE “PONTÓN” GUARD SHIP.]
Now for many days the sloop was our home, and the innumerable gleaming
_caños_ of the delta our highways. By day we explored the mangroves in
our _curiara_ or dug-out, and by night we slept the dreamless sleep
of healthful outdoor life, safe from the persecution of the humming
_Anopheles_ outside our netting on the after deck. When midday heat or
sudden rain drove the wild creatures from our view I studied our motley
crew and found them a never-failing source of entertainment.
The tally of the crew must begin with Filo, the mate, a huge black
creole, speaking Spanish besides his own strange vernacular; then
there were two sailors from the Island of Margarita, and Antonio, cook
by profession, admitting some Dutch blood, but of unknown extraction
and decidedly uncertain disposition. The cook on board a Venezuelan
craft is always given the respectful title of Maestro (_Mai’stro_), so
Maestro he always was to us. Maestro as an individual was an interesting
psychological study. Although he probably never heard of such a thing as
a labor union, yet he was the embodied spirit of one. He declared, in
terms that left no possibility of misunderstanding, that he was cook, not
sailor, and that he would do nothing _but_ cook. He would cook cheerfully
over a stove that smoked like Dante’s Inferno, but when called upon in an
emergency to help hoist a sail, he would fly into a violent torrent of
angry Spanish. Later when the temper had spent itself he would often go
and do what was asked of him. I have seen many high tempers, but never
one that quite equalled Maestro’s. There were times when he would draw
his huge cutlass or machete on the Captain. For a long time these were
all false alarms, but at last Maestro threatened once too often and so
seriously that he was discharged on the spot, and left marooned in a
little Indian village with no means of returning to Trinidad. But this
was at the end of our voyage.
Maestro in his patched and faded shirt, with sleeves rolled to the
elbow, still more patched trousers rolled to the knee, bare as to feet,
a crownless hat on one side of his head, an ancient and odoriferous
pipe hanging from his mouth, a big machete at his side, in the capacity
of cook would make the most shiftless housekeeper gasp with horror.
I often wondered why he so persistently declared himself _cocinero_,
not _marinero_, for he could hardly have been a greater failure in
any calling than he was in that of chef. Among the most valued of my
memories are some mental pictures of Maestro, which, while I live, I can
never manage to forget.
[Illustration: FIG. 42. CAPTAIN TRUXILLO PADDLING US UP THE GUARAPICHE
PAST CAÑO COLORADO.]
I often shut my eyes and see him with streaming eyes stirring some
fearful concoction over the little stove; or again on his knees mixing
dough for the leaden dumplings to be boiled in the pig-tail stew which
appeared at every meal. We so often wished we had brought graham flour.
White flour does show the dirt so! Still another picture is Maestro
washing the table-cloth. This was a piece of oilcloth, originally white,
and Maestro’s method of washing it was to spread it on the deck, pour
water over it, dance upon it in his bare feet, to the accompaniment
of some weird chant, and finally hang it on the rail to dry! No doubt
after this proceeding he felt as self satisfied as the most pompous and
well-trained English butler.
In justice, I must say that Maestro did make one or two edible dishes;
he could boil the native vegetables, yam, tania and kuch-kuch and he made
very good cornmeal mush. Then after a long, happy day on the caños we
were always hungry, and happiness and honest hunger overlook a multitude
of sins. Besides, whatever was lacking in Maestro’s bill of fare was
compensated by the dried soups, cocoa, crackers and preserves from our
own stores. So we managed one way or another to keep the wolf from the
door, or perhaps more appropriately I should say, the crocodile from the
companionway.
As in two weeks the crew had consumed provisions planned by the Captain
to last a month, the Captain purchased a hundred pounds of beef from
a dug-out full of Indians which passed us one day on the river. This
Maestro salted plentifully and then hung up in the sun to cure. Long
strips of it were suspended from the rigging, from the boom, and over the
railing, and whole entomological collections buzzed noisily about them.
For a few days we felt as though we were living in a butcher’s shop;
and a butcher’s shop in a tropical climate is a thing to be avoided. At
first we were inclined to resent this impromptu meat market. It was not
only disagreeable but it was in the way. Then came the thought—suppose it
were fish; and we were so grateful to be spared that, that we cheerfully
submitted to a sloop draped with strips of meat, as a house is festooned
with smilax at Christmas. As long as the larder was low the Captain had
known no peace of mind for fear his crew would desert us and the sloop.
So the purchase of such a delicacy as meat was a successful piece of
strategy.
With all their faults, there is among the Venezuelans, as among the
Mexicans, a certain chivalry toward women; and so I never felt the least
alarm at being left alone on the sloop with the crew, while the Captain
and my husband went off up the river. The great dusky Creole mate would
put my stool in a shady spot, and, figuratively, lay himself at my feet
to serve me, and Maestro—even pugnacious Maestro—would weave wonderful
baskets for me of the roots of the mangrove; baskets in nests of twelve,
each fitting snugly within the other and all gayly dyed with the
Venezuelan colors, the pigments being extracted from the leaves or stems
of unknown wild plants.
[Illustration: FIG. 43. SUNSET IN THE MANGROVE WILDERNESS.]
The time passed all too quickly with each day spent on the Guarapiche
river—a gleaming stage, with a setting of green trees, brilliant flowers
and fragrant orchids, and an ever-changing plot with ever-changing
actors. Of them all, man was the least important. There were populous
villages of Hoatzins and great wandering tribes of Scarlet Ibises and
Plovers; Herons, much occupied with their unsocial and taciturn calling
as fishermen, stood silent and solitary in secluded pools. With all this
wild life the river teemed. It was only with the rising and falling of
the tide that man entered upon the scene; and so quietly, so much a part
of nature, that one hardly felt any difference between him and the forest
folk. In a silently, swiftly moving _curiara_ he would glide under the
shadows of the overhanging mangroves. Sometimes the _curiara_ would be
a merchant vessel, laden with ollas, fruit, etc., with its destination
Maturin, many miles away in the interior. Again its only occupant was
a fisherman, as silent as the Herons themselves. Like a Heron also he
would station himself near a shady pool, and sit all day, motionless save
for the changing of bait or the pulling in of a fish. With the turning
of the tide the line would be drawn up, the fish covered with cool green
leaves and the _curiara_ would move away, the bronze figure of its owner
skilfully guiding it up the winding river.
[Illustration: FIG. 44. THE SILENT SAVAGES.]
Occasionally the fisherman was accompanied by his squaw, hardly to be
distinguished from him, and in the bow there was often the little naked
figure of a child playing with a mite of a tame monkey, or both sound
asleep with their arms wrapped about each other. All that these simple
folk ask of life is one fish to eat, another with which to buy cassava
and a yard of cotton cloth.
In the brief tropical twilight we would hastily make preparations for
the night, spreading our air-beds on deck, hanging over them a white
mosquito canopy and putting our electric flashlight and revolver at hand.
After the first two nights we had abandoned the cabin, which had added to
its other discomforts the fact that all the mosquitoes of the caño had
selected it as their abode. Never were nights more beautiful than those
which we spent on the deck of that little sloop, and never was sleep more
dreamless and peaceful.
In the darkness of early evening, before the moon rose, we would sit on
deck munching sugar-cane while the Captain told us many a tale of his
young days, when he was the prosperous owner of a schooner twice the size
of the “Josefa Jacinta” and when smuggling brought adventure and yellow
gold in abundance. He was full of legend and superstition. He told us
of aged men and women, both among the Indians and the Spaniards, who he
declared can by a peculiar whistle call together all the snakes in the
vicinity and then by incantations so hypnotize them that they can be
handled with impunity. The owner of a hacienda will sometimes employ one
of these charmers to call together the snakes, which can then be killed.
The performers themselves, however, will never harm a snake. He told many
a story of black magic arts, in which he firmly believed, of sending to
one’s enemies scourges of rats or deadly diseases or departed spirits to
make life unendurable.
[Illustration: FIG. 45. GUARAUNO INDIANS COMING TO TRADE AT CAÑO
COLORADO.]
Finally the crew would roll up in their blankets in the bow, the Captain
would disappear beneath his _mosquitaro_, which would tremble and quake
in the moonlight until he lay quiet in his hammock. We would creep
beneath our tent of netting to write up the last notes of the day or to
listen to the sounds of the night. From the bow would come a low murmur
of voices in some weird chanting song until the Captain roared out for
all hands to go to sleep. But he would not practice what he preached for
he always talked himself to sleep, sometimes in English, or in Spanish or
again in Creole, while now and then he would mingle all three.
By day one would not have suspected Filo, the mate, of being a person of
romance; but under the spell of the tropical moonlight he would often
tell stories to the crew; stories in which the heroine was always “_Muy
preciosa, muy joven, muy linda_,”—very charming, very young and very
beautiful. She would set difficult tasks for her many lovers, and her
favored suitor would be the one who most bravely bore himself under
the tests. I remember one tale to which the crew listened with awe; in
which one of the lovers was to lie all night in the cathedral, stiff and
still like a corpse; another was to go to the same cathedral on the same
night dressed in winding sheets like a ghost; another was to represent
the angel of death, while a fourth impersonated the devil; and a fifth
was sent as an ordinary man. Of course none of them were to know of the
others having been sent by the fair heroine of the story; and of course
the fortunate lover was the one who showed no terror and passed the night
quietly in the church, returning in the morning to claim his bride.
The story had its dramatic situations and Filo made the most of them.
Even Maestro was moved to utter a low “_Dios mio!_” at the description
of the entrance of the ghost, the angel of death and finally the devil;
at which the poor corpse, who had been shaking with fear through it all,
started up and fled in terror.
Filo’s story lost nothing in his telling and the superstitious crew went
very soberly to rest that night. W—— and I lay, as we so often did,
staring wonderingly out into the night,—the marvellous tropical night.
It was all like a dream; the shining water of the _caño_, the deep,
mysterious forest growing down to the water’s edge, the cries of unknown
birds and beasts, the impressive southern cross and the extraordinary
brilliancy of the moonlight shining down upon the tiny deck of the
“Josefa Jacinta,” and upon us and the sleeping forms of its dusky crew.
We were sometimes awakened in the night by a sudden bright light in our
faces. It was Maestro making a fire, in which operation he used alarming
quantities of kerosene, to prepare the midnight repast for the crew, who
whenever they woke in the night would call loudly “_Maestro—café!_”
[Illustration: FIG. 46. GUARAUNO SQUAWS AND CHILD WITH MONKEY.]
Again the sound of an unusually heavy downpour of tropical rain on the
tarpaulin overhead would waken us, and I would occasionally discover that
my feet were in a puddle of water. A shifting of beds to prevent our
being drowned while we slept would invariably result in our feet being
higher than our heads, and because of the horde of mosquitoes which found
their way in while the beds were being moved, the rest of that night
would be sleepless.
With the dawn came the roar of the howling monkeys; a dainty _Tigana_[24]
picked its way among the mud-flats; a flock of _Hervidores_[80]—which
being translated means “boilers,” an appellation perhaps suggested by the
notes of these black Cuckoos—bubbled away as cheerily as a bright kettle
on a breakfast table. And with these sounds of the dawn all our troubles
of the night were forgotten.
After weeks of solitude in the mangrove jungles our prow was headed
inland and a long night of silent drifting with the tide brought us to
the mouth of the Guanoco River. Here the Captain and the unruly crew at
dawn had their usual heated argument as to the management of the boat,
with the result that they nearly ran her aground—one of the many narrow
escapes which had happened so often as to create but little interest on
our part.
Guanoco was a river of bends, around each one of which the Captain
assured us we would see the village. But it was twilight before we turned
the final bend and saw picturesque Guanoco at the hour of _vespertino_—a
hill rising steep and blue, with the silvery river at its foot and a
cluster of little thatched huts perched one above another on the hillside.
It was delightful to feel solid ground under one’s feet again and we
could hardly get over our accustomed walk of “three steps and over-board.”
Here in our wilderness we found an unexpected home. Through the kindness
of our cordial friends in Trinidad—Mr. Eugene André and Mr. Ellis
Grell—we had letters to the men in charge of the pitch lake at Guanoco
and it was to this great lake that the tiny settlement of Guanoco owed
its being.
As soon as we reached the wharf, a young Venezuelan came on board,
introducing himself as Señor Bernardo Lugo y Escobar,—one of the
officials of the Pitch Lake Company, and explaining that Mr. Grell had
written him that we might possibly come to Guanoco and that we were to
be entertained at the headquarters for as long as we chose to stay.
Mr. Lugo was most urgent in his hospitality and I knew well of what
the sloop dinner would consist. Maestro and I would hold a perfectly
futile consultation in which we would decide upon the only possible
menu—_funche_ (which is the Venezuelan name for cornmeal mush), dried pea
soup and cocoa. I must explain that the lack of variety in our larder was
due to the fact that we had expected to be able to supplement our canned
goods with fresh fish and game, both of which proved difficult to obtain,
the latter because of the impossibility in this vast swamp of ever
finding the game after it was shot. The experience taught us the useful
lesson which every camper and explorer learns sooner or later, sometimes
alas! _too_ late—never to depend upon the game of the country, but always
to plan your provisions as if game did not exist. Then when one gets it,
it comes as an unexpected luxury.
But to return to my visions of a good dinner in the preparation of
which I had no part or responsibility. Perhaps there would also be the
luxury of a real bath. I was roused from these attractive reflections
by the voice of the Captain politely refusing Mr. Lugo’s invitation for
the night, and saying that we would not go ashore until the next day.
Whereupon I diplomatically remarked in English,—that Mr. Lugo might
not understand,—that I thought Mr. Lugo’s feelings would be hurt if we
refused, and as long as we were to go the next day and there was nothing
to be gained by spending the night on the sloop, why not gratify him by
going at once.
And so it came about that in a few minutes more we were at
“Headquarters.” As the house was quite invisible from the water, we had
imagined that we were to go to one of the thatched huts which we had seen
from the river.
To our surprise, around the base of the hill we found ourselves going
up a pretty palm bordered walk which led to a low, massive, fort-like
building.
[Illustration: FIG. 47. PITCH LAKE, SHOWING FRESHLY DUG PIT FILLED WITH
WATER; AN OLDER PIT FILLED WITH SOFT PITCH, BOTH SURROUNDED BY THE HARD
SURFACE PITCH.]
In the broad open hall were comfortable rocking chairs, in striking
contrast to the sloop on which we had taken turns sitting on the one
stool which the little craft possessed. In the _patio_ was a table laid
for dinner—with a big black Trinidad negro bringing in steaming dishes.
There is no hospitality anywhere quite equal to that of the wilderness.
Your host does not arrange your visit from the Saturday to the Monday,
fitting you in between a multitude of other engagements. A wilderness
welcome is as genial and inevitable as the tropical sunshine. Your
visit is an event—a mile-stone in the long road of lonely months of
exile—months which sometimes lengthen into years. Our very interesting
friend Mr. Eugene André of Trinidad told us that on one of his many
orchid-hunting expeditions he had chanced to land at a certain
God-forsaken little port on the west coast of Colombia. Mr. André had
wondered why the fare to this port from Panama should be $30—while the
return passage was $100. The problem was solved after he had seen the
port—desolate, barren, inaccessible and fever and insect ridden—one might
be induced to pay $30 to get there provided one knew not what manner of
place it was. But to get away—one would pay any sum and gladly. So it is
that the little coastwise steamboat company calmly demands $100 to return
the unfortunate traveller to Panama—and _gets_ it.
At this forlorn spot there were stationed two young men, I forget now
in what capacity, who for many months had not seen an intelligent human
being. Into the empty monotony of their lives, Mr. André appeared. It
mattered not to those lonely young men who he was, nor where he came
from. His welcome was—“Stay with us. Stay a year—or ten years. We know
all about each other. We’ve talked about everything until there is
nothing left to say—we even know how much sugar we each like in our tea
and who our great grandmothers were, and who we think wrote Shakespeare’s
plays;—and we are so bored and so glad to see a new face.”
Thus it is that everywhere in the South American wilderness the
English-speaking stranger is made welcome by his kind, and we found
Guanoco no exception to this rule.
The pretty Spanish greeting is—“The house is yours” and during our stay
at the Pitch Lake, the headquarters became really ours. We were given
the best room; the servants were put at our disposal: and best of all
we were perfectly free to come and go as we pleased; and with everything
done to facilitate our work. All this we owed also to the instructions of
Mr. Ellis Grell, who was then financing the Pitch Lake Company and to the
kindness of Mr. Lynch and Mr. Stoute, two young West Indians employed by
the company.
[Illustration: FIG. 48. DIGGING OUT THE BLACK, WAXLIKE PITCH.]
We were tired that first night at Guanoco. The night before had been a
hard one—sailing all night long, with the boom swinging back and forth
and making impossible the hanging of our mosquito nets. All through
the night the Captain and his crew worked. Down the narrow river the
Captain skilfully guided the sloop in the darkness of a moonless night,
following the line of the trees against the sky to mark the channel.
His commanding old voice rang from stern to bow, the orders being there
repeated by the mate to the sailors who were towing us, and who paused
in the wild melody which they chanted through that wonderful night, to
listen and obey. It was a difficult and dangerous task—the guiding of
that sloop down so narrow and winding a river: and even the unruly crew
were obedient that night, rendering the homage which in time of danger
the ignorant unconsciously yield to a superior intelligence.
When we wondered at the Captain’s confidence, he replied in his deep
voice, “Ah yes!—but I am old here and I know these caños as I do my
house.” And indeed here the curtain had risen upon his life and here it
was likely to fall at the end of the last act.
When finally quite exhausted we had laid down upon the deck to sleep,
it was to fall into so profound a slumber that the mosquitoes devoured
us unmolested, in spite of our head nets which proved insufficient
protection.
So it was that on that first night at Guanoco we were very tired. I sat
lazily rocking in the cool evening breeze, anointing my irritating bites
with Tango, a preparation dependent upon faith cure for its healing
properties—and listening to the desultory talk of the young men. The
conversation was desultory, however, only so long as the Venezuelan
element of the household was present. On this occasion that element was
represented by the young Mr. Lugo who had met us at the wharf. After
he had gone out on some errand the story of Pitch Lake was poured into
our interested ears. It was a story of intrigue and revolution and
treason quite worthy of some mediæval court. First there was the passive
Venezuelan possession; then the active, enterprising, money-making
reign of the North American; having as its natural result the jealousy
of Castro, his oppression and injustice to the American Company; their
rebellion, in which they aided a great revolution against Castro; his
revenge being to seize the property and put it in charge of Venezuelans.
Then came the departure of the American Company, which had done so much
to develop the Pitch Lake, followed by the arrival of the Venezuelans
appointed by the Government—men who knew just about as much about
managing a great Pitch Lake as they did about guiding an aëroplane. We
were told of the time long before the advent of the Lugo family—when for
weeks it was necessary to live always on the alert, with revolver ever
ready for defence; when the very men with whom one sat down at table were
capable of attempting to poison the food, in order to free themselves
of English-speaking men, who might perhaps witness some ugly deed of
treachery or defalcation.
This is the very long story in a nutshell. We began then to understand
why the house was so fort-like in structure. It had been built to
withstand assault. Only a few months before our visit it had been
attacked by a party of Revolutionists who hoped to find money in the
company safe; and five men had been killed and several injured.
This thrilling tale was told in the emotionless matter-of-fact way in
which one might describe the moves in a game of chess.
From the moment our sloop sailed out of the harbor of Port of Spain the
memory of the old familiar every-day world had seemed to grow dimmer and
dimmer. Was it possible that there really was such a place as New York
City, with its clanging street-cars, its trains and subways and elevated
roads thronged with people, _en masse_ all as much alike as an army of
ants? At that very hour the New York Theatres were pouring their gay
crowds into the brilliantly lighted streets. How far away it all seemed,
down there in the great primeval forest of another continent! We walked
out under the stars to the edge of the forest, black and mysterious,
teeming with the hidden life, which we were so eager to study. Our world,
for the present, was this forest wilderness, stretching unbroken for mile
upon mile, with only the twinkling lights of Guanoco to remind us of
human habitations. I dreamed that night of being stabbed in the back by a
howling monkey, while the safe of the Pitch Lake Company was broken into
by a band of shrieking Macaws!
On the morning after our arrival at Guanoco we sorrowfully said good-by
to the “Josefa Jacinta.” As we watched her sail away we consoled
ourselves by planning another and a longer trip on her—a trip which never
took place. Looking back after almost two years I realize that life can
bring me few experiences more full of interest and charm than those
days on a little Venezuelan sloop exploring the mysterious untrodden
mangroves! “How _could_ you enjoy it?” I am often asked: but the trifling
discomforts were all in the day’s work and more than compensated by the
beauty and freedom and wonder of it all. They served to make us know that
it was not all a dream.
[Illustration: FIG. 49. LOADING PITCH ON THE HAND CARS.]
Our days at Guanoco began early and were full to overflowing of interest
and of work. In the heat of midday we pressed flowers, skinned birds and
wrote up our journals, but in spite of being so busy, we found time to
get a little into the atmosphere of the human life.
Here is the daily program at the lake of pitch,—this little outpost of
humanity, deep hidden in the tropical jungle. At daybreak the group of
sheds and thatched huts gives up a horde of Trinidadian negroes; great
black fellows, giants in strength, children in mind. Amid a perfect
medley of excitement and uproar, breakfast is prepared. We hear sounds
which _must_ mean at least the violent death of several, and as one
listens to the shrieks and groans, the imagination easily supplies the
terrible blows and struggles. But a closer look only shows one of these
great children down on his knees, calling on everything which occurs to
him or enters his vision to witness that he did _not_ steal the sixpence
from _Napoleon_, of which some one has accused him, perhaps in jest.
Yet all this is calmness compared to the later rush for the best cars to
use in the day’s work. It would delight a Sophomore’s heart to see the
mêlée. But somehow all is straightened out and off go the hand trucks,
crawling along the rickety rails out over the lake, like beads sliding
along a string. Here a car has reached the end of the line. The negro
selects a place fairly clear of vegetation, takes his broad adze, and
shears away the upper few inches of roots and mould. Then with deep swift
strokes he outlines a big chunk of the shiny black gum, cuts it loose,
and carries it on his head to his car. So malleable is the pitch that by
the time he has half filled the little iron truck the pitch has settled
down and filled all interstices. He trundles back the car and dumps it
into one of the larger wooden trucks which will take it to Guanoco.
He now receives a check which is redeemable for fifteen cents and the
first link in the commercialization of the pitch is finished. Along the
wavering line of temporary rails over which the hand-cars are pushed back
and forth, are dozens of grave-like holes. Those nearer the railroad end
are smooth-edged and filled with soft pitch on which as yet no vegetation
has taken root. Farther along they are filled with water, and still
farther we find them in the process of being excavated.
[Illustration: FIG. 50. MANGROVE WILDERNESS FROM THE HIGH LAND AT
GUANOCO.]
The men dig down until they have reached a depth of five or six feet,
and then start in a new place. The hole is filled by the first rain;
water-bugs fly to the little pool, frogs lay their eggs in it, queer fish
wriggle their way to it and for a brief space it supports a considerable
aquatic life. Then new soft pitch begins to ooze up and in a few more
weeks the plug of viscid black gum has reached the level of the ground
and the scar is soon healed over by a thin growth of grass.
In the rainy season the holes fill at once with water, and indeed the
whole plain is immersed to the depth of a foot or more; then the men
have to work up to their waists in water, chopping beneath the surface,
prying the pieces loose with their toes and tearing the chunks off by
taking long breaths and reaching far down for a few seconds at a time.
When we cross our asphalt streets and smell the tarry odor and feel its
softness under a mid-summer’s sun, let us think of the strange lake in
the tropical wilderness.
The table talk at “Headquarters,” was often most amusing. Torrents of
Spanish eloquence and gesticulations kept our English ears ever on the
alert to follow the meaning, and our sense of humor ever under strict
control to preserve well-bred gravity when such statements were made as
“Venezuela leads not only all the South American countries, but all those
of North America as well, in literature, art, science and commerce. When
our General Blank went to New York the greatest ovation ever paid any
general in the world was given him. New York remained amazed!”
Once only did I look amused and I have never quite recovered from my
mortification at thus disgracing myself. Whatever the faults of the
Spaniard may be, he never smiles when he is not intended to; not even
at the laughable mistakes which we foreigners make when we are learning
his beautiful language. I try to say in extenuation of my unseemly mirth
that the Spaniard has no sense of humor and that we should very much
prefer having him laugh at our mistakes and letting us correct them. But
all to no purpose. I know that I did not behave like a well conducted
_Venezolana_, and nothing can alter that fact.
The three Venezuelans had been put in charge of the Pitch Lake,—because
their “Sister’s husband’s niece” had power in the court of Castro. Among
their regular duties they included singing airs from the operas, reading
Don Quixote and the Caracas newspapers and playing dominos.
[Illustration: FIG. 51. INHABITANTS OF GUANOCO ASSEMBLED FOR A DANCE.]
They had provided themselves with elaborate costumes for the rôle; they
carried big revolvers and wore huge green and white cork helmets, khaki
riding clothes, puttees, spurs, and carried riding whips. There was not
a horse within fifty miles! No horse, even had there been one, could
penetrate the tiny forest trails about Guanoco.
In the dancing sunlight and shadows and the orchid-fragrant air it was
hard to picture spilt blood and intrigue and treachery, and harder still
to prophesy the sad times that were to come upon Guanoco. Yet while we
were there the air teemed with revolutionary rumors. The _Jefe civil_,
as the chief magistrate was called, was off day after day investigating
first one suspicion and then another, returning utterly spent with the
exhaustion of unresting days and nights upon the trail. Revolutionists
had attempted to land guns on the near-by coast. There had been a
skirmish and several men had been killed.
All the available guns and ammunition were gotten together and every
night the doors were barred securely; for what the revolutionists chiefly
needed was money, and should there be an uprising in northeastern
Venezuela, the Pitch Lake headquarters would be the first point of
attack. It was in charge of Castro sympathizers, there might be large
sums of money in the Company’s safe and it was practically unprotected.
In the meantime diplomatic relations between our United States and
Venezuela had been severed and one morning a United States battleship
was discovered lying quietly in the harbor of La Guayra. The numbers of
_la Constitucional_—a month old when they reached us—were beginning to
talk of war and to boast of the ease with which Venezuela would erase the
United States of America from the face of the globe. Bitter things were
said about the sister republic in the north. And there we were living on
the bone of contention itself.
It was about this time that I began to see the advisability of being more
than ordinarily civil; and so it happened that I was led into playing
cards for the first and only time for money and that on a Sunday! We had
been working almost incessantly and I had begun to feel that, even if
it was to Mr. Grell that we were indebted for the hospitality, it was
not quite nice for us to appear only at “feeding time,” particularly
as our long days out of doors gave us such appalling appetites. So on
this occasion when I was asked to make a fourth at cards, I saw no way
out of it. Moreover, the battleship lay in the harbor of La Guayra, and
my countrymen were in sad disfavor in Venezuela. W—— had ignominiously
deserted and gone to bed, so there was only one sleepy little woman left
to uphold the honor of a great nation!
The game was “_Siete y media_,”—“seven and a half.” I forget the rules
now. I only remember that they seemed very intricate as explained to
me in Spanish. Fortunately for me, the stakes were low, for I steadily
lost all the time. “_Grano por grano la gallina come_,” quoted Mr.
Lugo,—“grain by grain the hen eats.”
Later he remarked how he hated to win from the señorita—but the señorita
observed that he hated it much as the famous walrus wept for the oysters
while—
“... he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.”
I was wofully tired and sleepy. I did not at all know the etiquette of
gambling! And I thought the loser must not be a “quitter”—even if the
extent of her losses was only “_dos reales_,” or twenty-five cents. So I
played on until at midnight the game was declared over.
It is well that virtue is its own reward, as it has no other, for I was
told the next morning by a husband who had had a perfectly good night’s
sleep—that I was a very foolish person indeed to sit up playing cards
with those men, and that the loser could always stop: it was the winner
who must not propose it.
[Illustration: FIG. 52. A PALM-SHEATH ROCKING TOY.]
The negroes from the Pitch Lake always came down on Saturday nights and
serenaded us with wild Creole airs, and at the sound of the quaterns and
violins huge hairy tarantulas would come forth from their hiding-places
in our rooms and creep briskly here and there over walls and floor. We
were greatly interested in this effect of the vibrations of sound, but
we never bothered the great creatures in their strange “tarentelles,”
and they paid no attention to us. The venomous effect of the bites of all
these eight or hundred-legged beings is greatly exaggerated, and there is
absolutely no serious danger to a healthy person with good red blood in
his veins; in some of the half-starved, rum-drinking natives the scratch
of a pin would induce blood-poisoning.
Labor was easily secured in Guanoco. The morning after our arrival we
expressed a wish to employ a boy to act as attendant, carrying camera,
gun, butterfly net, etc., when we went on our long tramps. One of the
young men at headquarters went to the door and called “_muchacho_,” and
at once a small boy appeared. I should have judged his age to be between
eleven and twelve; but he himself did not know. He said his grandmother
was “keeping his age.” A charming idea is that Venezuelan custom of
having some responsible member of the family keep all the ages. Think of
being able to say truthfully that you really do not know how old you are!
But then a Venezuelan woman never confesses to more than twenty-seven, no
matter what may have been the flight of time.
Our small servant’s name proved to be Maximiliano Romero, and with
supreme self possession, boldly spitting to the right and left, he
professed himself willing to enter our service. Like a true Venezuelan
he used expectoration to punctuate all his remarks. What a quaint little
figure he was, topped by a huge straw hat with a high peaked crown; the
hat the work of the little brown hands of Max himself, for he was a
hat-maker by profession. His face was alert but very grave. He rarely
smiled, but when he did it was in no half-hearted way, but with an
abandon of childish glee. I found myself devoting a good deal of valuable
time to trying to bring into being that charming smile of Maximiliano’s.
One never knew just what would touch the right chord. Once he went off
into gales of merriment at the escape of a lizard which we were trying
to photograph. He always saw the funny side of our mishaps.
[Illustration: FIG. 53. SHEATH IN FIG. 52, COVERING THE FLOWER OF A PALM.]
Max showed plainly in what esteem he held naturalists. The first day
he went out with us he was neatly dressed in dark blue jeans. When
he appeared on the second morning we did not recognize him. A small
ragamuffin stood before us, stamping like a pony to drive away the flies,
which hovered about his ankles. His clothes were a mass of rags—it was
impossible to say what had been the original color or material. Max had
taken our measure and decided that people who tramped through the “bush”
as we did were not worthy of anything better than rags.
Sometimes in the jungle we would meet Indian women who, living far in the
interior, were on their way to Guanoco to buy machetes, fish-hooks and
other articles of civilization. They would always stop and make friends
with us, with child-like curiosity asking where we came from, and why we
wanted birds and lizards and butterflies, and murmuring the words dear
to every woman’s heart in all lands, “_Que jovencita!_” which literally
translated is “What a young little thing!” Very simple-hearted are these
poor Indian women and so hard are their lives that at a very early age do
they cease to be _jovencita_.
We would often meet the wandering tribes of Guarauno Indians, who live
nearly always upon the march, carrying all their worldly possessions
upon their backs and sleeping wherever night happens to find them. They
very rarely knew even a word of Spanish and shunned any intercourse with
strangers, scorning the inventions of civilization and using the poisoned
arrows of their ancestors.
One Sunday morning one of the laborers at the near-by Pitch Lake, bearing
the pious name of José de Jesus Zamoro, came into headquarters to invite
us to a dance that afternoon at his house. The house of Zamoro had
nothing particularly to recommend it as a ballroom; for the floor was
of dirt, the ceiling low and the walls windowless. But it was crowded;
the air stifling and the dancers dripping with perspiration. The music
was wild and strange, the man who shook the _maracas_—an instrument
consisting of two gourds filled with dried seeds which is shaken in time
to the music—often breaking into a weird song, making up the words as
he went along, with some joke about each dancer. As the songster’s zeal
waxed high he described himself as being so great that “where he stood
the earth trembled.”
Between dances the ladies’ last partners were supposed to take them
into the next room where drinks were for sale. This was the explanation
of Zamoro’s zeal for dances: music and dance hall were free, but a
substantial profit came from the drinks.
The ball gowns had but one beauty—that of originality. There was always
an unfortunate hiatus between bodices and skirts, which was partly
concealed by the long straight black hair which hung down the backs of
the women. The shoes were in a piteous condition, never the right size,
very seldom mates and not infrequently both were for the same foot. But
all the skirts had trains and all ears bore ear-rings. We were told
that these women often danced all day and all night, until they became
perfectly dazed, their feet moving mechanically in time to the music of
the national dance—the _joropa_, which is a cross between a clog dance
and a waltz.
We saw dancing the women whose _curiara_ had so narrowly escaped a fatal
collision with our sloop in the Guarapiche. The Captain had said they
were leaving Maturin “to operate some speculation in Guanoco—perhaps even
to find husbands.” And here among so many men, for the population of
Guanoco was chiefly composed of men employed at the lake, surely there
was hope, even for adventuresses so black and uncouth as these. Here also
we met one of Guanoco’s most amusing characters, a big black Trinidad
negro. He was full of the superiority of one who had seen the world;
for he had once been to England as stateroom steward on one of the big
steamers. He now dropped his h’s, called his wife “Lady Mackáy” and on
Sundays wore a monocle.
It was twilight as we walked home through the little settlement. At one
of the huts two little naked babies were playing “rock-a-by” in the great
curved sheaths which protect the blossom of the moriche, or eta palm. At
another a child came out and sang a little Spanish song for us—all about
her sins and the confession she must make to the priest, the refrain
being “_Mi penetencia! mi penetencia!_” and she sang it with her small
hands clasped and her head devoutly bowed. A few coins made the wee
penitent superlatively happy. Her mother must have taught her the song,
for in Guanoco there was no priest, no school, no doctor. The two young
West Indians at headquarters (neither much more than twenty years old)
officiated at all funerals, being Catholic or Protestant, in Spanish or
English, as the case demanded. They prescribed for all diseases, from the
prevalent fever to the woman who was suffering greatly but could give no
more definite description of her trouble than that she had a “pain that
walked.”
[Illustration: FIG. 54. PRIESTLESS CHAPEL AT GUANOCO.]
I could never understand the fever so common at Guanoco: for I never knew
a place more free from mosquitoes and from insects of every description.
We were continually in the sun and often in the rain, yet we both kept in
perfect health.
The women of the village had converted a small open shed into a chapel,
with an altar, on which were all the offerings they could make, a few
candles, some bits of gilt paper and tinsel, a rude wooden cross and a
wretched little chromo of the Virgin. Here, as we passed, we saw the
women kneeling, for where else could they take their troubles!
At last our Venezuelan experiences were a thing of the past, and
we were homeward bound, leaving behind us the dear delightful
never-know-what’s-going-to-happen life; and realizing, as our ship
cut her way through the countless “knots” of dashing waves, that as
Maximiliano had said with a shake of his head, when we laughingly asked
him if he did not want to go with us, “_esta tan léjos_”—it is so far!
* * * * *
Much has happened at Guanoco since the days of our visit.
Very soon after our departure, Castro fearing the smouldering
revolutionary plots in Trinidad, ordered all the ports of eastern
Venezuela closed. Later came the deadly bubonic plague sealing for
many months all the ports of the unfortunate country. Then indeed
trouble descended upon poor little Guanoco. It was an essentially
non-agricultural part of the country. The one industry had been the
digging of pitch, the company’s boat plying between Guanoco and Trinidad
having brought all necessary supplies. Now with all communication cut off
the people were in a piteous condition.
[Illustration: FIG. 55. GUARAUNO INDIAN PAPOOSE.]
In the revolution of the Wheel of Fate—which whirls so rapidly in
Venezuela,—the Lugo family had been deposed and a new Venezuelan
administrator appointed in their place. Having known the Lugos, I like to
think that they would have been less heartless than their successor, who,
so the report goes, sold what supplies there were to the starving people
at cruelly exorbitant prices.
No matter how much one may love Nature, one cannot help feeling how
unmoved she is in the face of suffering. Human beings might starve and
sicken and die at Guanoco, but the sunshine would be just as warm and
glowing and the wind in the palm trees just as musical as ever.
With the cutting off of communication between Venezuela and Trinidad,
Captain Truxillo’s occupation was gone. The “Josefa Jacinta” no longer
plied busily back and forth between Port of Spain and Maturin, driving a
brisk trade in hammocks, groceries and hides; and so at last she passed
from the possession of Captain Truxillo to that of some more prosperous
trader who could afford to wait for the reopening of commerce.
For a year our old Captain watched his little vessel guided out of the
harbor of Port of Spain, with a strange hand at the helm, and a strange
voice in command. Then one day she sailed away never to return—but to
be run aground and lost on a desolate and lonely part of the Venezuelan
coast.
What became of her new Captain and crew we never heard. We knew only that
the “Josefa Jacinta” was lost, and that we could never sail her again,
except on dream caños in a phantom wilderness.
PART II
OUR SECOND SEARCH
BRITISH GUIANA
[Illustration: FIG. 56. MAP OF OUR THREE EXPEDITIONS INTO BRITISH
GUIANA.]
CHAPTER IV.
GEORGETOWN.
Another year has slipped past and again we are southward bound, toward
that Mecca—the tropics—which never ceases to call us. The time is the
fifteenth of February, 1909; the place, the Royal Dutch Mail Steamship
“Coppename.”
Nine days out from New York at three o’clock in the morning we are roused
suddenly from sleep by a gentle roaring in our ears. When we have gained
partial consciousness we realize it is the basso-profundo whisper of good
Captain Haasnoot summoning us to the bridge. We ask no questions for we
have learned that the voice of the genial Dutchman means something worth
while, whether it is raised in a thunderous roar of “_Hofmeister!_” or as
now in gentler accents. Wrapped in flapping blankets, we climb the steep
ladder to the bridge, there to enjoy for half an hour a most wonderful
display of phosphorescence—even excelling that often visible in the Bay
of Fundy. The Captain in all his world-wide sea-faring has never seen
anything to equal it.
We are only a short distance off the shore of British Guiana and the
ocean is thick with sediment from the rivers. The sky is overcast and no
light comes from the moon and stars, and yet the whole sea is plainly
visible. The horizon glows with a dull, yellow flare against the jet
black sky, and the myriad foam-caps shimmer as with brighter flames. The
quenching of these in the opaque water gives a vivid impression of an
enormous conflagration half hidden behind billows of smoke.
At day-break Georgetown is in sight—a low, flat line of wharfs, with a
background of galvanized tin roofs and tall bending palm trees. Never was
a fairyland set in so prosaic a frame!
With what mingled feelings our little ship’s family lean on the rail and
scan the shore! To some the thought comes of the miracles of yellow gold
and precious stones hidden deep beneath the primitive forests; to other
sea-weary travellers the stability of the shore appeals most; while we
two watch for the first hint of bird life. Our desire is gratified before
that of any of the others, for over the water there comes the first
morning call of the great yellow Tyrant[101]—_Kis-ka-dee!_ bringing a
hundred memories of the tropics.
As we steam slowly up to the wharf a small flock of Gray-breasted
Martins[122] twitters above our heads, a Black Vulture[51] swings over
the tin roofs, the jubilant song of a Guiana House Wren[124] reaches our
ear, and our Second Search has begun.
To those who seek for wildernesses there is not much of interest in
Georgetown, save the museum and the botanical garden. Yet there is no
doubt that the city is one of the most attractive in the tropics, and
when the inhabitants are aroused to a sense of the opportunities which
they are throwing away, it will become a famous tourist resort; awakening
the country to new life and bringing shekels to the coffers of its
merchants. Hotels and mosquitoes are the two keys to the situation—the
one to be acquired, the other banished. When this is done, the many
popular winter resorts will be hard put to it to retain their lucrative
migrants from the North. The inhabitants of Georgetown have one
regrettable failing—an unreasoning fear and dread of their own country.
They cling to their narrow strip of coastal territory, where they work
and play, live and die, many of them without ever having been five miles
away from the sea. The majority of the inhabitants of French Guiana are
convicts, chained for life to their prisons; here the good people of
British Guiana bind themselves with imaginary bonds and picture their
wonderful land as teeming with serpents and heaven-knows-what other
terrors.
[Illustration: FIG. 57. STREET IN GEORGETOWN.]
Another unfortunate failing is the firm conviction of some of the
influential citizens that there is no truth in the mosquito theory as a
cause of malaria and yellow fever.
A distinguished English scientist, recently sent to investigate yellow
fever in Barbados and British Guiana, was holding up as an example to the
citizens of Georgetown the Barbadian custom of keeping fishes in their
water cisterns; explaining that the fishes devoured the mosquito larvæ
and thus kept down the number of mosquitoes. A Barbadian who chanced to
be in the audience interrupted the scientist by saying, “Oh, but that is
not the reason they put fishes in the cisterns. It is to make sure the
water has not been poisoned by some enemy”!
Until the mosquito is exterminated in Georgetown the tourist will prefer
to go elsewhere, even though that be to a less beautiful spot.
[Illustration: FIG. 58. KISKADEE TYRANT FLYCATCHER.]
We were advised to spend all our time in Georgetown, where we might drink
pink swizzles (than which no worse medicine exists!) or read in the cool
library, or study the natural history of the country impaled on pins or
stuffed with cotton (both of which are improving occupations but can
be done quite as well in New York). Every moment spent in streets of
human making seemed sacrilege when the real wilderness—the wilderness of
Waterton, of Schomburgk and of im Thurn—beckoned to us just beyond.
Armed with proper letters of introduction and travelling in the name
of science, one is treated with all courtesy by Guiana officials. The
customs give no trouble, save that one pays a deposit of twelve per cent
on cameras, guns and cartridges.
We were glad to find that the most difficult privilege to obtain is a
permit to collect birds, and the very stringent laws in this respect are
an honor to the Governor and his colonial officials.[C] Thanks to the
absence of the plume and general millinery hunter, the game hog and the
wholesale collector, birds are abundant and tame. We were in the colony
just two months and shot only about one hundred specimens, all of which
were secured because of some special interest. We brought home some
two hundred and eighty live birds which are now housed in the New York
Zoölogical Park.
Once off the single wharf-lined, business street of Georgetown, one is
instantly struck by the beauty of the place. Green trees, flowering vines
and shrubs are everywhere, half hiding the ugly, tropical architecture.
The streets are all wide, some with gravel walks down the centre, shaded
with the graceful saman trees; others with central trenches filled with
the beautiful _Victoria regia_—here a native.
Two species of big Tyrant Flycatchers [101], [103] are the English
Sparrows of the city and White-breasted Robins,[128] Palm [144] and
Silver-beak[146] Tanagers perch on the limbs of trees at one’s very
window.
Although we are anxious to start on our first expedition into the “bush,”
as the primeval forests of the interior are called, yet a week passes
very pleasantly in the city itself.
The street life is a passing pageant, full of interest and of the charm
of novelty for the Northerner. Carriages roll past in which sit very
correctly dressed and typical English women; still others are filled with
creoles, some to all appearances perfectly white, others in which the
infusion of negro blood is very apparent. Many of the creole women have
a certain languid beauty and a good deal of grace and self-possession.
The passing of the liveried carriage of the Governor causes a ripple
of excitement. It is five o’clock, the fashionable hour for driving,
and all these equipages are bound for the sea-wall, where the occupants
sit and listen to an excellent band, enjoy the sea breeze and chat
with their neighbors about the all-important happenings of the social
set of Georgetown; while the pale-faced children dig in the sand or
run shrieking with glee from an incoming wave, just as do their rosy
contemporaries of the North.
Another picture is the coolie in his loose, white garments and turban and
his sinewy, bare, brown legs. He gazes at you as calmly and as unmoved
as though you were not. Even the lowest coolie bears about him this
unconscious dignity of an ancient race and a civilization that was old
when we were but beginning.
[Illustration: FIG. 59. COOLIE WOMAN AND NEGRESS.]
The coolie women make a vivid spot of color in our pageant—like some
glowing tropical flower. Many of them are beautiful in feature and
all are graceful in bearing. There never were women who so perfectly
understood the art of walking. They swing along erect and lithe with a
springing step and perfect coördination of every muscle. Their heavy
bracelets and anklets tinkle musically as they move; their gay red and
yellow and blue scarfs flutter in the breeze. The poise of their bodies
reflects the perfect calm and repose of their smooth, brown faces.
What an antithesis they are to the ponderous old black women who are
striding along, with bedraggled skirts gathered up in a roll around
their massive waists. They are untidy and slatternly in dress, heavy
and awkward in movement in comparison with the straight, slim, coolie
women. They are full of loud laughter and talk and song. At every street
corner they gather in friendly, jovial groups, while the coolie women are
strangely silent and reserved. No wonder that these two races so hate and
scorn one another, for in temperament they are as far apart as the poles!
The British Guiana blacks were to us an unending source of interest and
amusement. They were always courteous and kindly and most original.
Even when swearing at each other their manner was always polite and
each anathema ended with a civil “Suh!” Their dialect was at first very
difficult to understand, but when our ears became familiar with it we
found it singularly attractive. All the a’s are broad, even in such words
as bad and man; while the intonation is indescribable, the verbs in a
sentence being always emphasized and given a slight rising inflection,
as for example, “I have _been_ to Berbice.” An interrogation is often
not at all indicated by the form of a question, but merely by the rising
inflection, as—“These are nice?” The general effect of their speech is a
very musical and distinctive intonation.
Always the irrepressible spirit of the black rises serenely above all
the vicissitudes of life. A black woman from Arakaka was sentenced to a
month in jail. Upon her return she was welcomed by a crowd of friends,
all eager to hear something of that mysterious jail, to which none of
them were sure they might not some day go. To their questions “How was
it? how was it?” the heroine of the occasion replied with great dignity,
“Me chile, dey see I was a lady an’ dey didn’ give me de same work as
de other prisoners.” Later, on a trip down the river, the same woman,
meeting the magistrate who had sentenced her, proudly remarked, “_Now_ I
travel by meself”; her only previous experience in travelling having been
under the escort of the police!
Many of the blacks have far advanced cases of elephantiasis. In a five
minutes’ walk one will see a half dozen examples of this deadly disease;
but it takes more than elephantiasis or jail to sadden the volatile
spirits of the negro!
[Illustration: FIG. 60. THE GEORGETOWN SEA-WALL.]
Cosmopolitan as is the street pageant of Georgetown, it is, however, not
so much so as that of Port of Spain. The coolies are even more numerous
there than here, and in addition to the same sort of English and negro
life, there is also an American, Spanish and French element. One hears on
all sides the pretty French patois, and the musical Spanish of the South
American is a constant delight. This large Spanish and French population
make Port of Spain a decidedly Catholic city, and priests and nuns in
unfamiliar garbs are always a part of the picture.
It is very hard for us Northerners to realize that the course of a
tropical day is much the same the year around. Here is a Georgetown day
as we found it in February. At 5.30 A.M. it is still dark and the only
sound is an occasional raucous crow from chanticleer. Soon a subdued
murmur of sound is heard and this remains unchanged in volume for some
time. Then the sunrise gun booms in the distance; a Kiskadee shrieks just
outside our window; a score of others answer him; church chimes ring out;
noisy coolie carts rattle past; negroes sing, dogs bark; an excellent
brass band strikes up a two-step and amid all this pandemonium of sound
the sun literally leaps above the horizon and instantly fills the world
with brilliant color. The scene changes like magic; there is no dawn or
dusk, night gives place to day without intermission. The temperature
morning and evening is about 76°.
Woven amid all the harsh cries of Kiskadees and Tanagers is heard the
sweet warbling of the little House Wrens, reminding us of our singers of
the North, and bubbling over with the same crisp, vocal vitality which we
hear in early Spring in our own country.
Like the morning, the tropical day itself is one of extremes. The
morning dawns fresh and bracing; until nine o’clock one walks briskly,
breathes deeply and can hardly realize that he is at sea-level within
seven degrees of the equator. It is April and May in the calendar of
one’s feelings. Then for an hour or two June reigns, and finally from
eleven to five o’clock in the afternoon it is hot, sultry August. In
the shade, however, it is always comfortable. From three o’clock on we
experience the coolness of October and until darkness shuts suddenly down
about half-past six—like the snuffing out of a candle—the temperature is
perfect. The nights are delightfully cool. Mosquitoes are bad only in the
houses and at night one’s net is a protection. The humidity is high but
it is far more bearable than that of a summer in New York City, contrary
to our usual idea of the tropics.
The manner of rain in the tropics is peculiar: the atmosphere may be
ablaze with brilliant sunshine, when a slight haze appears in the air and
suddenly one realizes that a fine gentle rain is falling. This may cease
as imperceptibly as it began, or increase to a terrific downpour—to give
place perhaps a few minutes later to the clear tropic glare again.
Before taking leave of Georgetown we must mention the three chief points
of attraction. The sea-wall comes first and, as we have said, a most
pleasant custom of the natives is to drive there in late afternoon and
sit in their carriages. The concrete break-water is of vital importance
to the town itself as a portion of the streets are below sea-level. The
broad summit forms a mile or more of promenade, with a sandy beach on one
side, lapped with waves which strive ever to break, but cannot because
of the thick sediment which they hold in suspense. On the other side a
double row of tall, graceful palms adds a touch of tropical beauty.
The residences near the sea-wall are the coolest and most pleasant
in the town and are practically free from mosquitoes. We spent more
than one delightful evening in the garden at Kitty Villa as the
guests of our charming American friends, Mr. and Mrs. Howell. From
the open, veranda-like rooms one may watch the Yellow Orioles,[159]
the Brown-breasted Pygmy Grosbeaks,[129] the Anis and Kiskadees going
to roost. Just before dusk scores of the small Black Vultures[51]
appear, flying singly, or in twos and threes low over the trees and
palms westward to some general roost. About this time the bats and the
lightning bugs arrive, large numbers of very tiny bats hawking about
after insects, and several large fruit-eaters with wings spreading almost
two feet across. These haunt the fruit-laden sapadillo trees, and as
the method of feeding of these curious creatures does not seem to be
generally known we watch it with interest. One of the big fellows flits
here and there, nipping first one fruit and then another. At last when a
sweet or fully ripe one is found, the bat swoops up to it, alights head
downward, and half enveloping it with his wings, bites away frantically
for two or three seconds and then dashes off. This is repeated until
darkness settles down, but never does the wary bat linger over his feast.
In the north the sight of a single bat darting along on its eccentric way
is not uncommon, but here we were soon to become accustomed to the sight
of scores, some pursuing insects, or feeding on fruits, or waiting and
watching for a chance to drink the blood of men and animals. More than
twenty-five species have been found here within a few miles of the coast.
Small Owls and nocturnal insectivorous birds are somewhat rare, and thus
the bats have few foes and little competition in their aërial life.
Late in the evening as we drive slowly homeward from the sea-wall we
discover another interesting microcosm of the tropics. The road is well
lighted with arc-lamps—sources of irresistible attraction to numberless
insects, many of which drop stunned to the earth beneath. Some genius
among the Georgetown toads has discovered this fact and passed the word
along, until now one finds a circle of expectant amphibians squatted
beneath each arc-light, with eyes and hopes lifted to the shining globe
overhead. Now and then an unfortunate insect falls within the magic
circle, when a toad leaps lazily forward and devours the morsel with one
lightning-like flick of the tongue. Many of these toads (_Bufo agua_)
are enormous fellows, a good hatful, standing full eight inches from
their pudgy toes to their staring eyes, all comical, dignified, fat and
sluggish, barely hopping aside in time to avoid the horse and carriage.
[Illustration: FIG. 61.]
To a visiting naturalist the museum is the place of greatest interest,
and although the animals and birds are faded and poorly mounted, yet
they are representative of the fauna of the country and are hence of
great value in accustoming one’s eyes to the strange forms of life.
The present Curator, Mr. James Rodway, did everything in his power to
aid us, and we are indebted to him for many kindnesses. Although he is
primarily a botanist, entomology occupies his attention at present, and
the supply of species of the various orders of insects living in this
region seems well-nigh inexhaustible. Mr. Rodway is a good example of the
healthfulness of British Guiana, for he has lived there thirty-nine years
and has been ill only one day. He accounts for this by his teetotalism,
but perhaps the next person we meet will inform us that a half dozen
swizzles a day are absolutely necessary to keep the breath of life within
the body!
[Illustration: FIG. 62.]
The Botanical Gardens, under the able direction of Prof. J. B. Harrison,
are a great credit to the colony. With beautiful vistas of palms and
ornamental shrubs they combine smooth expanses of green lawns—a rare
feature in a tropical landscape. Ponds and ditches are filled with
Victoria regia and lotus, save one where a number of manatees keep the
aquatic vegetation cropped close. A wonderful palm was in blossom at the
time of our visit—a Taliput with a mass of bloom twelve feet in height
which had begun to flower the month before. Governor Hodgson and Prof.
Harrison gave us the freedom of the garden and placed at our disposal
five circular aviaries which proved of inestimable value in housing the
living birds which we were able to secure.
[Illustration: FIG. 63. VICTORIA REGIA IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS.]
Here Mr. Lee S. Crandall, our assistant, made his trapping headquarters
after our return from our first inland expedition and here we spent many
afternoons among the fields and bypaths.
We soon found that bird-trapping in the tropics is a task beset by many
difficulties. The extreme heat between the hours of ten and four o’clock
make even the “tackiest” lime nearly as thin as water, and hardly capable
of holding even the diminutive “doctor-bird” as the natives call the
Hummingbirds. The call-birds, which are confined in very small cages,
or cribs, cannot endure the high temperature under these conditions,
and soon succumb if left out in the sun. Operations, therefore, must be
confined to the few hours immediately following sunrise, and preceding
sunset.
Another feature, very trying to the bird-catcher, is the habit which most
of the birds have of going singly or in pairs. A few of the Ictcrine
birds, such as the Yellow-headed Blackbird,[154] Cowbird,[153] Little
Boat-tailed Grackle,[160] and most of the Cassiques, feed usually in
flocks, sometimes of great size. In the deep bush of the interior it is
the habit of birds of many species to search together for food, following
a set route, and keeping closely to their time schedule. But ordinary
call-birds and “set-ups” are not for these.
[Illustration: FIG. 64. LOTUS IN BLOSSOM.]
This gregarious habit among widely varying birds is, however, at
times, a great aid to the trapper. A cage containing a Yellow-bellied
Calliste[142] was one day placed in a tree about twenty feet high,
and limed twigs arranged on neighboring branches. In two hours in the
morning, two specimens of the same species, three Blue Tanagers,[143]
two Black-faced Callistes,[141] two Toua-touas or Brown-breasted Pygmy
Grosbeaks,[129] and one Yellow Oriole[159] were taken. The various
species of Tanagers and Orioles are much more gregarious in feeding
habits than the Finches, hence the variety caught. The Toua-touas
were purely accidental visitors. The Finches can rarely be taken by a
call-bird not of the same species.
The black or coolie boy who makes his living at catching birds at
“tuppence” each, sets out at daylight with his two or three call-birds in
their cribs, arranged on a stick. Arrived at some secluded spot, where
he has heard the song of an intended victim, he sets his call-birds on
upright sticks of two or three feet in length and places on the top of
each cage a strong wire, heavily smeared with the gum of the sapadillo.
This wire is very carefully twisted so that it cannot by any possibility
become loosened. This is, of course, contrary to the ethics of all good
bird-catchers, for if the bird falls to the ground with its stick, it
is much more certain to be secured, and less liable to injure itself.
However, this is British Guiana.
Having made his “set-up,” the youth steals softly back and conceals
himself a short distance away. As soon as left to themselves, the birds,
if they be experienced, commence their song. Soon, an answering call is
heard. Instantly the decoys cease their song, and send forth their sharp
call-notes. Soon the curious stranger appears, perhaps a fine adult
male, full of eagerness for a battle. If this be the case the songs are
again resumed, and the climax of the concert is almost certain to be the
capture of the challenger. If the visitor be a coy female, the seductive
call-notes are continued, and, though the time required may be greater,
she is nearly as certain to be captured. Callow youngsters out for their
first exploring trip, are of course the easiest victims. But when the
trapper has taken a bird or two from this locality he must move on or
give up for the day, for he will take no more.
[Illustration: FIG. 65. TALIPUT PALM IN BLOSSOM.]
The trapping methods of these people are, of course, very primitive.
They know nothing of clap-nets; they laugh at the idea of catching
birds with an Owl, as practised successfully in the North. A black boy
will bend his gummed wire securely on a likely twig, and lie all day
on his back in the shade, hoping that a bird may light on it. Birds to
whose capture they are not equal are very apt to be “licked”—stunned by
a bullet from a sling-shot—and foisted on the unwary purchaser. These
unfortunates, of course, rarely live more than a day or two.
No regard is shown for nesting birds or nestlings. Cassiques and Orioles
are captured by adjusting a string about the mouth of the long pendulous
nest, and closing it tightly when the bird has entered to hover its eggs.
In two instances, a black boy was seen to capture the female from her
nest, by creeping up and dropping his hat over her.
Some use is made of primitive trap-cages, which are baited with plantain
or sliced mangoes. Tanagers or “sackies” and various Orioles are taken in
this manner.
These simple people have, of course, no knowledge whatever of proper
food for insectivorous or frugivorous birds. Various fruits, preferably
plantain, are used, and it is truly surprising how long some individuals
will survive on this too acid food. Mr. Howie King, Government Agent
of the Northwest District, actually kept a specimen of the Yellow
Oriole[159] for over seven years on a strictly fruit diet!
Birds and other creatures were very abundant and tame in the Botanical
Gardens. Guiana Green Herons[38] or “Shypooks” as the coolies call
them, Spur-winged Jacanas[23] and Gallinules[13] walked here and there,
the latter leading their dark-hued young over the Regia pads. Small
crocodiles basked half out of the water, none over three feet in length,
as abundant as turtles in a northern mill-pond. Several huge water
buffalo, imported from the East Indies, looked strangely out of place
in this hemisphere. Butterflies were scarce although a great variety of
flowers were in profusion everywhere.
[Illustration: FIG. 66. CANAL OF THE CROCODILES.]
April seems to be the height of the breeding season for many birds. In
one tree we found two wasps’ nests, and nests with eggs or young of
the following six species of birds; the Red-winged Ground Dove,[9] the
Great[101] and Lesser[103] Kiskadees, White-shouldered Ground Fly-catcher
or “Cotton-bird,”[97] Gray Tody-flycatcher or “Pipitoori”[99] and
Cinereus Becard.[114]
Chestnut Cuckoos of two species,[77], [78] all four Kiskadees,[101],
[103], [104], [106] Caracaras,[53] Black-faced Tanagers or “Bucktown
Sackies,”[141] Woodhewers, Elanias[100] and other Flycatchers are a few
among many birds which we were sure of seeing on every walk, while Anis,
both great[79] and small[80] were everywhere.
The Botanical Gardens are ideal for experimental botanical work and
sugar cane in scores of varieties is being kept under observation. It
is hard to believe that the delicate grass which we see springing up in
the ditched fields will grow into the lofty and waving stalks of sugar
cane. It is exceedingly variable and should afford excellent material
for experimental study. The original yellow-stalked cane develops red
and purple streaks in many combinations, due apparently to difference in
soils. Cane sent to Louisiana will, within twelve years, produce much
larger nodes owing to the plant having to fruit in six months instead
of eleven or twelve. The stalk, however, does not gain correspondingly
in diameter; so there is no increase in sugar capacity. Tropical plants
can in many cases adapt themselves to shorter, northern summers, but
temperate perennials soon die in the tropics from exhaustion, lacking
their annual period of rest.
The climatic conditions along the coast of British Guiana are peculiar,
in that they simulate conditions usually existing at an altitude of two
or three thousand feet. One result of this is seen in the flourishing
tree-ferns planted in the Botanical Gardens.
Insects were not particularly abundant in Georgetown, that is, for a
tropical country. One day Mr. Rodway, with his accustomed kindness,
brought us two very interesting chrysalids of the swallow-tailed
butterfly, _Papilio polydamus_, illustrating the remarkable color
variation in this species. Both were found in his yard, a few feet
from each other, one suspended among green leaves and the other on a
wooden stairway which was painted a brick-red. One of the chrysalids was
leaf-green in color while the other was brown with brick-red trimmings!
[Illustration: FIG. 67. YOUNG ELANIA FLYCATCHERS.]
There was one remarkable exception to the scarcity of insects
in Georgetown. Late in February, a moth-like Homopterus insect,
_Poeciloptera phalaenoides_, was present in enormous numbers on the Saman
trees which line many of the streets. The largest individuals had wings
almost an inch in length of a light cream color, covered for about half
their expanse with two masses of black dots. These were the males. The
females were wingless and their bodies were covered with a long dense
cottony secretion. The eggs and larvæ which lined thousands of the twigs
were also protected by this white material. One could hardly walk without
crushing these insects, so numerous were they. The only birds we observed
feeding on them were Anis and domestic fowls.
The middle of April found these insects as abundant as ever, still
hatching in myriads, but by the 22d of the month the broods on the main
streets seemed to be diminishing, although the hordes infesting the trees
at the entrance of the Botanical Gardens were on the increase. Noticing
that there seemed to be interesting nodes of variation in the number and
patterns of the dots on the wings of the males, we set a Coolie boy to
gathering them for future study and he soon had a thousand or more in a
jar of alcohol.
CHAPTER V.
STEAMER AND LAUNCH TO HOORIE CREEK.
When we left New York we had planned to go up the Demerara River from
Georgetown and spend our time on the Essequibo and Potaro. We had the
good fortune, however, to take the same steamer with Mr. and Mrs.
Gaylord Wilshire who were paying their annual visit to their two large
gold concessions. The previous year they had travelled over many of the
larger rivers and when we heard their glowing accounts of the northern
and western wilderness compared to the rather thinned out “bush” and more
travelled route of the Demerara, and were asked to join their party in
going first to the Hoorie Mine in the northwest and then to the Aremu
Mine in central Guiana, we hesitated not a moment.
We left the Georgetown stelling, or wharf, at noon on March 2d, on the
little steamer “Mazaruni” for the long coastwise trip to Morawhanna.
Leaving the harbor flock of Laughing Gulls[16] behind, we steered
straight out to sea for several hours before turning to the northwest.
The water all along the coast is very shallow and is so filled with
sediment that even in a heavy gale the waves break but little. We passed
the mouth of the Essequibo, thirty-five miles in width, with the two
great islands, Wakenaam and Leguan, fairly in the centre of the mouth.
The night was rough and windy and the little tub rolled wildly.
At five o’clock next morning we were steaming slowly between two walls
of green which brought vividly to mind our Venezuelan trip of last year.
A few other plants were intermingled with the mangroves, but the solid
ranks of the latter were unbroken. The colors were as wonderful as ever;
the rich dark green on either hand, bright copper beneath and azure
above. A few hours later we entered Mora Passage and here palms began to
rear their heads over the other foliage. The air was cool and bracing,
we breathed deeply and watched for the first signs of life. A half dozen
Muscovy Ducks[43] swung past, the giant master of the flock in the lead,
their white wing mirrors flashing as they flew. Two Amazon Parrots rose
ahead of us and the shore was alive with tiny white moths fluttering over
the water.
Morawhanna is within five miles of the Venezuela boundary, and
politically is important as being the chief Government Station for the
Northwest District, and being the entrance post for the gold fields of
this region. As we tied up to the primitive wharf, Indians in their
dug-outs or wood-skins appeared in numbers, bringing fish, rubber and
other things for trade to the little Chinese store. Morawhanna itself
consists of a straggling line of thatched huts extending irregularly
along the bank and inland between the marshy spots.
A short walk on shore showed the inhabitants to be Indians, blacks
and half-breeds. Birds were abundant, especially Yellow-bellied
Callistes,[142] Honey Creepers, Tanagers, and the four commoner species
of Kiskadee Tyrants[101], [103], [104], [106]. A large Skimmer[17] flew
past the boat and later we saw several flocks.
We expected to meet the launch from the Hoorie Mine, but as it had not
yet arrived, we boarded the steamer again and went on with it to the end
of its route at Mount Everard. We left Morawhanna at half-past ten in the
morning and reached our destination five hours later. Although all this
country is low and marshy, yet the White Mangrove and the Courida, or
Red Mangrove, here give place to a variegated forest growth, and we soon
saw our first Mora trees,—huge we thought them, but to be dwarfed by the
inland giants of our succeeding expeditions. The walls of vegetation were
seventy or eighty feet in height, draped by vines, while dead branches
protruded here and there from the water near shore. Many Snake-birds[48]
were perched on these snags, from which they dropped silently into the
water at our approach and swam off with body immersed.
[Illustration: FIG. 68. TYPICAL INDIAN HOUSE AT MORAWHANNA.]
Blue-and-Yellow Macaws[61] were common—always as usual in multiples of
two. We observed them a half dozen times in different reaches of the
river, four in the first group, then eight, two, six, four and two. A
trio of American Egrets[32] kept flying ahead of us for several miles,
hemmed in by the lofty walls of foliage, alighting now and then and
waiting for the steamer. At last when only ten yards distant they rose
and floated over our heads.
Once a splendid Guiana Crested Eagle[57] flew past and alighted on a dead
tree, and twice we saw small colonies of Yellow[151] and Red-backed[152]
Cassiques nesting in isolated Mora trees _out in the water_; a new method
of protection on the part of these intelligent birds. At occasional
intervals a nesting pair of White-throated Kingbirds[106] was seen, but
no other of the Tyrants which are so common about houses in this region.
The event of the day came when we caught a flash of white from a Buzzard
floating high overhead and our stereos showed a King Vulture[50] circling
slowly around, craning his wattled head down at us as he drifted past. We
had never expected to see this bird near the coast and indeed we saw no
others during our entire stay in Guiana.
As we steamed past a wind-break we caught a momentary glimpse of two wee
naked Indian children paddling away in a wood-skin while behind them
their bronze-skinned parents watched us silently.
Mount Everard lies about fifty miles from Morawhanna up the Barima River
and consists of a ramshackle hotel and several logies—the latter being
mere open sheds from whose rafters hammocks may be hung. The whole
country hereabouts is low, except at this point where two small conical
hills arise—one on each side of the river—bearing the high-sounding names
of Mounts Everard and Terminus. The forest has been partly cleared from
these and we attempted to explore the neighboring country. We soon gave
it up as the underbrush was too thick, and even when we forced a way
through it there was no footing but muddy water. Cowpaths led over the
“mounts” which seemed to be composed of red, sticky clay. Half way up
Mount Everard we found an enormous terrestrial ants’ nest, some fifteen
feet across, bare of vegetation and with well-marked roads, four to six
inches wide, leading out into the jungle. A little prodding with a stick
brought out scores of huge-jawed soldiers (_Atta cephalotes_).
[Illustration: FIG. 69. THREE YEAR OLDS AT HOME IN THEIR WOOD-SKIN.]
The most interesting birds were the well-named Magpie Tanagers which
flashed past now and then. The long, graduated tail, the glossy black and
white plumage and the conspicuous white iris mark this as one of the most
striking of the Tanagers. The call-note was loud and harsh but the tones
of those we saw in captivity and of one individual which we brought back
alive were pleasant and modulated.
Euphonias, Blue,[143] Palm,[144] and Silver-beak[146] Tanagers and
Red-underwing Doves[10] were all nesting close to the settlement,
while in a good-sized tree whose branches were brushing against the
“hotel” windows were some hundred nests of Cassiques—the Red[152] and
the Yellow-backed[151] in about equal numbers. When the two were seen
fighting, the Red-backed seemed invariably to have the better of it. The
natives here think the different colors mark the two sexes.
[Illustration: FIG. 70. MOUNT EVERARD.]
Just before sunset the wharf at Mount Everard began to show signs of
life. All day it had been deserted, a few small flat-bottomed boats,
which we came later to know by the native name of ballyhoos, being moored
idly against the dock; but now as the day drew to a close, groups of
Indians and negroes gathered. We hung over the railing of our boat and
watched them as lazily and as curiously as they watched us. Then the
quiet air was rent with a medley of grunts and squeals and brays, the
cries and shouts of human beings rising above all the other sounds, as
a large party of men appeared escorting one scrawny cow, one lean but
energetic hog, and finally one donkey, in whose being was concentrated
all the stubbornness to which his race is heir. The problem was to load
these beasts into one of the waiting ballyhoos. The ballyhoo was small,
the current was moving it to and fro, and the cow and the donkey and
the hog were not minded to go a-voyaging. As the negro always talks
to his beast of burden as though it were his intellectual and social
equal, so in this case the men approached the animals with all manner of
reasonable argument, explaining where they were going and the importance
of an early start and appealing to all that was noble and estimable,
emphasizing everything with a choice selection of expletives combined
with physical force. Finally after pushing and prodding the ill-fated cow
they succeeded in half shoving, half throwing it into the boat. After
many struggles the loudly indignant hog followed. When at last the donkey
had been safely embarked we wondered if that little craft would ever
reach its destination, with so heavy and protesting a load: when to our
surprise the big black, who had been most vociferous and active in the
recent mêlée, wiped his dripping forehead and stood calling “Possengers!
Possengers! all aboad”! with as grand an air as though he were the chief
steward on a great ocean liner. The “possengers” proved to be half a
dozen buxom negresses, who with many a coy glance and feminine shriek of
terror allowed the big black proprietor to help them from the dock to the
boat, now rocking violently beneath the restless feet of the animals.
Finally the ballyhoo moved slowly up stream, bound for a distant mine in
the far interior, and another boat laden with bananas followed. An Indian
paddled swiftly past in his wood-skin. Then darkness fell as suddenly as
the dropping of a stage curtain; and we turned away from the river drama
back to our life on board the “Mazaruni.”
While awaiting the dinner bell we slung our hammocks along the deck, that
through the meal we might know that they were swinging gently in the
velvet night air, all ready for our comfortably tired selves.
The night was clear and the blacks worked for several hours in the
moonlight, unloading cargo. Not a mosquito came to mar the beauty of
the night. Indeed the natives said they were never troublesome here at
Mount Everard. In our hammocks as we rocked to sleep we thought drowsily
of the dear Venezuelan wilderness of last year. We were so glad to be
sleeping again in the open under the canopy of the southern sky. At last
we felt that we were on the threshold of another wilderness.
At four o’clock in the morning we awoke and heard far off through the
jungle, the old, familiar howling of the red “baboons.” About five
a rooster crowed on board and was answered by several on shore, and
this seemed to awaken a black who began singing from his hammock in a
logie, when a score of others took up the wild refrain and kept it up
until daylight. With the sudden rush of light came the distant bubbling
of Twa-twas, those little thick-billed pygmy Grosbeaks,[130] and the
cackling hubbub of the Cassique colony.
Returning to Morawhanna we were made welcome at the home of Mr. Howie
King the Government Agent, while waiting for our Hoorie launch. The
government house is well built and belonged formerly to Sir Everard
im Thurn. It is surrounded by a garden which must once have been
magnificent and which Mr. King is attempting to restore, clearing away
the undergrowth which has long overrun the beautiful shrubs and flowering
plants. The house is built on the extreme southern end of a great
island which extends in a northwest direction for about fifty miles far
into Venezuela territory, Mora Passage lying between it and Morawhanna
proper. Flowers were abundant, attracting many insects and these in turn
birds of a score or more species. Kiskadees were nesting in low Bois
Immortelle trees, Yellow-backed Cassiques or Bunyahs, in a great saman
overhanging the house; while in the garden were Seed-eaters of several
kinds, together with Blue and Palm Tanagers and the beautiful Moriche
Orioles.[158] Guiana House Wrens[124] were nesting indoors on the ceiling
rafters and under the deep eaves of the half veranda, half sitting-room
was a beautiful pendent nest of the Feather-toed Swift[71] composed
entirely of feathery seed plumes. It was a straight symmetrical column
about three inches in diameter and fourteen inches long, suspended from
the palm thatch, not half a foot from a hanging, open-comb wasps’ nest.
The upper ten inches of the nest was built and occupied just six months
ago in September, and a brood of two young were reared. Now the birds
had returned and were preparing to nest again, having already added four
inches of pure white seed-plumes, easily distinguished from the older,
browner, weathered portion. They came to the nest every hour with a
beakful of plumes and pressed them into position while fluttering in mid
air, evidently utilizing their saliva as a cementing substance. In the
interims between their visits, Hummingbirds,—sometimes two at once—came
and filched nesting material from the lower end, fraying it out very
appreciably. Their nests were attached to the lesser stems of a dense
clump of bamboo in the garden.
This Swift was common on all the Guiana rivers, hawking with Swallows
over the water. Seen on the wing it appears glossy black with a white
throat and collar.
[Illustration: FIG. 71. SIR EVERARD IM THURN’S HOUSE AT MORAWHANNA.]
It was the height of the season of courtship of the Palm Tanagers[144]
and they were noisy and bold. A caged female proved to be a source of
great attraction and several wild ones kept coming to the cage. We
trapped two and they made themselves at home within a few minutes. There
was considerable variation, some being gray, almost a bluish gray, while
in others the green was strongly dominant.
The chickens and ducks were taken by two kinds of opossums, one, large,
ill-smelling and living in the bamboos, and the other very small and
rat-like. Game was abundant here and tapirs, Tinamous and Guans were shot
for food. The mudflats were inhabited by a host of crabs; most of them
exactly like our little fiddlers, while others were larger and blue or
yellow in color.
Sand-flies and mosquitoes were present in small numbers, the latter
troublesome enough for hammock nets at night, but the worst pest
hereabouts was the bête-rouge which abounded in the grass both at Mount
Everard and here. Nowhere else did we suffer so much from the fiendish
little beasts. Like sea-sickness or an earthquake, bête-rouge is a great
leveller of mankind, like a common disaster doing more to make men “free
and equal” than all the constitutions and doctrines ever signed. In a
bête-rouge infested region the conversation is sooner or later sure
to turn upon the subject of these little red mites. Everyone you meet
has his or her particular pet remedy to prescribe. The subject under
discussion may be the coolie immigration laws, or the proper scientific
name for some species of orchid or who is to be the next Governor—but
some sharp-eyed fellow sufferer is certain to detect the guilty look upon
one’s face which translated into words would be “My ankles are devoured
by bête-rouge!” and then the assembled company begins to discuss the
topic of really vital interest.
We tried _all_ the remedies—Scrubb’s ammonia, dry soap, wet salt, wet
soda, alcohol, resinol ointment, chloroform camphor,—to little purpose
beyond very temporary relief. Finally we reached the stage when good
manners were thrown to the winds and every victim scratched at will,
despite the fact that it eventually aggravated the trouble. There was
developed an individuality in the method so that at long distances we
were able to recognize one another by the characteristic motions of
discomfort!
Then came the discovery of crab-oil, which is an ounce of prevention and
not a cure. Rubbed on _before_ going out, no sane bête-rouge will attack
you. Crab-oil is made of the nut of the crab-wood tree and it is greasy
and sticky and has a disagreeable, rancid odor, which is very lasting.
One of us hinted that it was a question whether the remedy were not worse
than the disease. She even objected to having bottles of crab-oil rolled
for safety in packing, in her very limited supply of clothing. She was
promptly pronounced “finnicky” by her “better half” who was righteously
indignant and surprised at discovering so unexpected a quality in her.
But then he, more than anyone else, was afflicted with bête-rouge; and so
could not be expected to see anything at all objectionable in the odor
of the crab-oil to which he owed so much relief. It does unquestionably
give relief. Well protected with crab-oil one can bid defiance to the
annoying little pests, which an old gentleman whom we chanced to meet in
our travels persistently and seriously called “_bête noir_,” under the
delusion that that was their proper and very appropriate name.
Mr. King’s garden was a constant source of interest because of the
flowers, the insects and the birds. In the top of a dead shrub a
good-sized yellow flowered orchid had been tied. This, during the last
rainy season, had evidently dropped seeds, some of which had clung to the
branches beneath and then sprouted. When we saw them, there were twenty
or more of these diminutive orchids scattered over the shrub, each with
four tiny clinging rootlets, a three-parted leaflet and in the centre one
blossom as big as the entire plant, the whole not larger than a shilling.
Two large species of lizards lived in the garden, the common iguana which
climbed the trees and fed on leaves and buds, and another, called locally
Salapenta (_Teius nigro punctatus_), which included carrion, chicks and
even fish in its bill of fare. They would now and then dive into a small
pond and appear with a small fish in their jaws.
The last evening of our stay at Mr. King’s we spent sitting on the wharf
looking out over Mora Passage. The ripples died from the wake of the
steamer as she vanished around a bend on her way back to Georgetown. A
cool refreshing breeze blew toward us as the sun’s light faded and a
dense flock of more than a hundred Amazon Parrots flew overhead. Our
shadows changed from sharp black outlines thrown on the water before us
to faint gray shapes, moon-cast on the crab-wood boards behind.
The tangle of palms and liana-draped trees across the Passage became
more indistinct and the brilliant moonlight lit up the swirling brown
current. An Indian boy passed silently in a narrow curiara. We were his
friends—we had given him sixpence and he was off to the little store amid
the low thatched huts a few hundred yards down the river, which marked
Morawhanna. We knew him only as Frederick, for no white person would
ever be told his real name—that of some animal or bird—as such disclosure
is against all Indian custom, from the fear of thereby giving others evil
power over them. He gave us a quick, shy, half smile, and then all light
died from his Mongolian features and he peered sternly into the darkness
ahead. Well had he need of fear and caution. We may be sure his purchases
were made stealthily and his quick return was certain, for death watched
for him in a hundred places.
[Illustration: FIG. 72. PALM TANAGER.]
The day before, he had testified against three of his tribe—the
Caribs—for the murder of his father, and now the stern hand of English
justice had closed and the chief murderer was eating his heart out
somewhere in a cell beyond the bend of the river. No more could
Frederick mingle with his tribe, and on his knees and in tears he had
begged Mr. King to keep him and shelter him on the Government Island. The
vendetta would follow him through life and it was almost certain he would
be killed sooner or later.
The calm of the evening was perfect, undisturbed by all this hidden
tragedy. When the moon was well clear of the trees, some great frog
hidden in the swamp began his rhythmical _kronk! kronk! kronk!_ and tiny
bats dashed about, splashing the surface of the water as they drank or
snatched floating insects.
The _yap! yap!_ of a passing but invisible Skimmer came faintly, and the
throbbing roll of a second kind of frog rumbled out of the dusk across
the river. The moonlight became ever stronger and now a Kiskadee called
sleepily from his great untidy nest in the distant village. A sharp
whip-lash of sound came to our ears and we knew that a Parauque[70] had
awakened from his diurnal slumber. An answering cry sounded near at
hand in the garden and we could distinguish the two connected tones.
The splash of paddles announced the return of the rest of our party as
an Indian woman began a droning song from the fire before her hut a few
yards away.
Impatient as we were to get into the real “bush,” the days at Morawhanna
were delightful. From Mr. King we learned a great deal about England’s
government of this out-of-the-world colony. We were especially interested
in the protection of the indentured coolie. In the first place the coolie
labor market is never allowed to become over-crowded. Each employer sends
in an order for the exact number of workmen which he requires, so that
the supply brought over is never greater than the demand. The coolie
gets free passage from India to South America, and is guaranteed work at
a minimum wage of a shilling a day, including his food. On his arrival
the immigration agent assigns him to a certain estate, where his term of
indenture is five years, his wage being increased as his capacity for
work becomes greater. During his term of service he can leave the estate
only by permission, and he must never be found at large without his pass
book.
At the end of five years the coolie is free to work where he pleases, or
to take up a grant of land of his own. After five years more of residence
he may return to India free of charge if he so wishes. As the coolie is
very thrifty and can live on threepence a day, his menu being rice and
water, at the expiration of his ten years, in addition to having earned
his living and supported his family, he has often saved up as much as two
thousand dollars.
Throughout his term of indenture the English government looks after him.
He always has good medical care free, and the law watches over him with
scrupulous vigilance, seeing that he is justly treated by his employer,
and that no advantage is taken of his ignorance and inexperience. When
the coolie leaves India he, of course, loses caste, but as they all fall
proportionately, each moving down one in the social scale, a proper
balance is preserved. The coolie returning to India, however, finds
himself a disgraced outcast. To regain his position in society he must
pay large sums of money to the priests; and so it is that he returns
to his native land only to be robbed of his hard-earned savings, often
returning to South America as a re-indentured man, to start life again.
In order to discourage his return to India, the government offers him
the money equivalent to his return passage. Many of the coolies take
advantage of this and make South America their permanent home, taking up
grants of their own and living in greater peace and prosperity than would
ever have been possible for them in India.
The population of Morawhanna is composed of coolies, Indians and blacks,
who look to the magistrate as a sort of all powerful father to whom they
bring troubles of every conceivable kind.
As we were sitting at breakfast one day an aged coolie man was seen
hanging around the door. He must see Mr. King on a most important matter,
which proved to be a delicate one indeed. His wife had fallen in love
with another man and what was he to do? Such troubles are very common
among the coolies. Instead of avenging himself upon the man who dared to
alienate his wife’s affections, the coolie invariably murders his wife,
the favorite method being to chop her up “particularly small.”
In this instance the wife was young and good looking, and her grievance
was that her husband expected her to assume the entire support of him
and his family, and she declared she would rather die than go back to
him. The only solution of the problem was to hurry the woman off on the
afternoon boat to Georgetown, in order to save her from murder and her
husband from execution.
They are all very fond of bringing their wrongs into court. An irate
Indian woman will appear, bringing a charge against the dressmaker who
has made her wedding dress too short. Dress of any description is the
most recent of acquisitions with the Indian woman, but having acquired it
she intends that her wedding gown shall fulfill all the requirements of
Dame Fashion, so far as she knows them.
The gown in question has been brought into court as incontrovertible
evidence. Should she not put it on and _prove_ to the magistrate, who
cries in despair that he knows nothing of the proper length of wedding
gowns and calls in another dressmaker for expert opinion. The two
dressmakers stand together and the case is dismissed. This is quoted to
show the infinite patience with which the magistrate treats each case,
however trivial.
The commissioner of health brings a charge against a coolie man, on the
ground that he has allowed the drains near his hut to become clogged
and so endangered the Public Health. Mr. King reads the indictment in
impressive, magisterial tones, accusing the offender of having permitted
his drains to become foul. Foul is evidently the one word which conveys
any meaning to the coolie, who exclaims in a tone of relief that he has
never kept any “fowls”! In British Guiana the arm of the law must have a
sense of humor as well as of justice!
We often wondered what was going on behind the impassive face of little
Frederick. Did he live in constant terror or did he sometimes forget it
all in the light-hearted pleasure of a child? The man convicted of his
father’s murder was a peaiman—or medicine man, who is held in great awe
and reverence by his tribe. So Frederick’s betrayal was doubly criminal
in the eyes of the superstitious Indians.
Frederick had been brought down to Morawhanna at Christmas—a little naked
savage knowing not a word of English. When at a loss for a word he always
fell back upon the civil “Sir” which Mr. King had taught him. As white
women were rare in Morawhanna he had never learned the feminine of “Sir.”
It was very amusing to see him serving at table, going all around asking
with great dignity, “What will you have, Suh?” regardless of the sex
of the guest. Mr. King had taught him to knock before entering a room.
He was childishly delighted with the new accomplishment and knocked on
both entering and leaving the room. We discovered that he had spent our
sixpence on a belt which it seems was the desire of his heart—already so
sophisticated!
The dazed stoicism of the convicted Indian was infinitely pathetic to
us. This terrible thing called the _Law_ is so incomprehensible to him.
He cannot understand it. When a convicted comrade is taken down to
Georgetown to execution, his friends and family realize only that he has
gone away in a boat to some mysterious place from which he never returns.
As far as the moral effect of an execution is concerned, there is none.
[Illustration: FIG. 73. FREDERICK, THE CARIB INDIAN BOY.]
Into the absolutely natural life of the Indian, with the simple
and perfectly comprehended tribal laws, has come so much that is
confusing;—the new religion, the relations of the laborer to the
employer, the wearing of clothes and the strange and powerful law. The
Indian is a creature of the present moment, instantly acting upon every
desire, working when he wishes to work, and quietly dropping all work
and departing when he so desires. What can he—the creature of Nature—know
of all this puzzling civilization?
* * * * *
At noon on March 6th we embarked on the three days’ tent-boat journey
from Morawhanna to Hoorie Mine. A thirty-foot launch was the motor power
and alongside this the big tent-boat was lashed, while several Indians
hitched their wood-skins behind as boys hitch sleds to a passing sleigh.
The baggage was stored fore and aft and, perched on a pile in the bow,
we prepared for our first real day of observation along the rivers of
the Northwest. We retraced our way northward through Mora Passage,
frightening as we went, a flock of seven Scarlet Ibises.[27] They kept
close together and were evidently a single family, as two were in fully
adult plumage, while the others were only three quarters grown, and
feathered wholly in brown and white.
About three o’clock in the afternoon we reached the Waini River, but
instead of turning toward the mouth and the open ocean which we could
see to the northwest, we steered eastward up stream. Although the outlet
of several large rivers, the Waini, in its lower reaches, is little more
than a great salt water tidal inlet, or caño.
At Mora Passage the Waini is about two miles wide and through the choppy
waters of the falling tide we steered straight across to the north shore.
Between the waters of this river and the ocean extends a long narrow
strip of marshy mangrove, for at least forty miles. Both the White and
the Red Mangrove are found here, the latter predominating, and this is
the breeding sanctuary of the hosts of birds which haunt the mud-flats
at low tide and fill the trees with a gorgeous display of color when the
feeding grounds are covered at high tide.
For the next three hours we were enchanted by a constantly changing
panorama of bird life, which in extent and variety can seldom be equalled
elsewhere.
While crossing the Waini several Swallow-tailed Kites[58] soared
screaming overhead, occasionally swooping past for a nearer look at us.
As we skirted the great mangrove forest, birds flew up ahead, few at
first but in constantly increasing numbers, until several hundred were
in sight at once. They showed little fear and were apparently content
to vibrate slowly along between launch and shore, accompanying us for
fifteen or twenty miles.
By far the greater number were Little Blue Herons,[34] the pure white
immature and the slaty blue adults being equally numerous. The latter
were very inconspicuous among the foliage, while the former stood out
like marble statues against green velvet. The coloring showed great
asymmetrical variation, and one young bird with a single blue feather in
the right wing was so tame that it kept almost abreast of our flotilla.
The irregularity of moult resulted in most remarkable patterns, as in
several birds, each of which had one white and one bluish wing.
Half a dozen Yellow-crowned Night Herons[36] were seen and twenty or
thirty of the ill-named Louisianas.[35] A few Great-billed Terns[14]
accompanied the herons and later in the afternoon we began flushing Snowy
Egrets[33] in ever increasing numbers. No American Egrets were seen. All
along the coast were small flocks of Scarlet Ibises,[27] from three to
thirty in number, and in an hour we had driven together no less than four
hundred. The majority were full plumaged birds clad in burning vermilion,
but many were young in moult. We secured a young female in an interesting
condition of moult. In the stomach were found the two chelæ or claws of
a small crustacean, each about one-third of an inch in length. The wings
were wholly of the immature brown, except for one tiny under-edge covert
in the right wing. The back, lower breast and under tail-coverts were
fairly scarlet and active moult was in progress on the head and neck.
We know that in captivity these birds fade out, usually in a single
moult, from the most vivid scarlet to a pale salmon hue, but as to the
cause we are still in the dark. The same is true of American Flamingos
and Spoonbills. During this trip we made certain of a fact which helps
slightly to clear this problem—this being that Scarlet Ibises fade as
quickly and completely when in captivity in their native country as in
the north. This is confirmed by many birds kept formerly in Georgetown
and also on the Island of Marajo at the mouth of the Amazon.
We have noticed an interesting fact in regard to this fading out of
birds in captivity. Whether the salmon tints appear in the first moult,
or more gradually in several, the lesser wing-coverts and the upper and
under tail-coverts are the last to loose the scarlet color, retaining it
sometimes for five or six years. These feathers in the nearly related but
pale Roseate Spoonbill are those which are normally scarlet, and this
resemblance may be more than a coincidence.
About four o’clock we were surprised to see a large black and white bird
with long gray beak and red legs fly up from a mud-flat ahead and swing
outward and around us. The glasses showed a Maguari Stork[29] in full
breeding color; even the red caruncles around the eye and the long, filmy
neck feathers being visible. We had never expected to see the bird away
from the pampas of the interior and the sight of the splendid Stork was
most exciting. It is almost as large as the Jabiru, white with black
wings, scapulars and tail and is one of the most picturesque of the
larger waders.
We have had a pair of these birds alive for some time and have observed
a curious thing about the tail. The real tail-feathers are forked,
swallow-like, while the intervening space is filled up with the long,
stiff under tail-coverts. In flight the whole are spread, making a
parti-colored fan of some eighteen feathers instead of the usual six
pairs. These under tail-coverts are a full inch longer than the regular
tail feathers and seem to be usurping their function.
Two old friends of northern waters appeared in small numbers, Ospreys[59]
circling about high in the air with now and then a meteor-like dive,
while Spotted Sandpipers[22] looped from one headland to another ahead of
us.
At half-past four in the afternoon we had our first sight of the great
flocks of birds which seem characteristic of this season. Quite high in
air, clear of the tops of the tallest trees we saw a black cloud of birds
approaching. We soon made them out to be Greater Anis,[79] or as the
natives called them “Big Witch” or “Jumbie Birds.” When first seen they
were in a dense, compact mass headed straight toward us.
Their flight was uniform, each bird giving three to six flaps and then
sailing ahead for several seconds. Hundreds doing this at once made
the sight a most striking one, while it was enhanced by their long,
wedge-shaped tails, high arched beaks, bright yellow eyes, and the
iridescence of their dark plumage as the slanting rays of the sun struck
them. We counted up to a thousand in the van and then gave up—there were
at the very least four thousand birds in the flock.
The approach of the puffing launch and our great escort of Ibises and
Herons disconcerted them and the entire company broke up, most of them
descending, turning on their course and fleeing ahead of us for several
miles. Their mode of flight changed completely, the birds flying close to
the water, barely skimming its surface and swinging up every few yards to
alight on a low branch.
A piece of wood thrown among a mass of them would cause great dismay, and
they dashed down into the nearest foliage as if a Hawk had appeared.
Little by little they drifted past, flying rapidly near shore, and
continuing in the direction which they had originally chosen. A few of
the birds were moulting, but by far the greater number were in perfect
plumage.
The flock had the appearance of being on some sort of migration rather
than assembling at a nightly roost. About Georgetown and the settlements
and clearings in general, this Greater Ani was much rarer then the small
Smooth-billed species,[80] twenty of the latter being seen to one of the
former. These aberrant Cuckoos are most interesting birds and several
females are said to combine, building a single hollow nest of sticks in
which the eggs are hatched.
Hardly had the last Ani passed out of sight when a second cloud of birds
appeared far ahead, and before we had approached near enough to identify
them a shrill chorus came to our ears; a horde of Blue-headed Parrots[65]
were on their way up the coast. They behaved in much the same way as the
Anis, but were more numerous: an estimate far below the truth gave eight
thousand. Closely massed though most of them were, yet the eternal two
and two formation of the tribe of Parrots was never lost, and even when
the vanguard, terrified by our puffing launch, wheeled and dashed back
through the ranks behind, each Parrot flew always close to its mate.
Once later on, when only a few scores were left near us, we saw several
perched in a bare tree close to a Hawk, like a Sparrow Hawk in size, but
neither species paid any attention to the other’s presence.
The Parrots screamed unceasingly and near the main body the noise was
terrific—a shrill deafening roar, as from a dozen factory whistles. Until
long after dark they flew back and forth around us, sometimes attempting
to alight in a tree and falling from branch to branch almost to the
water, before securing a foot or beak-hold. For several hours perfect
pandemonium reigned around us.
Whether these two phenomena of flocking birds indicated merely a nightly
roosting habit or an actual, more or less local migration, they were
of the greatest interest, and spectacular in the extreme. Our opinion
inclines decidedly toward the latter theory, as they both differed
greatly from the regular roosting flights which we observed elsewhere.
Long after dark, about nine o’clock, in the faint light of the
cloud-dimmed moon, we caught glimpses of occasional ghostly forms
flitting silently past, and when we flashed our powerful electric light
upon them, the feathered ghosts would emit frightened squawks; revealed
as Snowy Egrets or young Blue Herons. Here and there among the mangroves,
large lightning bugs flashed. At last we rolled up in our blankets and
slept on the thwarts, to dream of the unnumbered legions of Anis and
Parrots far off behind us in the blackness of the mangrove jungle.
In a soft steady rain we steamed all next morning up the Waini, seeing
few signs of life, except three Toucans which flew across at Barrimani
Police Station. At noon we reached Farnum’s at the junction of the Waini
and Barama rivers. Mr. and Mrs. Farnum live in a small house perched on
the very summit of a symmetrically rounded hill—the first elevation we
had seen in this flat region. There is a tiny store at the foot of the
hill, and a saw-mill, and in the grass of the clearing, bête-rouge lie in
patient wait for the passer-by. Mrs. Farnum told us that “Hummingbirds”
flew into the peaked roof of the house almost every day and died. The
natives call by this name all the species of Honey Creepers, and a
Yellow-winged[136] male was picked up from the floor during our visit.
[Illustration: FIG. 74. OUR TENT-BOAT ON THE BARAMA RIVER.]
We found later that this was such a common occurrence that in almost all
the houses there were instruments for getting rid of the bewildered,
fluttering birds. The more cruel used only a long stick with which the
birds were struck down, but the more humanely inclined had nets on the
end of long poles. As many as seven Honey Creepers are occasionally
entrapped at one time. They do not seem to know how to fly toward light
and liberty after getting up among the dark rafters.
The fauna of this exceedingly marshy region was different from that
higher up. Agoutis and pacas are abundant but capybaras do not come this
side of Barramanni Police Station. Deer and peccaries are very rare.
Jaguars are unknown but ocelots are occasionally found, a young one
having been killed under the house at Christmas. It lived in a burrow and
took a chicken each night until it was killed.
Many fish were seen playing about the tent-boat as it was tied to the
wharf, and among others were scores of small pipe-fish. Mr. Crandall
caught a small round sun-fish-like form, brilliantly colored and with a
most wicked looking set of triangular teeth. As he was about to take the
fish off the hook it deliberately twisted itself in the direction of his
hand and bit his finger, taking a piece out with one snip of its four
razor-like incisors. This was our introduction to the famous Perai or
Carib Fish (_Serrasalmo scapularis_) which seems to fear nothing, man,
crocodile or fish, and a school of which can disable any creature in a
very short time.
At this point we left the Waini and turned off into the Barama. We had
followed the Waini day and night for about sixty miles, until, from a
stream of two miles or more in width, it had narrowed to little more then
one hundred yards.
We left Farnum’s at three in the afternoon and steamed slowly up the
Barama for twelve hours, tying up to the bank from three to seven in the
early morning. We slept but little, for the strange wonderland which
opened up before us. At nine o’clock the full moon rose and the beauty of
the wilderness became indescribable. In the north—along the rivers of
the Canadian forest—the spruces and firs are clean-trunked, tapering to
tall, isolated, symmetrical summits. Here the very opposite conditions
exist; solid massive walls of black foliage, with almost never a glimpse
of trunk and bark. Most characteristic are the long, slender bush-ropes
or lianas. In the forest they are thick, gnarled and knotted; there we
get the vivid feeling of serpentine struggles in the terribly slow but
none the less remorseless striving for light and air, but along the
rivers the lianas are pendent threads or cables—straight as plummets and
often a hundred feet in length. These give a decorative aspect to the
scene unlike any other type of forest—temperate or northern.
In the moonlight the appearance of the walls of foliage is like painted
scenery. Their blackness and impenetrability give a feeling of flatness
and the summit outlines are crudely regular. The dominant sound at night
along the Barama was a sweet tinkling as of tiny bells, all in unison and
harmony, but with a range of at least four half-tones. The tree-toads
clinging here and there to leaves and flowers throughout the jungle fill
this whole region with the melody of their chimes; striking the minutes
as if with a thousand tiny anvils, and only too often leading some enemy
to their hiding places.
We woke at early dusk and climbing out upon the bow of the tent-boat
watched the coming of the tropical day. The medley of fairy bells was
still bravely ringing, but as the dawn approached, the little nocturnal
musicians ceased tolling and the chorus died out with a few faint, final
tinkles. Six o’clock, and the sunshine upon the tree-tops brought a burst
of sound from the Woodhewers, a succession of twelve to twenty loud,
ringing tones in a rapidly descending scale—Canyon Wren-like and taken up
continuously from far and near. The very tang and crispness of the early
dawn seemed to inspire the quality of their notes.
As soon as it was light, Swallows were seen in numbers, small, dark
steel-blue in color with a striking band of white across the breast.
These beautiful Banded Swallows[118] kept at first to two levels in the
air; close to the water, fairly skimming its surface, and high up above
the tallest trees—marking I suppose the early morning distribution of
gnats and other insects. Most delicate and fairy-like they appeared when
perched on some great orchid-hung dead branch protruding from the water.
[Illustration: FIG. 75. INDIAN BOYS IN DUG-OUT.]
We can find no adjectives to express the beauty and calm of the cool,
early morning on these tropical rivers. Myriads—untold myriads—of leaves
and branches surround us like the lofty walls of a canyon. We have used
the words wall in this connection many times and no other word seems to
be so suitable. All sense of flatness is lost in the light of the dawn;
and instead we see these living walls now as infinitely softened; but
still the eye cannot penetrate the intricate tangle. Not a breath of air
stirs the smallest leaf. It is like the fairy river of an enchanted
country—all Nature quiet and resting—with only the brown current ever
slipping silently past, here and there foam-flecked or bearing some tiny
aquatic plant with its rosette of downy leaves.
Then,—the lush tropical nature rushing ever to extremes—comes a deluge
of virile life upon the scene. A great fish leaps far upward, shattering
the surface, pursued by a fierce, brown-coated otter, almost as large as
a man. A half dozen green Parrots throb screaming past in pairs; two big
Red-breasted King-fishers[67] spring from their perch and come leaping
toward us through the air, suddenly wheeling up almost in a somersault
and down like two meteors into the water.
We leave our bushy moorings at last and keep on up the river with
the tide, passing the English mission of Father Carey-Elwis, which,
like Farnum’s, is built on a hill, isolated amid the great expanse of
flat marshy jungle. A dozen little naked Indian lads shriek in sheer
excitement and rush down to the water’s edge to watch us pass, peering
fearfully out from behind trees like little gnomes.
From here on butterflies became very abundant; many large Yellows and
Oranges and Morphos of two kinds, one altogether iridescent blue, the
other blue and black. As the little vocal messages of the tree-frogs are
carried far and wide through the jungle at night, so in the sunshine the
morphos, like heliographs of azure, flash silently from bend to bend of
the river. Conspicuous among the great Mora and Purple-heart trees were
the white-barked Silk Cottons. Large yellow tubular blossoms and masses
of purple pea blooms tint the trees here and there.
The Indians along the river were catching two kinds of fish; one a
silvery mullet about six inches long called Bashew, and a catfish of the
same size. The latter was most formidable in appearance but actually
harmless. Four slender barbels of medium size depended from the lower
jaw, while two pigmented ones extended forward from the upper jaw and
were so long that when pressed back they reached to the tail.
Rain fell irregularly during the day, but so gently and so softly that we
hardly knew when it began and when it ended. It never chilled but rather
refreshed. About noon a third migrational flocking of birds was noticed;
seventy-two large South American Black Hawks[55] circling slowly around,
setting their wings after a while and sailing off to the west as one bird.
The action and reaction among the vegetation was often as striking as
among more active organisms. Where parasitic aërial roots had descended
seventy or eighty feet and touched the water near shore, vines had
somehow managed to reach out and throw a tendril about the roots, take
hold and climb circle upon circle to the top. The palm trees alone of
all the forest growth seemed universally free from parasitic plants and
climbing vines.
Above the mission, coincident with the increase of butterflies and the
appearance of occasional sand-banks, palm trees disappeared without
apparent reason. The river narrowed as we ascended until it was only
fifty yards across and the bends increased in angle and number. Now and
then we passed a cut-off when the stream had cut through one of its own
bends and made a new bed for itself.
A small opening in the wall of verdure was hailed as Hoorie Creek and,
dropping behind the launch, we were towed a mile or more up its tortuous
length, now and then running aground or rather “atree,” as it was only
thirty feet wide and as sinuous as a serpent. We tied fast to a big
overhanging tree which marked the end of our journey by water and, all
excitement, leaped ashore.
CHAPTER VI.
A GOLD MINE IN THE WILDERNESS.
We loaded our tin canisters, clothing bags, guns and cameras on a cart
which was waiting and set out along the bush trail, three and a half
miles to the gold mine. The trail led through a great swampy forest with
a clear brook occasionally crossing it, and for the sake of the wagon
which had to transport all supplies, it was corduroyed in the worst
places with small saplings or quartered trunks. We had all donned cheap
tennis shoes which proved on this and all later occasions to be perfect
footwear for the tropics. The rubber soles allow one to obtain sure
footing in slippery places and a wetting matters nothing. If one walks
far enough the shoes dry on one’s feet, or at camp a new pair may be
slipped on in a moment and next day the old ones are none the worse for
the soaking. Here snake-proof and water-proof shoes are as useless as
they are uncomfortable.
It was amusing to see how quickly the regard for mud and water left even
those of our party who were taking their first dip into the real “bush.”
For the first few yards all picked their way carefully. There was even a
pair of storm rubbers leaving its checkered print on the forest mould!
Then some one stepped on the loose end of a corduroy sapling which rose
in air and fell with a sharp spat. Everyone dodged the shower of mud and
straightway went over ankles in water. The cool fluid trickled between
our toes and we all laughed with relief. The rubbers found an early grave
in the mud-hole and we all strode happily along, wishing we had a hundred
eyes, to see all that was going on around and above us.
[Illustration: FIG. 76. CROSSING A STREAM ON THE HOORIE JUNGLE ROAD.]
A perfect medley of calls and cries came from the tree-tops high overhead
as we tramped along. In places the trees were magnificent, looking like
a maze of columns in some great cathedral, roofed over with a lofty dome
of foliage. On this first walk the final impression was of a host of
strange sights and sounds, a few of which we were able to disentangle on
succeeding days. We had poured over Waterton, Schomburgk and Bates but we
realized anew the utter futility of trying to reconstruct with pen and
ink the grandeur and beauty, and forever and always the mystery, of a
tropical forest.
Then from the heart of the wilderness we came suddenly upon man’s
handiwork; the tiny, twenty acre clearing of the gold mine. On the
outskirts of the forest were the frail, frond-roofed shelters which
marked the homes of the Indians and the rough mud and thatch huts of
the black laborers. A dam was thrown across the narrow valley and on
the rim of the jungle lake thus made, was the powerful electric engine.
This great thing of vibrating wheels and pistons seemed strangely out of
place in the wilderness. As we watched, it seemed to take on a semblance
of dull life. Stolid-faced, naked Indians fed it vast quantities of cord
wood, and in return it sucked up a great pipeful of water from the lake.
The pipe lay quietly on trestles, winding up and around a low hill out of
sight, giving no hint of the terrific rush of water within.
Following the pipe line we turn a sudden corner on the hill-top and the
heart of the clearing lies at our feet. At the end of the pipe, far
below, a man stands, barely able to guide and shift the mighty spout
of water which gushes forth. Half the hill has been torn away by the
irresistible stream, which shoots upward in a majestic column and dashes
with a roar against the cliff of clay and rubble. The ever-widening
gorge which the water has eaten into the hill glows in the sunlight
with bright-colored strata. On each side the red clay is dominant, while
between runs the strip of pale gray which holds the precious nuggets.
[Illustration: FIG. 77. THE WILDERNESS TRAIL.]
It is an ochreous clay carrying free gold. The rock is in place and
perfectly decomposed to a depth of seventy-five or one hundred feet.
This decomposition is the result of the constant infiltration of warm
rains carrying carbonic acid and humous acids from the rapidly decaying
tropical vegetation. Through the clay are scattered nodules of impure
limonite.
In a tumbling, falling mass the muddy water washes back upon its path,
confined in a trough under the pipe, and as it goes it gives up its
yellow burden. As the grains and nuggets drop to the bottom they touch
the mercury and behold! to the eye they are no longer gold but silver!
As we had been impressed by the grandeur of the forest, so we now
began to see the romance of the wonderful gold deep hidden beneath the
centuries of jungle growth. Gold, which we had known only in form of
coin or ring, now assumed a new beauty and meaning. Here, amid the great
trees, the beautiful birds and insects, the Indians as yet unspoiled by
civilization, one could thoroughly enjoy such “money-making.” One hears
of gold mines all one’s life, but until one actually sees the metal taken
from its resting place where it has laid since the earth was young, the
word means but little.
Beyond the golden gorge with the roaring “little giant” ever filling it
with spray, was a second hill topped with the bungalow which we were to
call home. Beyond this the jungle began again.
After a delicious shower-bath we slung our hammocks on the veranda and
sat on the hillside in the moonlight for an hour or more, watching the
night shift at work, one or two men guiding the stream beneath flickering
arc-lights, others puddling the down rushing torrent. Just beneath us
in the dark shadow of a bush lay the coolie night watchman, with the
inscrutable face of his race, keeping watch over the long, snaky flume,
at the bottom of which the quicksilver was ever engulfing the precious
metal.
Later we slept the dreamless hammock sleep of the tropics, lulled by the
dull droning roar of the water dashing against the clay—a sound which
echoed through the jungle and gained in volume until we drowsily knew we
were listening to the howling of the red baboons. Even this invasion of
man merged harmoniously with the sounds of the wilderness.
LIFE ABOUT THE BUNGALOW.
We remained at Hoorie just seven days—only long enough to begin to look
beneath the surface and realize what a veritable wonderland it was for
scientist or nature lover.
On the last day of our stay we wrote in our journal; “Hoorie is a
perfect health resort; temperature good[D]; no mosquitoes; food
excellent; splendid place for laboratory work; interesting insect life
superabundant; birds and lizards abundant; snakes rare; perai, electric
eels and manatees in the creek; peccary, deer, red howlers, armadillos,
sloths and ant-eaters within short distance of bungalow.” What more could
be asked?
The bungalow was a well-built house with wide veranda, perched on the
cleared summit of a low hill sloping evenly in all directions; the thick
bush and shrubby undergrowth beginning about one hundred feet down the
hillside.
We shall not attempt to describe or even mention the many varieties
of creatures which haunted the clearing, but leaving these for our
scientific reports, we shall speak only of those which are especially
interesting.
When one enters a vast forested wilderness such as this, and makes a
good-sized clearing, the inmates of the forest are bound to be affected.
The most timid ones flee at the first stroke of the axe; others,
swayed by curiosity, return again and again to watch the interlopers.
A third class, learning somehow of the new settlement, come post haste
and make themselves at home. These are chiefly birds, which, seldom or
never found living in the heart of the jungle, are as keen as Vultures
to spy out a new clearing. They must follow the canoes and trail, else
it is impossible to imagine how they learn of new outposts—whether a
simple Indian hammock shelter and cassava field, or a great commercial
undertaking such as this gold mine.
To begin with the birds, the Hoorie clearing possessed two pairs of
Blue,[143] three pairs of Palm,[144] and five pairs of Silverbeak[146]
Tanagers, besides six Blue-backed Seedeaters.[131] None of these are
forest birds and all nest in brushy places.
The Blue Tanagers are clad in delicate, varying shades of pale blue; the
Palm Tanagers in dull olive green, but both make up in noisy sibilant
cries what they lack in color. The Silverbeaks are beautiful, shading
from rich wine color to black, and with conspicuous silvery blue beaks.
The little Seedeaters were the most familiar birds about the bungalow,
coming to the steps to feed on fallen seeds.
One of the first things which caught our eye were several brilliantly
iridescent green birds, insect-catching, among the brush near the house.
These were Paradise Jacamars,[85] and they had their homes in the clay
banks of the rivulets, deep buried in the narrow valleys which abounded
in the forest.
Each bird had two or more favorite twigs. When bug-hunting flagged at
one post they flew with a long swoop to the second point of vantage. Our
assistant, Crandall, observing this, laid a limed twig across the lookout
perch and in a short time had caught two male birds. Their mates called
loudly for a time, then disappeared. Before night both had returned with
new mates, which we left in peace.
[Illustration: FIG. 78. ENGINE HOUSE AND FLUME OF HOORIE GOLD MINE.]
They were tame and allowed us to approach within eight or ten feet before
flying to their alternate perches. Their feet are small and weak and they
have a hunched up look as they perch in wait, turning the head rapidly in
every direction and now and then swooping like a flash after some tiny
insect, engulfing it with a loud snap of the mandibles. Their call-note
is a sharp, repeated _pip! pip! pip! pip!_
These birds welcome the clearing, as it means an increased supply of
insect food. They learn the value even of the opening made by the fall
of a single tree deep in the jungle, and here and elsewhere we noticed
that a single pair of Jacamars would keep busy day after day in the patch
of sunlight let in by the death of some forest giant. Jacamars form a
rather compact group of some twenty species; in habit like Flycatchers;
in appearance and nest like Kingfishers, but in structure more closely
related to Toucans and Woodpeckers.
Even in the short time which we spent at Hoorie we learned to expect
a regular daily movement on the part of many of the birds. Early each
morning a flock of about a dozen splendid Jays worked slowly around the
edge of the clearing, at last disappearing behind the bungalow into the
woods. In the north this would not be an unusual sight, but it must be
remembered that members of the Jay family, like the Wood Warblers, are
rarely seen in the tropics. Crows and Ravens are entirely absent from
South America, and but two species of Jays find their way into British
Guiana.
Our Hoorie birds were Lavender Jays[161] and although so far from the
home of their family they were no whit the less Jay-like. They constantly
hailed each other with a varied vocabulary of harsh cries and calls,
and now and then held a morsel of food between the toes and pounded it
vigorously. They flapped but seldom, passing with short sailing flights
from branch to branch not far from the ground.
At night they returned rather more rapidly—less absorbed in
feeding—probably to some roosting place of which they alone knew. With
them, night and morning, were a few Red-backed Bunyahs or Cassiques,[152]
early nesters from the colony at the dam, of which more anon. The two
species seemed to associate closely, although it was evident that it was
the Bunyahs which had taken up with the sturdy pioneers from the North.
A short distance away from the bungalow a huge Mora stood in the forest
looking down on all the trees around. The lightning bolt which had torn
off its bark and killed it, had also consumed its dense clothing of
parasitic vines and bush-ropes. So now it stood with naked, clean wood
high above the sea of foliage, and within a day after our arrival we had
christened it the Toucan Mora.
In the evening, about on the stroke of seven, the first comers would
arrive—a trio of Black-banded Aracaris[84] which alight and preen their
feathers. These may remain quiet for about twenty minutes, but more often
take to flight at the approach of a screaming flock of eight or ten Mealy
Amazon Parrots[63] which scatter over the branches. But the other species
of Toucans are now awake and soon the Parrots are in turn driven off, and
four or five big-billed fellows usurp the dead Mora and sun themselves
or call loudly to the Vultures swinging high overhead. There are two
species of these larger Toucans, the Red-billed[81] and the Sulphur and
White-breasted,[82] and they seem to live together amicably, but war with
the small Aracaris. The notes of the Red-billed Toucans are like the
yapping of a puppy, uttered in pairs and differing slightly, thus, _yap!
yip! yap! yip!_ The great mandibles are opened and thrown upward at each
utterance. The brilliant white-breasted birds call loudly _kiok! kiok!_
in a high, shrill tone very unlike that of their fellows.
Morning and evening the Toucans and Parrots pass, always alighting on
the dead Mora, while during the day we detect them deep in the jungle,
feeding in the tops of the trees and sending down to us their calls,
_yap!_, _kiok!_ or _squawk!_ as the case may be.
[Illustration: FIG. 79. THE “LITTLE GIANT” AT WORK.]
A fourth species, the Red-breasted Toucan[83] was occasionally seen
high in the tree tops. These birds had two distinct utterances, one a
frog-like croak, and the other a double-toned shrill cry, the two tones
being B and B# above middle C.
Early in the evenings, about six o’clock, all the Banded Swallows[118]
of the surrounding region passed overhead in a dense flock, two or three
hundred in all, soaring with a steady, half-sailing flight very different
from the dashing swoops which carry them over the lake when feeding
during the day. Now they are headed northward to some safe roosting
place and with no thought of passing gnats. The myriads of graceful,
glossy blue forms, each crossed on the breast with a band of white,
made a most beautiful sight. In the morning their return flight was by
twos and threes, with rapid darts here and there. Hunger now permitted
no dressing of ranks or close formation. During the day none were to be
seen about the bungalow, but only on the lake or along the creek bed. The
unfortunate gnats which hummed in the bungalow clearing were attended to
by the little Feather-toed Palm Swifts,[71] which were most abundant.
Among the hosts of smaller birds which haunted the tree-tops at the edge
of the clearing, the Black-faced Green Grosbeaks[135] were especially
noticeable. In color they reminded one of immature male Orchard Orioles,
being yellowish green with black throat and face. They fed morning and
evening on the reddish berries of a great vine which ripened its fruit in
the tree-tops, and here their song was repeated over and over, a rattling
buzz, like the rapid stroke of a stick along the palings of a fence,
followed by three liquid, whip-like notes, thus:
[Music]
The buzz part of the song also did duty as the call-note.
Once or twice each day we would be treated to a glimpse of the wonderful
Pompadour Cotingas.[116] A flock of four male birds would flash overhead
and swing up to some lofty perch, wary, silent, but of exquisite color.
The whole body was of a brilliant reddish purple—rich wine color—with
wings of purest white. Silhouetted against the blue sky as they were
perched close together, they might have been Starlings or Blackbirds as
far as color went, but when they all shot off into the air and showed
up against the green leaves they fairly blazed—the yellow eyes, the
scintillating purple plumage, and the dazzling white wings. The last
flash of the wings before they were folded out of sight was a most
efficient protection as it seemed to hold the vision, so that several
moments elapsed before the perching bird itself could be located.
The sombre, ashy females were not observed; certainly they never joined
in the flights with the quartet of males. In the latter sex, a half dozen
or more of the greater wing coverts are stiffened and the webs curved
around almost into little tubes. We know practically nothing of the wild
habits of the Pompadour Cotinga but a most remarkable thing about the
color is that, by the application of a little heat, it turns from deep
reddish purple to pale yellow. It is rather interesting to compare this
with the changing of the Purple Finch from rose-red to yellowish in
captivity. The Chatterers or Cotingas form one of the most interesting
tropical families of birds, and we lost no opportunity of studying
closely all which we observed. At Hoorie, beside the Pompadour Cotingas
we saw the Black-tailed Tityra.[113] In Mexico we had seen a closely
related species and here again were the strange “Frog-birds,” with a
little more black on the cap and tail.
We first observed a pair near the colony of Red-backed Bunyahs in the
creek bed, but as we were leaving the bungalow for the last time, our
farewell was made all the harder by discovering that the Tityras had
begun to nest in a small dead stub standing alone in the centre of the
vegetable garden and not twenty yards from the bungalow.
The birds were having a hard time of it, carrying stiff, four-inch twigs
into a three-inch hole, but they were succeeding, showing that they knew
better than to hold the twig by the centre. The whole head to below the
eyes and including the upper nape was black, while the bare skin of the
face and the basal two-thirds of the beak were bright red. The male was
uniformly pale bluish white, while his mate was distinguished by many
rather faint streaks of black on the breast, sides, and under parts. Both
birds alternated in carrying the nesting material and in arranging it,
remaining silent as long as we watched them. The nesting stub was about
six inches in diameter and the hole thirty feet above the ground.
[Illustration: FIG. 80. CARIB HUNTER AND HIS CHILDREN AT HOORIE.]
These birds lack the bright hues of most of their relatives, but have the
family trait of possessing some queer trick of plumage. While the first
flight feather of the wing is perfectly normal, measuring about three
and a half inches in length, the second is a mere parody of a feather,
tapering to a point and reaching a length of less than two inches. Only
the true lover of birds will realize what an effort it took to tear
ourselves away from this pair of birds, whose eggs and young appear to be
as yet undescribed.
Two Marail Guans[6] and a Trumpeter[25] were interesting inmates of the
hen-yard and made no effort to escape, although they were full-winged and
had the run of the clearing. The Trumpeter went to roost each night at
5.30 as punctually as if he had a watch under his wing. He slept standing
on one leg, resting on the first joints of his front toes, his head drawn
back behind his wing.
Often on our walks we would come across an Indian hut, so hidden away in
the depths of the dense forest that its discovery was merely a matter
of chance. Most of these huts consisted simply of four poles covered by
the rudest sort of a palm-thatched roof. The house furnishing was as
primitive as the house itself—a hammock for each member of the family;
varying in size in proportion to that of their owners, like the chairs of
the historic nursery characters—the “Three Bears.” One or two calabashes
or gourds, several hand-woven baskets of cassava bread, some strips of
dried fish and a smoky fire completed the picture.
[Illustration: FIG. 81. THREE GENERATIONS OF CARIB INDIANS.]
The entire domestic life of these Indian establishments went on perfectly
openly and quite unaffected by our curious scrutiny. We rarely saw
the Indian men at home; they were off hunting, or fishing, or perhaps
employed by the mine as woodcutters. The women were always busy, cooking,
planting cassava, spinning cotton, weaving hammocks and baskets and bead
aprons, necklaces and bracelets. We could never resist the temptation to
stop and make friends with them. The gift of a cigarette won their hearts
and we invariably found them very gentle and kindly. Their costumes
were extraordinary. Those who had been presented with the garments of
civilization proudly wore them, though they were nothing more than short,
loose slips. But the majority wore their native dress—consisting chiefly
of beads; certainly far more healthful and suitable for them than the
unaccustomed clothing given them by the missionaries. The children were
lovable little pieces of bronze, very smooth and glossy. They would often
come softly up and slip their small hands in ours, looking up at us with
shy wonder.
In one of the huts we watched with amusement the wee-est of Indian girls
trying to drive away a huge rooster who was pervading the hut. The
child could not have been more than two years old—but she was already
thoroughly feminine, waving her small arms valiantly at the intruder and
then running away terrified to bury her head in her mother’s hammock,
until she could summon courage for another attack upon the enemy.
As time went on and news of our arrival spread, Indians from huts far
distant in the forest made expeditions to come and look at us; as curious
about us as was the small boy living up on the Essequibo River who saved
up his “bits” and took a long journey down the river to see a horse. He
had heard that there were such creatures but he wished to investigate for
himself. So tours were made to see us and we were inspected by wondering
eyes to whom white women were as strange as were horses to the little
“bush” lad.
[Illustration: FIG. 82. MR. WILSHIRE AND CRANDALL WITH DEAD BUSHMASTER.]
[Illustration: FIG. 83. THE TERRIBLE BUSHMASTER.]
One day at the bungalow we found a group of Indian children gathered
about the door of the modern bathroom which Mr. Wilshire had had fitted
up. It was all a great puzzle to the little dwellers in the forest. To
amuse them we took them in and turned on and off the shower bath, trying
to explain what it was, but all to no purpose. To them a bath meant “me
wash skin in river”; while the shower-bath was merely an interesting
scientific phenomenon—the mysterious white beings were making rain at
their own will!
We were disappointed at not getting more photographs of the Indians.
Their prejudice against being photographed is a deep-rooted superstition.
They feel that it gives you a superhuman power over them. Indians often
ran like deer through the woods when we pointed the camera at them and it
was only by passing around candy to those who came to the bungalow and so
diverting their attention from the dreaded camera, that we secured any
pictures at all.
We encountered but one poisonous serpent, and that one by proxy. A big
bushmaster or couanacouchi, all but dead, was brought to the house one
day by an Indian who had speared it. It had been found coiled up on the
forest leaves and was so like them in color that the Indian had nearly
trod upon it. Although we searched thoroughly we could never find a
second specimen.
A DAY IN THE JUNGLE NEAR HOORIE.
The region about Hoorie consists chiefly of small but steep hills, some
isolated with a few hundred yards of flat land about them, others close
together and separated by deep, narrow valleys with running water at the
bottom. All drain into Hoorie Creek which from the mine clearing runs
in a fairly straight direction through flat, marshy land to the Barama
River up which we had come. The whole country is, of course, completely
covered with a thick forest, of good-sized trees, which are heavily
draped with vines and parasitic plants, although these are not dense
enough to shut out the sunlight. Thus in many places a heavy undergrowth
is found, making it difficult to get about, while the steep ascents and
equally precipitous descents into the numerous intersecting valleys make
extended exploration an arduous task, especially in the directions away
from Hoorie Creek. But in this land of superabundant life, one needs but
a short walk to fill one’s note-book with interesting facts. Let us spend
a day in the jungle.
In light marching order, with glasses and note-books only, we started out
in the direction of the great pit of golden gravel, and finding Nasua,
the coolie, we persuaded him to pan a few shovelfuls of earth from the
surface of the ground within reach of the spray of the water spouting up
towards us.
It was fascinating to watch his slender deft fingers and his skilful
manipulation of the gold pan. Filling it to overflowing with gray or red
clay, he half sank it beneath the surface of a little pool and began
rocking and turning it. Soon the large pebbles were all eliminated and
only a muddy sediment left. This was washed and revolved until there
seemed nothing but clear water, when as the last dirt was flowed over
the rim there came the flash of the golden grains. Pressing his fingers
on these, the pan was reversed for a moment, and then dipping his finger
tips in the clear water of our glass vial the yellow grains sank swiftly
to the bottom. Sometimes only a half penny’s worth would reward us, while
again as much as a shilling’s value would be shown.
Passing over the ridge we saw before us a deep and very narrow valley
with precipitous sides, down which we slid and crawled, hanging on to
vines and saplings to break our descent. At the bottom we found an
interesting advance in the evolution of gold mining over the simplest
form of gold panning. Two blacks were operating a “Long Tom,” which in
mining vernacular is the name for a six by two, heavy, coarse, metal
sieve set obliquely in the channel of a small brook. The gold-bearing
gravel and clay is shovelled into it and puddled with a hoe, and the gold
settles to the bottom to be later panned. Thus division of labor enters
in—one black shovelling while his partner puddles. We asked them how
much they were getting out and, as usual, they said “almost nothing,”
or a few shillings’ worth at the most! This was to avoid any danger of
their tiny holdings being considered too valuable and taken away from
them. Mr. Wilshire took a pan here on another day and unearthed a tiny
nugget, worth perhaps two shillings, much to the blacks’ discomfiture,
who hastened to explain that such an opulent find was indeed rare. The
poor fellows at best make little enough and it was pitiful to see the
tiny packets of gold dust which they brought to the company’s store at
the end of the week to exchange for food or credit checks. The universal
Guianan name for this type of independent miner is “pork-knocker,” the
explanation being that by knocking the rocks to pieces, they find just
enough gold to procure the pork upon which they live.
[Illustration: FIG. 84. PANNING GOLD.]
They are allowed to work on side streams near the large mining
operations, their total taking of gold being relatively insignificant,
while they sometimes locate valuable deposits in the course of their
wanderings. They are a jolly, happy-go-lucky type, apparently careless of
their luck and invariably optimistic of the future.
A naturalist would find it difficult to keep his attention fixed on “Pan”
or “Long Tom” in this narrow glade, for great iridescent blue morpho
butterflies are floating about everywhere among the lights and shadows.
From some tall trees a continual shower of whirling objects are falling,
some white, others purple. Catching one we find it to be a narrow
petaled, five parted, star-like blossom (_Petræa arborea_), weighted by
a slender stem. When thrown up into the air they revolve like horizontal
pin-wheels, falling slowly and forming a most remarkable rain of color.
Forcing our way up the opposite slope and on through the underbrush we
come out on the corduroy road half a mile from the mine.
As a corduroy sapling turns and splashes the water under foot, a cloud
of orange and white butterflies arises and scatters through the woods.
Suddenly through the warm damp stillness there rings out a piercing,
three-syllabled cry, which was to become for us the vocal spirit of
the Guiana wilderness. Day after day we heard it wherever the unbroken
primeval forest reigned, but never near the haunts of man. This, with
the roar of the red baboon and the celestial theme of the Quadrille Bird,
forms the trilogy most cherished in our memory of all the Guiana sounds.
We are listening to the call of the Gold or Greenheart Bird,[115] another
member of the Cotingas or Chatterers, which is as remarkable for its
voice as it is lacking in brilliant colors. Loud as the call is, it is
very ventriloquil and difficult to locate. When directly beneath the
sound it seems to come from the tops of the highest trees, a hundred feet
up, whereas in all probability the bird is not more than twenty-five feet
above our heads. It sits motionless but the violence of its utterance
makes the whole branch vibrate. We soon learn that to search and find
the bird directly is impossible, but by letting the eyes take in as
large a field as possible, the vibration from the vocal effort is easily
discernible.
The male Goldbird is uniformly ashy or slate-colored, slightly darker
above, very Solitaire-like both in color and size. The female is
distinguished by a shade of rufous on the wing-coverts and the tips of
the flight feathers. With such coloring it is not strange that the bird
becomes invisible amid the dark shadows of the lower branches.
The natives know this bird as the _Pe-pe-yo_ from its call, and Goldbird
from the fact that all pork-knockers believe it is never found far from
deposits of gold; while the theory that it usually utters its call from a
greenheart tree accounts for its third name.
Its note is typical of our American tropics, where highly developed song
is rare, but single loud, metallic or liquid syllables are the rule.
The bird has two introductory phrases which heretofore seem to have
escaped the notice of observers. Indeed, until one noticed the invariable
sequence of the two sets of notes, it would never be suspected that
they proceeded from the same bird. The introductory phrases are low and
muffled and yet have considerable carrying power. They possess the
indescribable vibrating chord-like quality of the Veery’s song which
defies all description. Musically they may be written thus:
[Music]
Almost instantly follow the three notes of the call or song. They are
of tremendous strength and exceedingly liquid and piercing. The nearest
imitation is to whistle the syllables _wheé! wheé! o!_ as loudly as
possible. We never tire of listening. The bird overhead calls so loudly
that our ears tingle; another answers, then a third and a fourth, far
away in the dim recesses of the forest.
Many miles inland near the wonderful plateau of Roraima lives another
species of Goldbird, similar to ours except for a bright rosy pink collar
around the neck. We saw nothing of this beautiful Cotinga, but one of the
Goldbirds which we secured had a distinct but irregular collar of rufous,
hinting of a not distant relationship.
A short distance along the corduroy road we came upon a half dozen naked
Indians cutting away underbush, preparatory to making a new road bed. It
was a delight to watch their sinewy bodies bend and strain, moving here
and there through the thorns and sharp twigs with never a scratch. They
came across many curious creatures among the rotting trunks and leaf
mould, and when they learned we were interested, they would tie their
captives with liana threads, or imprison them in clever leaf boxes, and
save them for us. The most weird looking of these were gigantic whip
scorpions or pedipalp spiders (_Admetus pumilio_) like brobdignagian
daddy-long-legs, which crawled painfully about on their slender legs and
never showed an inclination to bite. They were of great size, stretching
some eight and a half inches across. The three hinder pairs of legs were
normal and used for walking, while the fourth pair was attenuated and
functioned as feelers—the “whips”—measuring full ten inches in length.
The jaws were most terrible organs, three inches long, dove-tailed with
wicked spines, while the tips ended in villainous fangs.
[Illustration: FIG. 85. WHIP SCORPION OR PEDIPALP SPIDER.]
A few hundred yards farther we came to a small clearing where the squaws
were cooking dinner. The houses of these happy people are of the simplest
construction. Four poles support a roof covered with loose palm thatch,
open on all sides. The hammocks are hung beneath this and an open fire
is built in the centre. The Guiana Indians are unequalled exponents of
the simple life.
In the deep jungle we are constantly impressed with the straightness of
all the trunks. The lianas and bush-ropes may be scalloped or spiral, or
with a multitude of little steps like the Monkey Ladder, and still easily
reach the life-giving light high overhead. But the trees can afford no
bends or curves or gnarly trunks; they rise like temple columns. Cell
must be on cell, each to aid in the life race upward. There are seldom
high winds here in this great calm hot-house. Everywhere between the
great trunks—whitish in the Crabwood, smoothed and noded in the Congo
Pump, and deeply fluted in the Paddlewoods—between all these mast-like
forms, are draped the slender ratline threads and cables of the aërial
rigging.
We seat ourselves on a prostrate trunk free of scorpions, at one side of
the corduroy road, and watch and listen. Beside us on a tiny, dull red
Mora sprout, eating voraciously is a caterpillar, branched and rebranched
with a maze of nettle-hairs, while near it is another—a fuzzy fellow—who
gives us one of the most unexpected surprises of the whole trip. As we
first see him he is palest lavender in color, covered with long straight
hairs, longer than those of our familiar black and brown woolly bear
caterpillar of the north. Five minutes later we look again and see a
third caterpillar—or no, it is the second one, but remarkably changed—a
creature flat and immovable, covered with a score of recurved pink tufts
of curled hair. The caterpillar chameleon has flattened his longer
pelage of lavender into a thin line of prostrate down, bringing into
view the recurved pink tufts, and thus has become an entirely different
object, both as to shape, color and pattern. There must be a special
set of muscles controlling these hairs. Even if a bird had appetite to
digest such an unsavory hirsute object, it would well be dismayed at the
transformation.
Everywhere we observe examples of protective form or coloration. On the
under side of a branch in front of us are what appear to be many tufts
of blackish moss—until we brush against some of it and a few of the
tufts resolve into dense bunches of caterpillars. Others which we touch
on purpose to see if they be caterpillars or not, deceive us doubly by
retaining their vegetable character.
On the ground at our feet are scattered seed sheaths which have fallen
from the branches high overhead. There are myriads of them. Suddenly one
takes legs to itself and moves and only after examining it closely do
we know it for a beautiful brown elater, a beetle (_Semiotus ligneus_)
embossed with pale ivory—a perfect living counterpart of the arboreal
seed sheaths strewn all about. Words completely fail to give an idea of
the wonder and delight of having one’s senses set at naught by these
devices of nature. After being taken in by several, we imagine we see
them everywhere in innocent leaves or bit of lichens!
Many travellers—Wallace and Bates among them—speak often of the
scarcity of flowers in the tropics, but here at Hoorie and on our
later expeditions we were hardly ever out of sight of blossoms. A few
feet behind us, as we sit on the log, are two Solomon-seal-like plants
(_Castus_ sp.) eighteen inches high, with the stem and leaves growing in
a wide ascending spiral—making one revolution throughout its course. A
sheaf of flower heads appears at the top of the plant with a single white
open flower, giving forth the sweetest perfume. Bell-shaped, it is formed
by a single sweeping petal, the edges apposed along the summit, and the
mouth rimmed with the finest hair-like fringe. The slit in the upper
part is protected by a second narrow petal recurved at the tip, showing
the heart within. Such a blossom would be a splendid addition to our
conservatories, and a vast harvest awaits the grower of tropical plants
other than orchids.
Now, the morning half gone, rain falls—a gentle mist, light as dew,
refreshing and pleasant.
[Illustration: FIG. 86. A JUNGLE BLOSSOM.]
Through the drops to the blossom comes a great morpho butterfly of blue
tinsel, soon followed by a big yellow papilio. A tiny white butterfly,
bordered with black, dashes up and attacks the papilio with fury, driving
it away, as a Kingbird vanquishes a Hawk.
Just as we are about to arise, a Goldbird calls in the distance and then
without warning a beautiful song rings out close at hand—six or eight
clear descending notes like the early morning chant of the Woodhewer, but
even more liquid, running together at the last into a maze of warbling
which continues for eight or ten seconds—then ceases, and the liquid
notes form an exquisite finalé of a trio of sweet phrases. The singer
is invisible; we never learn what it is, but it deserves a place near
the head of the songsters even of temperate climes. As we walk along,
Toucans and other birds fly high overhead with whirring beats of their
drenched wings. Woodhewers loop from trunk to trunk and peer at us as
we pass, while Ant-birds fly here and there. In all our tramps through
thick jungles, these two latter families are in the majority, the former
hitching up the trunks like brown Woodpeckers of various sizes, the
latter simulating Wrens, Warblers and Sparrows in action and often in
voice.
One, a White-shouldered Pygmy Ant-bird,[91] now flits ahead of us, tiny
as a Wren, slate-colored, with white dots on the lesser coverts of the
wings and a dotted bar across the wings. The flanks and under wings are
white and although ordinarily concealed, yet the little fellow flirts his
wings every second, thus flashing out the color, and making himself most
conspicuous. His call-note is low and inarticulate, but he occasionally
lisps a pleasing little song; _chu! chu! chúwee!_
We enter a deep narrow gully, our feet sinking deep in moss and mould,
trip over a hidden root and, looking back, see a magnificent rhinoceros
beetle which we have disturbed, feebly kicking his six legs in the air.
In these deep valleys the air is saturated with reeking odors—woody,
spicy and mouldy and altogether delightful. Moss grows on the stems of
the plants like wide radiating fans of delicate green lace. In these
places we find the commonest palms which grow near Hoorie—stemless, with
fronds springing fern-like from the ground.
Leaving the vicinity of the trail we start out through the heart of
the jungle, keeping by compass in a general northwest direction. Here
the trees increase in size and grow almost thirty feet apart, the
intervening space being filled with lesser growth, parasitic lianas and
huge ferns eight to twelve feet in height, tree-ferns in size but not in
mode of growth.
The rain now increases and we plod happily along drenched to the skin,
giving ourselves up to the delight of a walk in a tropical downpour.
Serenely oblivious of pools and dripping branches, we trudge along
until finally a tacuba over a creek breaks with our weight and we
splash in up to our waists. Indeed we had long ago become accustomed to
such drenchings, for during our stay at Hoorie the days were alternate
sunshine and shower. In starting out for a long tramp we never thought of
taking any protection against the rain. The only thing to be shielded was
the precious camera. What matters a wetting when one is perfectly dressed
for whatever may happen!
A word must be said here from the woman’s point of view about the costume
which was adopted as being absolutely suited to the bush life. In the
first place it was light—so light that one never felt the burden of a
single superfluous ounce of weight, and when thus freed from the drag
of heavy clothing one would come in unfatigued from tramps which would
have been impossible for a woman in orthodox dress, no matter how short
the skirt. But in the light khaki knickerbockers, loose negligee shirts
of scotch flannel or fibrous cellular cloth, stockings and tennis shoes
and a water-proof felt hat, one was ready for anything. If soaked by a
sudden downpour, a few minute’s walk in the sun would dry one; if walking
difficult tacubas, or clambering over huge fallen trees, of which there
were any number throughout the forest, or climbing precipitous and
slippery hills one was never hampered by unsuitable dress.
Of course there are many wildernesses where it is unnecessary for a woman
to wear knickerbockers and where there is no reason why she should defy
public prejudice by doing so; but the woman who attempts to tramp through
the South American jungle will find that safety and comfort make them
absolutely essential.
One realized as never before with what handicaps woman has tried to
follow the footsteps of man; with the result that physical exhaustion has
robbed her of all the joys of life in the open.
Returning to our day in the jungle; we tramped silently over the sodden
ground, now and then sending some panic-stricken Macaw or Parrot
screeching from its roost. After an hour the rain ceased and the sun
shone brightly, but where we were, many yards beneath the vast mat of
tree-top foliage, only single spots and splashes of light broke the solid
shadows. For a long distance we trod silently on deep mould and moss,
and not a sound of beast or bird broke the stillness. As we crossed a
swirling creek on the trunk of a mighty fallen tree, something fluttered
ahead. We could not see what it was. Closer we came and still the object
remained indistinct; we seemed to see a butterfly and yet it appeared
impossible. At last we marked it down on a fern frond and crept up until
our eyes were within two feet. Nothing was visible but the graceful
lacery of the frond, until a slanting beam of sunlight struck it and
there, close before us, was the ghost of a butterfly! It spread fully
three inches but was wholly transparent save for three tiny spots of
azure near the edge of the hind wings (_Haetera piera_). As we looked, it
drifted to a double-headed flower of scarlet, and when it alighted, the
scarlet of the flower and the green of the leaf were as distinct as if
seen through thin mica, while the faint gray haze of the insect’s wings
were marked only by the indistinct veination. The appearance of this
ghostly butterfly amid the silence and awe-inspiring stillness of the
reeking jungle was most impressive.
[Illustration]
Then came an interruption, so sudden and unrelenting that it seemed to
reach to the very heart of nature. A Red “Baboon” raised his voice less
than fifty yards away, and even the leaves seemed to tremble with the
violence of the outburst of sound. A long, deep, rasping, vibrating roar,
followed by a guttural inhalation hardly less powerful. After a dozen
connected roars and inbreathings the sound descended to a slow crescendo,
almost died away and then broke out with renewed force.
We crept swiftly toward the sound, treading as softly as possible and
soon, in a high bulletwood, we saw three of the big red monkeys. The male
passed on out of sight, and the second, a medium-sized animal, followed.
The third was a mother with her baby clinging tightly to her back. She
climbed slowly, showing her rich light golden red fur and beard, while
the arms and legs of her dark-furred baby were revealed as lines of
darker color around her body.
Twenty minutes later we stalked another roaring male, and found four
in this troop. We saw two of the females giving voice with the leader,
shrill falsettos which became audible only during the less deafening
inspiration.
We tried to think of a simile for the voice of this monkey and could only
recur to that which always came to mind—the roar of wind, ushering in a
cyclone or terrific gale. And yet there was ever present to the ear the
feeling of something living—as if mingled with the elemental roar was the
howl of a male jaguar. No sound ever affected us quite as this; seeming
always to prestige some unnamed danger. While it lasted, the sense of
peace which had been inspired by the calmness and silence of the jungle
gave place to a hidden portent of evil. Yet we loved it, and the savage
delight which we took in this and other wilderness sounds made our pulses
leap.
THE DROWNED FOREST.
At the engine house a ten foot dam had been thrown across the Hoorie
Creek bed, and the apparently slight cause had brought about wide
reaching effects; this slight raising of the water throwing back the
creek in many directions. One could hardly call it a lake as there was no
wide body of water, and yet it had a shore line of more than ten miles,
reaching out a long finger-like extension up every side valley. The
original creek was only a few feet wide and the jungle grew down to the
very bank. So now the trees were deep under water.
All which were below the new level were dead, standing like an array of
tall bare ghosts compared to the luxuriant forest all about. When on
a rise of ground, one could trace the course of the lake by the lines
of naked branches. And when steering one’s canoe between the leafless
trunks, the effect was most startling. The sunlight came through in a
way different from any tropical forest. Every leaf had fallen, leaving
the trees as bare as in a northern winter and stripping the vines and
bush-ropes, but the condition of the parasites and air-plants was most
interesting. All those which were truly parasitic, living on the life-sap
of their hosts, were of course also dead, but the orchids and other
air-plants were flourishing—showing as large tufts or sprays of light
green here and there. In places the branches had a beaded effect, so
numerous and yet so isolated were the epiphytes.
We drifted silently along, by the impetus of a touch of the paddle on a
passing trunk. Orchids were in blossom, and ferns, mosses and lichens
ran riot in orange, brown and ivory patches on the tree-trunks. Muricots
and the fierce perai were abundant here, and now and then some fish
broke water, throwing rings of light into the shadowy places. Spiders,
ants and a host of other wingless insects were crawling on many of the
trunks, made captive by the flood. Their inability to walk on the water
was evident when we knocked some of them off, so they must have lived on
their island trees for the last year, the time of existence of the dam.
The spiders were legion in species, hardly two alike, from minute ones,
shaped like nothing else under heaven, with relatively enormous hooks and
thorns on their brightly colored abdomens, to giant tarantulas, who stood
up and threatened us before beating a dignified retreat.
[Illustration: FIG. 87. THE DROWNED FOREST.]
The increase of water had attracted many water-loving birds, and great
Rufous Kingfishers[67] swung past us, strong-winged, beautiful birds,
carrying on their business of life in a virile, unhesitating way. Between
the trunks flashed the White-banded Swallows[118] now hovering before a
trunk and snatching a spider, now dipping at full speed for a floating
gnat. A hollow rattling drew our attention upward, and there, gazing
intently down at us, was a splendid Woodpecker—the Guiana Ivory-bill,[89]
close kin to our Ivory-bill of the Florida swamps. Imagine a big
Woodpecker with dark brown back, wings and tail, while the long erect
crest, head, neck and breast are bright scarlet, shading into rich rufous
on the under parts! Such a beauty looked down at us, and then without
sign of fear dived into a hole.
The Indians, passing several times a day, with loads of cord wood in
their ballyhoos or flat-bottomed boats, were familiar with the Woodpecker
and asserted that the bird had no mate. It was a male and although we
visited the place several times no female ever appeared. The dead tree
which held the nest was called Aramaca by the Indians, and was about
a foot and a half in diameter, with the entrance not less than sixty
feet above the water. A living tree like it on the bank near by had
obtuse entire leaves and large, brown, slightly curved pods. The trunk
was rotten, especially at the water line, and as it could not have
remained standing much longer, we decided to investigate the home of this
little-known bird.
We hailed the first Indians who appeared and set them to work felling
the tree. The Woodpecker flew out at the first stroke of the axe, and
remained close by, showing little fear or anxiety. We landed and the
Indians made the trunk fall in our direction. It struck the water with
a terrific splash, breaking into several lengths, and finally coming to
rest with the hole upward. Running out along the floating log we found
that the nest contained a single bird, with no trace of addled eggs or
other young. The opening was a circle, four inches in diameter, and the
cavity fourteen inches deep. The young bird was about five days old,
featherless and downless, but the sprouting feather tracts were very
distinct.
On the edge of the branches of the lower mandible, about three-quarters
of the way to their base, were two round, white knobs or warts, and a
large white patch like an abnormally large egg-tooth was at the tip of
each mandible. These structures were undoubtedly direction marks for
aiding the parent in finding the mouth of the young bird in the darkness
of the nest chamber. When the mouth was open they formed the four
corners, with the throat cavity in the centre.
A most remarkable collection of creatures gathered on the upper side
of their wrecked tree, tenants of the bark and wood for the last year.
Two small green-headed lizards made flying leaps and escaped ashore.
But marooned for life were several species of bark beetles (_Nyctobates
giganteus_ and _Paxillus leachii_), a huge boring beetle, and spiders
galore. We noticed a slight disturbance among the bits of floating
bark and pith, and scooped up a most wonderful creature—a true bug,
perfectly flat, with the sides of its body drawn out into irregular flat
serrations, while in color it was the very essence of lichened bark or
dead leaf. Placed on a piece of wood it instantly drew in its legs and
clung tightly. If it had not been frightened by the water we could have
handled it a dozen times without knowing it was an insect.
A few yards away a pair of Mealy Amazon Parrots[63] were shrieking and
flying restlessly about a great Mora tree, but we could not discover
their nest. On our way home a dainty Blue Honey Creeper[136a] alighted on
the bow of our canoe; rich deep blue except for wings, tail and throat
which were black. The feet and legs were clear yellow, showing most
conspicuously against the plumage.
A pair of Great Green Cassiques[150] had swung their four-foot pendent
nest from the tallest limb of a tree standing in the water, and we
spent ten minutes watching the male court his mate. As he uttered
his incoherent medley of liquid cowbell-like notes, he bent his
neck, thrusting his head far downward and forward, and at the same
time throwing both wings forward and around in a semicircle. As this
curious action was completed, the vocal utterance came to a close and
the performance was over. The early stages in the evolution of such a
courtship may be observed in our common Cowbird of the north, and a
further developed stage in the little Guiana Cowbird.
THE CITY OF THE CASSIQUES.
On the first day of our arrival, even before we came in sight of the
clearing, we heard the cries of the splendid big Orioles or Cassiques,
known all over Guiana as Bunyahs. In the creek bed below the dam, but
within the radius of the clearing, stood a medium sized tree and among
its branches a colony of Scarlet-backed Cassiques[152] were flying back
and forth from their nests.
We made a mental note of them at the time but passed on without giving
them more than a glance. Later near the bungalow we occasionally saw
them in small numbers associating, as we have already stated, with the
Lavender Jays.[161]
As we wished to take a number of young Cassiques back to New York with
us and to study the colony as thoroughly as we could in the space of a
week’s time, we started out early one morning for the Cassiques’ tree.
The long pendent nests were all seventy feet or more from the ground.
Taking the rusty climbing irons from their case, we recalled vividly the
last time they had been in use—a cold June day in Nova Scotia, when the
nesting hole of a Three-toed Woodpecker had been the goal. How different
were these tropical surroundings!
Bravely the start up the tree was made; jab and pull, jab and pull, while
the straps pressed in on ankle and knee, giving that peculiar sensation
that cannot be described, but which every climbing naturalist knows so
well. Ten, twenty, thirty feet were scaled, and then one’s hand on the
opposite side of the trunk broke through some tiny earthen tunnels, and,
like many an unfortunate telegraph-line-man, struck a live wire. At
least, the sensation was very much the same, only the electric shocks
were here progressive, and when they had reached the elbow, they were
seen to be a numerous and enthusiastically defensive horde of ants. At
one end a pair of jaws gave a firm point of leverage and attachment,
whereby the insect could secure a footing while operating the sting from
the opposite end of his anatomy.
There have been martyrs to science as well as religion, but much as one
might desire to look into those nests only forty feet above, it may be
doubted if any man could have controlled his feelings and coördinated his
muscles sufficiently to continue the ascent. The details of the descent
were hazy; an exceedingly rough trunk seemed to shoot upward through
one’s embrace until the ground was reached and the Cassiques screamed
their delight.
They had seen many of the four-handed folk foiled in a similar manner,
and now this new enemy, who scaled the trunk with two hands and two spurs
was equally baffled by the tiny allies of the birds!
But study the colony we must, and selecting a line of soft, springy
underbrush, we had an Indian drop the tree on it A cloud of screaming
Cassiques followed it to earth, scattering only as we ran up and began
to gather the young birds. Out of the first nest there rushed a lizard
about a foot in length, brown, with head and fore-legs bright green.
He scurried like a streak of light across the red tailings, the speed
sending him up on his hind legs, so that his track was bipedal.
[Illustration: FIG. 88. NESTS OF RED-BACKED CASSIQUES.]
Before we describe the condition of the colony as we found it when we
reached the fallen tree, it will be interesting to record its early
history as far as we know it. This was the first year of this colony of
Cassiques, as last year there were none nearer the clearing than the
mouth of Hoorie Creek, three and one-half miles away, where in a tree,
overhanging the house of a black, a colony has been in existence for two
years. Three months ago, in January, one Scarlet-backed Cassique was
observed in the clearing at the mine, but it soon vanished. Within a few
days, however, a number of these birds appeared, perhaps guided by the
solitary scout. They set to work at once, establishing their new colony
in the tree which we had cut down. So at the time we began to study this
colony, it could not have been older than three months.
The tree stood alone in the centre of the tailings from the gold washing
and 20 or 30 feet away from all the surrounding trees. The finely sifted
sediment of the tailings had broadened out the water of the creek bed
so that it flowed delta-like on both sides of the tree. With their
characteristic intelligence, the Cassiques had taken advantage of this
unusual condition, and were thus guarded from enemies, by the water, by
the isolation from other trees and by the far more formidable stinging
ants which probably for many years had had their home on the trunk
of the tree. The little bird city as we found it contained 39 homes;
three-quarters of which were on one branch, 70 feet from the ground,
while 10 were suspended from a smaller branch, a few feet lower down.
Of the 39 nests, 4 were only half finished, while 10 were empty, having
been already used and deserted this season. The others may be divided as
follows:
One nest contained an addled egg; white with brownish spots
chiefly at the larger end.
One nest had one egg containing a week old embryo.
Two nests each had a skeleton of a well grown young bird; one
of which had been caught about the neck, and the other about
the legs by fine flexible tendrils which had caused their
deaths.
There were altogether 28 young birds: 9 full-fledged, 16 with
feathers just appearing, while 3 were recently hatched. They
were distributed as follows:
14 nests contained 1 young bird.
7 nests contained 2 young birds.
The special distribution was as follows:
_Number and Condition of Young._ _Number of Nests._
2 well-fledged young in 2 nests.
1 well-fledged young in 5 nests.
2 partly fledged young in 4 nests.
1 partly fledged young in 8 nests.
2 newly hatched birds in 1 nest.
1 newly hatched bird in 1 nest.
The nests were typically Cassique-like, made of stout rootlets and
grasses, while at the lower end was a cup-shaped lining of very fine
grass and root hairs, forming a soft bedding. The nests varied from
thirteen to eighteen inches in length, and all but five had an upper
roosting chamber, built on above the entrance. These five were built
directly beneath a group of others, and the bases of the ones above
served as protecting roofs. This was a most interesting adaptation to
varying conditions. Just before felling the tree we noticed in several
instances that both parents shared in the work of bringing food to the
young ones. Almost all of the young were uninjured by the fall of the
tree. Three were thrown out of the nests and these we chloroformed in
order to find what their food had been. The stomach of one was crammed
with white seeds of two kinds; one nearly round and about as large as the
head of a pin, while the others were longer, perhaps one-third of an inch
in length. Mingled with these seeds were remains of numerous insects;
beetles, grasshoppers and caterpillars. The two other birds, which were
younger, and almost bare of feathers, had received chiefly animal food,
as follows:—
1. A three-inch, smooth caterpillar, medium sized spider, many
small bugs, and a mass of berry seeds.
2. Several one-inch cut-worms; spider; small iridescent beetle;
yellow butterfly; a few berry seeds.
The young birds were almost without down, the adult plumage being
outlined very shortly after hatching. In a bird of only four or five days
the dull orange or yellowish color of the rump feathers shows plainly.
When these break through their sheaths, the color is a dull rose;
becoming redder as the feathers increase in length, but not attaining the
brilliant scarlet of the parent birds until the succeeding moult. When
full grown, these birds measure about ten inches in length and are glossy
black in color, save only for the brilliant scarlet rump. The bill is a
conspicuous greenish white, while the feet are black. The eyes of the
nestling are dark hazel in color, while in the old birds the iris is of a
most beautiful greenish blue.
The voice of the very young birds is a shrill incessant _peep! peep!_
when they are gaping for food, but the half-fledged youngsters utter
solitary harsher notes under the same conditions. The five fully fledged
birds had learned what fear was and instead of feeding, crouched down
at the bottom of the artificial nest which Mr. Crandall made for them.
But hunger overcame fear and before night all had taken food. We kept an
Indian busy gathering a berry or fruit which looked, tasted and smelled
much like a miniature tomato. The leaves of this low plant are large,
deeply incised and studded above and below with numerous thorns. The
plant is from three to six feet in height, is abundant in the clearing,
and forms the favorite vegetable food of the Cassiques. In addition to
this, the young birds had a few mealworms and ants’ eggs from our small
store, and all the soft insects which our Indian could capture. After two
full days of grasshopper catching, the pride of the noble red-man began
to feel itself injured, and additional inducements in the way of tobacco
were needed to sustain his interest in his orthopterous pursuits.
On the following day the oldest of the young Cassiques flew feebly to a
low perch and nothing could induce him to return to his fellows again.
He uttered isolated call-notes, which however, at the approach of food,
merged at once into the baby scream.
We had carried the young Cassiques a third of a mile to the veranda
of the bungalow, where they were put out of sight and sound of their
parents; yet early next morning four Cassiques had discovered their
offspring and were flying back and forth close to the house carrying food
in their beaks. In an hour no fewer than twenty Cassiques had collected,
and on placing the young out in a low tree, the parents came at once and
fed them.
One bird which we watched carefully brought masses of caterpillars which
it inserted within the wide mouth of the young. Although the young birds
were mixed up, five or six of the same size being placed together in one
artificial nest, yet there was no question about recognition on the part
of the old birds. At least there was no reckless undirected feeding;
certain young were fed by certain adults.
The second day after we had taken the young birds, no Cassiques came to
feed them, and we found the reason was that the entire flock had begun
to found a new colony in the very nearest tree to the one we had cut
down, about twenty feet away. This too was isolated and protected both by
shallow water and by the vicious tunneling ants.
Some of the new nests must have been started the day before, as the roost
chambers were complete and in several the top of the nest itself was
finished. The rains had been rather heavy for a few days and may have
influenced the early building of the shelters above the nest. To the
three or four inches of nest the birds were bringing beakfuls of fibres,
both sexes working energetically. We were glad to know that our wholesale
destruction of the first colony site had wrought no permanent change.
At the rate the birds were building, the second colony would be in a
flourishing state in another two weeks.
These Red-backed Cassiques[152] together with their near relatives the
Yellow-backs[153] are most interesting birds, and a careful study of the
growth and daily routine of a colony would yield most valuable results.
They seem to trust more to the presence of man as a protection against
enemies than to the guardianship of wasps, but both methods are to be
found. We traced these birds all the way up the Barama, and from what we
could learn, none were found higher up, the colony at Hoorie Mine being
the farthest outpost.
NIGHT LIFE.
Owing to our brief stay and the difficulty of exploration in this hilly
and densely underwooded country, we gained little thorough knowledge
of the vertebrate fauna hereabouts. The phase of tropical life which,
during the week of our stay, was most striking, was the wonderful host
of insects attracted by the electric lights in the evening. The bungalow
contained four large rooms, two on each side of a wide central passage,
extending through the house—a kind of interior veranda, open front and
back. This was the dining room, where every day we feasted upon delicious
dishes of peccary, tinamou, curassow and paca, or “bush-hog,” “maam,”
“powie” and “labba,” as we learned to call them in the vernacular.
Here during the evening meal, after the lights were turned on, came
legions of the most curious, the most beautiful winged creatures
imaginable. We all turned entomologists and never tired of admiring
the wonderful colors, and bizarre shapes which night after night were
revealed in never-ending array. The first night Crandall sent up an
excited call of “Get a vial! Get a vial!” and this became our vesper
slogan. From the yard, or veranda, or room, or kitchen hut, would come
the call from some of our party, “Get a vial!” and the one nearest the
array of bottles in the improvised laboratory would hasten to the aid
of the discoverer, who would probably be found with eyes glued to some
strange creature and blindly reaching out behind for the approaching
vial, in which to capture his prize.
There were few insects of very small size and many indeed were gigantic,
as judged by our standards of the north. None were unpleasant and
they seldom attempted suicide in soup or cocoa. They were content to
flutter a moment about the electric globe and drop quietly to the white
table-cloth. Praying mantises, or “rar-hosses” as our southern negroes
call them, would whirr in and climb awkwardly over the bouquets of
flowers, swaying from side to side and now and then reaching out for some
passing insect, with a sudden unflexing of those murderous, deceptive
fore-legs. One which flew on the table was a new species, which has been
named _Stagmomantis hoorie_.[E] If exercise during meals is good for
one’s digestion then we were hygienic in the extreme, for twenty times in
succession we would have to go to the veranda laboratory to chloroform
our captives.
The second evening, although a heavy rain was falling, a bewildering
number of moths, mostly small but of exquisite patterns, dashed in
between the drops. There were almost never two alike; indeed among one
hundred species captured on two evenings, there were but two duplicates.
It is folly to try to describe with any exactness the beauty, even of
the commonest, plainest insect, and how much more impossible to convey
an accurate idea of these tropical beauties. Think of a sapling near
an electric light covered with fifty or sixty exquisite moon moths
(_Thysania agrippina_)—pale creamy white, banded and looped with lines of
brown—none less than nine inches in spread of wing and many reaching an
even foot across.
The hawk-moths that came to our table were all different, all beautiful;
one a study in pale yellow; another variegated green with blended purples
and red (_Argeus labruscae_) on the hinder wings. This one too bore on
its eyes the long shaft of a pollen stalk from some night flowering
orchid.
Then a moth would come, recalling somewhat the Promethea and Polyphemus
of our childhood’s collecting, but with great transparent mirrors in
the centre of the wings (_Attacus [Hesperia] erycina_); next, two as
different as possible but which we learned later were sexes of the
same species (_Dirphia tarquinia_)—the female, large, plain brown with
a forked streak of light across the fore-wings: her mate a full third
smaller with rosy hind-wings and fore-wings frosted white, save for two
conspicuous circles at the fork of his white lightning.
On the third evening there were fewer moths, but many more beetles and
grasshopper-like insects. Green was the predominating color among the
moths this evening—from palest yellow-green to darkest bottle-green. In
some the green had a border sending ray-like lines across all four wings.
Yellow and white were the colors almost always present in combination
with the green, the yellow being usually confined to the hinder wings. A
stain of gold was sometimes laid over the green, and in one beauty the
green seemed to have been spattered at hazard over a milky-white surface.
This proved to be a female of a species known only from a single male
(_Racheolopha nivetacta_) the female proving to be twice as large as her
mate.
Instead of burying the insects in envelopes or mounting them in the
orthodox way with the fore-wings raised unnaturally until the hind edge
is at right angles to the body, we merely supported the wings, and
allowed them to dry in the natural position. By doing this we usually
lost sight of part of the hinder wing, but we gained the true relation of
the spots and patterns on the fore-wings to those on the thorax and the
result was in many instances surprising. For example, when spread, the
fore-wings of one tiny moth (_Pronola fraterna_) showed two meaningless
black spots forming each one-third of a circle. When closed naturally,
these united with the black abdomen to form a perfect black circle
stamped upon a mat of velvety cream color.
All words are inadequate to describe these exquisite creatures; one
with the lightning flash of gold across its cloudy background; another,
enscribed with Chinese hieroglyphics; a third of lavender, yellow and
russet mosaics set about large transparent windows of opalescent blue.[F]
One of the most exquisite was a little moth (_Chrysocestis fimbriaria_)
spreading less than an inch, with wings of iridescent mother-of-pearl
rimmed with dull golden, on which was set a score of embossed beads of
the most brilliant gilt, flashing as no gem ever flashed.
If one could spend a season here studying the motions alone of these
insects, it would well repay him. One moth, iridescent with a broad
border of black (_Eudioptis hyalinata_), curled the abdomen straight up
into the air, and separated its extremity into a wide-spread tuft of
hairs. These radiated like the tentacles of a sea anemone, and when the
whole was waved about, it looked like some strange crawling caterpillar,
holding its head high above the prostrate wings of the moth.
The last evening, as if to make our departure still harder, the insects
increased in number. Walking sticks five and six inches in length
skimmed through the air, their bodies, legs and wings dark in color and
ornamented with irregular scales and projections, until their resemblance
to a jagged-barked twig was perfection. If this species were represented
by thousands of individuals in its haunts, birds or four-footed enemies
would soon learn to detect even such an exact counterfeit, and the
protective value would be lost. But in the tropics the infinite variety
is the key-note to success in protective adaptation. On the table-cloth
at one time would be perfect green leaves (katydid-like orthopters),
green leaves with large worm-eaten defects or spottings (some of the
mantises) and many brown, lichened leaves and twigs (moths and walking
sticks). Even if two of the same species appeared at once, the chances
were that one would be much the larger and of an entirely different shade
with a distinct individual pattern of mimic defects.
Big owl moths (_Hyperchiria liberia_, _H. nausica_, _Automeria
cinctistriga_ and others) alternated with tree-hoppers of all sizes with
branched and rebranched horns rising from their thoraxes (_Hemiptycha
[Umbonia] spinosa_ and others). The prize of one evening was a
grasshopper (_Pterochroya ocellata_) which came in on the sleeve of the
coolie butler. It had alighted on the white cloth as he crossed the
yard between the kitchen and the house. Its wide, jagged fore-wings met
closely above the back, forming a half green, half brown leaf, complete
even to the mid and side ribs. On the hind wings were what we could
merely guess were either sexual ornaments or warning markings, visible
only in flight. The ground color of these translucent wings was a finely
mottled yellow and brown, while painted on the pleated surface were two
eye-spots like those upon the feathers of a Peacock-pheasant, a dark
velvety shaded portion with a delicately shaded ocellus at one edge.
The last insect captured was a tree-hopper as big as a cicada, mottled
and marbled on the fore-wings, and stained scarlet on the hinder.
In Appendix C, pages 397, 398, I have added a list of a few of the moths
and Orthoptera collected on the dining table at Hoorie, which have been
identified.
CHAPTER VII.
THROUGH THE COASTAL WILDERNESS WITH INDIANS AND CANOE.
The most interesting observation we made on the launch trip from Hoorie
Creek down the Barama River, was of a flocking of more than two hundred
big green Cassiques[150] the birds of the liquid cow-bell notes, which
passed low overhead with a roar of cackling voices, and a loud whistling
of wings, bound for some safe roosting place—still another species to
exhibit this common roosting habit.
We found Farnum’s deserted, the family having gone down to Georgetown,
so we took possession of the empty house; swinging our hammocks on the
porch and watching the sun sink over the river, with the dark forest
beyond, growing ever darker. As we had been told that there were no
mosquitoes, we had not hung our hammock nets, and the droning hum of
these miserable pests kept us awake for hours. From across the river came
the discontinuous, labored puffs of an overloaded freight train pulling
up a grade. Now and then the wheels would slip and four or five chugs
would come in quick succession. One could imagine the heavy trail of
smoke and sparks, the shining rails and the long line of heavy, slowly
moving cars—then the sound ceased, and far down the river another frog
took up the chugging. Now and then the voice of a red “baboon” came to
our ears; and continually the mosquitoes “zooned” and on the floor below
our hammocks the dog whined unceasingly as he scratched his bête rouge.
When we opened our eyes, lightning bugs of several candle-power flashed
above us in the thatch of the porch, and by their light we could see big
tarantulas dragging their prey here and there, seeming ready to drop with
fatigue at any moment. All the sounds of the wilderness are lulling, save
that of mosquitoes when one is netless. Many times that night we wished
ourselves back in the boat.
We had heard that there was a coast-wise way of returning to Georgetown;
threading little-known rivers and creeks in a small canoe. The idea of
exploring those charming little creeks at which all through the journey
we had looked with longing, was fascinating to us, and we owe this
realization of our dreams to Mrs. Wilshire, who planned the trip and gave
it to us as a surprise. This proved to be the most wonderful canoe voyage
which any of us had ever taken. For five days we were paddled, portaged,
towed and pushed through a wonderland abounding in rarely beautiful
birds, butterflies and orchids. We slept at night under our tiny
tarpaulin, or invaded, and were made welcome at little isolated Indian
missions. Our pen falters at the thought of attempting to give any idea
of the wonders of that trip, but day by day we set down our impressions
as best we could and here are some of them.
It was almost noon on the 16th of March before we had our men, luggage
and canoe in readiness to start. Pushing off we said good-by to the rest
of the party; including Crandall and his precious cargo of Red-backed
Cassiques and other live birds. They were to return via Morawhanna and
the “Mazaruni” direct to Georgetown.
We secured a little canoe, or ballyhoo, about fifteen feet long, with
a tarpaulin stretched over the centre. In the bow were four Indian
paddlers, two men and two boys, while in the stern as steersman and
paddler was a splendidly built Carib Indian, Marciano, chief of the
Hoorie woodmen.
[Illustration: FIG. 89. BARAMA RIVER FROM FARNUM’S HOUSE.]
Amidships was piled our luggage and we distributed ourselves over and
around the clothing bags and larder boxes. Mr. and Mrs. Wilshire and we
two composed the list of passengers, and the unceasing pleasure of those
five days was a good test of mutual congeniality and adaptability to
“bush-travel.”
The stroke adopted by our Indians was a peculiar one, which we were
to hear all day and often throughout the night, for these men of the
wilderness, short and stocky in build, seemed tireless, and hour after
hour they would keep hard at work, sometimes for as much as thirty-six
hours at a stretch, with only a brief nap or two.
The Indian paddle rhythm set by little Pedro, the younger boy in the bow,
accentuated every other stroke, the tempo of the strokes becoming more
and more rapid, until, when further speed was impossible, one stroke was
suddenly omitted, and the gap thus formed marked the new slow tempo,
which in turn, in the course of fifteen to twenty strokes of the paddle,
would work up to a climax and the former rhythm begin again. All kept
perfect time, the new change not being inaugurated on any exact stroke,
but the others seeming to know instinctively when it would come. Whether
they were eating, talking or looking behind them it was the same, all
changed as one man.
Two or three hours after starting, we made a landing in order that the
Indians could cook their breakfast, invariably composed of a combination
of pork, dried fish, rice and cassava. This menu was varied only when
one or more of the ingredients happened not to be procurable. Sometimes
for many days the Guiana Indians worked hard upon nothing but cassava.
The jungle was thick about the little clearing which they made for a
fire, and word passed rapidly along the lines of parasol ants that
manna was available in the form of rice and bread crumbs. A few minutes
after a bit of food was thrown down it would mysteriously take legs to
itself and begin to walk away, the motor power being myriads of these
interesting insects. Big-headed soldiers patrolled all along the winding
trail of foragers, troubling no one unless they were disturbed or the
workers attacked. Several species of orchids, Brassias and others unknown
to us, were in blossom all about us.
On we went again, becoming more and more delighted with our method of
travel. There was no puffing, smelly kerosene engine, no clatter of many
tongues; and we were close to the water with nothing overhead between us
and the sky, or the overhanging branches. The typical river birds paid
little attention to our silent craft; and we were able to watch Giant
Kingfishers,[67] Guiana Cormorants,[47] Snake-birds,[48] Parrakeets and
Swallows at close range.
In sheltered places along the bank our canoe pushed through unbroken
masses of the floating rosettes of leaves, known as the Shell Flower
(_Pistia stratiodes_). The leaves are shell-shaped, thick, strongly
ribbed and light velvety green in color, covered with a coat of short,
dense hairs which repel the water so that when pushed beneath the surface
the plant bobs up as dry as before. Thousands of these little plants
become detached from their sheltered bays and are carried out to sea
where they decay and disappear. Small Water Hyacinths were less common.
The river was full from recent rains in the interior, and in some
places for several hundred yards the surface was thickly covered with
innumerable small yellow blossoms splashed with scarlet at their hearts,
while every now and then a large purple pea-blossom would be seen. These
had doubtless fallen from the tree-tops where the river was narrower and
the vines and branches overhung the stream. Many insects were carried
down afloat on the blossoms and now and then a great hairy tarantula
would appear, with each of his eight feet in a blossom, trying to keep
his balance until he could reach solid ground again.
[Illustration: FIG. 90. SCENE ON THE BARRABARRA.]
Agami Herons,[39] beautiful in their plumage of glossy green, chestnut
and blue, were standing here and there in the shallows snatching the
insects from the petals as they floated past.
At four o’clock in the afternoon we left the Barramanni River which had
averaged about two hundred feet in width, and entered the charming
little Biara, which was only about sixty feet from shore to shore. Here
the vegetation was very dense, water lilies in hundreds with curious,
serrated leaves and a profusion of the sweetest of flowers. We were
paddling through literally a river of water-lilies. Clavillina blooms
hung low over our faces; wild cocoa pods showed rich brown among the
foliage. Mucka-mucka with its great heart-shaped leaves was everywhere,
a plant which on a later trip was to interest us as forming the food of
the Hoatzin. The air was filled with the sweet penetrating calls of the
Goldbirds[115] and Woodhewers and now and then the puppy-like yaps of
Toucans.[81] Pendent nests were numerous, built so far out over the water
that we could touch them as we passed, thus safe from marauding monkey
and opossum.
The stream was dotted with islets, varying from a few inches to as many
yards in circumference, crowded with ferns and graceful sedges, all
perfectly reflected in the mirror-like water. One such islet of the
smallest size was crowned with a single-petalled, white calla lily,
surrounded by a host of tiny purple orchid blossoms; a square foot of
perfect beauty and perfume set in the ebony water. Seldom were we out
of sight of flowering orchid, vine, bush or tree. Orchids were in the
ascendant and our tarpaulin brushed against long Golden Showers, graceful
shoots of Cattleyas and curious green Spider Orchids.
There seems to be no autumn in this land, and death comes only to single
leaves, while the variegated scarlet and yellow hues of new sprouting
foliage made brilliant every bend of the stream. The Moriche or Eta Palm
is dominant here and the vegetation of these lesser streams is dense and
bushy,—intimate and delightful, rather than grand and awe-inspiring as
along the forest rim of the Barama.
Toucans and Ant-birds darted across the water ahead of us; tree-ferns
stretched out their graceful fronds and sifted their pollen down upon
us. The bird songs of this region are not long and elaborate, but there
was no dearth of most delightful, liquid phrases, usually loud and
penetrating. Six songs, all wholly unlike one another, reached us that
day, all unknown, mysterious. We steered close to the bank and picked a
wild cocoa pod but found it unripe and the beans had only a raw aroma.
Two long-snouted weevils crawled from the heart of the pod, one of the
myriad hidden forms of life of this wonderland.
[Illustration: FIG. 91. WAKE OF A MANATEE SWIMMING UP RIVER.]
Now and then we passed a little open grassy savanna where the water was
no longer brown, but a clear black from the steeping of the decaying
vegetation.
In many places the water leaves showed where manatees had been browsing,
and occasionally we caught sight of the huge ungainly creatures, as they
swam slowly up stream or nosed the vegetation along the bank.
All this and much else we passed in an hour, and at five o’clock entered
a third stream—the Barrabarra. The whole country hereabouts is swampy, so
when at dark we stopped for our evening meal we did not land but rested
quietly among the lily pads. The Indians ate, as they did everything
else, silently, with only now and then some low guttural ejaculation.
[Illustration: FIG. 92. MANATEE BROWSING CLOSE TO THE BANK.]
We flashed our powerful electric light upon the lily pads and found that
the water was full of active life. Scores of little fishes were resting
motionless in the thin film of water covering the lily leaves, some with
the basal half of the body and two lines up and down from the eyes,
black. Marciano called them _Salaver_. In addition to other very slender
fish, there were numbers of little fresh-water prawns shooting about
among the maze of fanwort beneath the pads. The glint of strange shapes
came to us—tiny Cyclops and others which the human eye was powerless to
name without a microscope. We sat in the darkness listening to the sounds
of the swampy jungle. Not a mosquito hummed, and the frogs eclipsed all
other, lesser noises, calling in basso and treble, with tinkling bells
and a clear ringing chime like the æolian singing of a telegraph wire.
Marciano climbed back to his seat in the stern, gave an order and the
paddles pushed sluggishly through the pads, carrying fear and tumult
to thousands of little aquatic lives. The next four hours we shall
never forget as long as we live. On and on we went through the pitchy
darkness, guided solely by the light of the little bow lantern. The bush
ropes ahead stood out in sharp silhouette like giant serpents coiled in
mid-air across our path. The night seemed to press in on our tiny atom of
life. The shadows of the waving arms of the paddlers were thrown on the
foliage behind the boat, looking like some huge spider-like thing forever
following it. The sheets and drops of water thrown up by the Indians
gleamed like molten silver.
The open savannas increased in size and extended farther on each side
than the shaft of electric light could carry. Great tufts of pampas
grass towered high above our heads, drooping gracefully outward in all
directions. The channel narrowed and the lily blossoms increased until
the water was thickly studded with them. Their odor hung heavy on the
air and when one of the blossoms itself was smelled, the perfume was as
sweet and as overpowering as chloroform. During the day they had been all
but odorless. For miles we pushed through the tangle of water plants;
in places the men having to drag and push the boat over the reeds and
grasses, crushing scores of spider lilies with the keel. This is the
back-water divide between the rivers which flow northward into the Waini
and those which flow to the south. During the dry season this route
becomes impassable.
[Illustration: FIG. 93. MANATEE TAKING IN AIR AND ABOUT TO DIVE.]
Later we came to open pond-like spaces and here we found another species
of water lily with a smaller flower and a smooth-edged leaf with maroon
colored under side. Owls, large moths and bats occasionally flitted
across the field of light.
It was half-past ten at night when Marciano told us that we were turning
into the Morooka River. We were to follow this river down to the very
sea, but here it was barely distinguishable as a narrow channel through
the grass and reeds. Another hour passed and several dark forms loomed up
in the dim light of our lantern, and when we reached them we found that
they were boats tied to a rough sort of landing.
We climbed out and stumbled sleepily about, getting the cramped feeling
out of our bodies. Then when the Indians had tied up the boat and slung
our hammock bags over their backs, we followed them up the long avenue of
lofty cocoanut palms which stretched down to the water’s edge. We felt
our way slowly in the darkness, walking stiffly and uncertainly after the
cramped position in which we had been compelled to sit for so many hours.
At last Marciano held high his lantern and we saw towering before us
a huge white cross. Instinctively we all paused reverently. Whatever
one’s faith may be, it is impossible to come thus upon the symbol of a
great and ancient church, standing in the midst of a vast and primeval
wilderness, without a feeling of awe and reverence. There in the teeming
ceaseless life of the wilderness was the mystery of creation: and there
stood the white cross, a symbol of man’s attempt to solve the tremendous
problem of creation and immortality.
[Illustration: FIG. 94. A VISTA OF THE BIARA.]
The light revealed a crude little church with an adjoining building
standing behind the cross. To this other building the Indians led us.
We knocked gently, then harder, then pounded. No response! Half a dozen
dogs gathered and howled mournfully. At last finding a side door ajar,
we entered a spacious room, part dining-room, part school-room, with
a loom and a half-finished Indian hammock in one corner. We called
and shouted, we pounded on the floor and walls, and at last from the
distance—upstairs—came an answering roar. Down to us came the jolliest
priest we ever hope to meet. Two strange men and women had invaded his
castle at midnight, routing him out of well-earned rest, and yet his
welcome was as warm as though we were expected friends. Our jovial host
furnished us with lights, and gave us permission to sling our hammocks
from the rafters of the great school-room. About one o’clock in the
morning we rolled into our swinging couches completely tired out. But
sleep was not to be had at once. An ominous gritting squeak was heard,
then another, and our faces were softly fanned by invisible wings.
“Vampires!” came the exclamation from the furthermost hammock. “Never
mind them,” answered a sleepy voice from Mr. Wilshire’s hammock; “doctors
say bleeding is healthful!” The scientist echoed his sentiments but in
vain. We had to dive down into the clothing bags and pull out the hammock
nets. Now these articles are somewhat difficult to adjust under the best
of conditions and this night they were perversity itself.
We found that in the packing at Hoorie, the nets had become mixed and
two were of an unknown pattern, with apparently no entrance hole except
at the ends. A hammock net is shaped like a buttoned up coat with the
hammock running through the sleeve portions. It is an acrobatic feat not
soon to be forgotten, when one is dead tired and in the dark, and has to
enter his net by climbing up to the end of the hammock rope and sliding
down through a small, long shute of netting! It was two in the morning
before we were settled, and as we finally dropped asleep a score of
fierce little demon faces were squeaking and gibbering at us.
At six o’clock the following morning we were awakened by a dozen little
naked Indian boys flitting silently about, peering at us like tiny copper
elves, or like human incarnations of the bats which had hovered about us
during the night. Going outdoors in the dusk we heard a perfect medley of
bird notes, Wrens, Thrushes, Tanagers, Seedeaters, all giving voice at
once, while from the farther end of the cocoanut walk came a chorus from
a colony of Yellow-backed Cassiques.[151] We saw the mission cat teasing
something and took from her a tiny oppossum with fur of richest brown,
and no larger than a mouse. The little creature was unhurt, but played
’possum until it recovered from its fear when it made itself at home in a
small suitcase.
[Illustration: FIG. 95. FATHER GILLETT AND HIS INDIAN BOYS.]
When our jolly priest appeared to wish us good-morning, the little
Indian lads bowed their bronze figures reverently and kissed his hand.
Some of them busied themselves weaving a hammock, while others set the
table and later served us at breakfast. Our priest was like the genial
monk of a mediæval story. He was delightful with his tribe of small
Indian boys, ordering them about in a great voice but with his eyes
beaming with affection for them. “Man alive!” he would shout, “bring the
finger-bowls!” And to our amazement, the wee naked valet not only knew
what finger-bowls were, but actually produced them, passing them around
the table with colossal dignity.
“That man’s a linguist,” the Father added; “he speaks English, Spanish
and several Indian dialects.”
The good Father’s heart was overflowing with kindness toward every living
thing. He could not even bear to see his cat waiting hungrily for her
breakfast, but ordered his small butler at once to give her some milk.
We wondered why the Father’s Indian boys had such straight, slim,
well-proportioned figures, instead of the unwieldy “cassava-stomachs” so
characteristic of the little savage Indians. With a twinkle in his eye
the Father told us that his first step in converting the small Indian
lad to Christianity was a huge dose of castor oil; then regular hours
and regular meals of nourishing food, instead of allowing them to munch
cassava all day. Then one might proceed by teaching them the doctrine,
and always a useful trade, while after that was achieved there was plenty
of time for a more literary education, if the individual warranted it.
He had reason to be proud of his method, for in all our travels we never
met a missionary whose works “spoke louder” than those of Father Gillett;
for the most successful and worthy Indians in the colony had been trained
by him. Some of them had become excellent engineers, others priests and
still others had learned good trades.
After breakfast the Father took us through the chapel, followed by his
dusky little tribe, all crossing themselves piously before the altar. He
showed us with pride the decorations of the altar and the ceiling, all
the work of himself and his little Indians. The ceiling represented the
dome of heaven, bright blue, and dotted with a multitude of white stars.
[Illustration: FIG. 96. TROPICAL LUXURIANCE.]
When we called our little Pedro, the youngest of our Indian paddlers, to
tell Marciano that we were ready, Father Gillett’s eyes filled with tears
and he said, “Is your name Pedro? I lost a lovely Pedro. He died of fever
last Easter. I did not know I could miss him so much. He used to talk to
me. He was not like other Indian boys. He loved to talk.” Then turning to
us he added simply, “It is a lonely life sometimes, you know.”
We were told that white women had never before passed through that part
of British Guiana. So unexpectedly did we arrive at midnight, and so
early did we depart next morning that perhaps our visit seems as unreal
to the good Father as it sometimes does to us—like a very vivid dream
which we can never forget. He loaded us with gifts of cocoanuts and fruit
and in the fresh coolness of early morning we again set forth on our
journey.
Just as we were paddling away, the Father ordered all his small boys into
the water for their regular morning swim. Head first they went, splashing
about as gayly as a school of strange copper-colored fish.
We found as we went on that the Marooka changed rapidly in character.
It was no wider but the water lilies and pampas grass disappeared and a
softer, finer grass covered the marsh, dotted with a host of purple and
yellow flowers rising from some aquatic plant. Isolated trees became more
numerous, and great Woodpeckers, resembling our splendid Ivory-bills,
looped here and there. Swallow-tailed Kites[58] dipped and soared and
Kiskadees[101] shrieked near the occasional huts of the Indians.
At noon we lunched on erbswurst and jam at a Protestant
Mission—Warramuri—where a small colony of Red-backed Cassiques were
established. A school of about fifty Indian children were studying and
reciting at the top of their lungs.
[Illustration: FIG. 97. CAPYBARA ON THE BANK OF A STREAM. (Photo by
Bingham.)]
We left in an hour and from here on the Marooka widened and consequently
lost somewhat in interest. The low elevation on which the English Mission
is built is composed wholly of fine white sand, and beyond this mangroves
began to appear and the foliage became less diversified.
We landed for an hour at a small cocoanut plantation and found a most
ingenious method of improving time and space until the main crops should
yield. Rice was planted in long narrow trenches which are flooded twice
a day. Between these trenches the young cocoanut palms are placed, and
in the spaces separating the palms, cassava and coffee are grown, while
between them in turn and around the edge of the trenches were plantain
and tania. The catch crops are thus made to pay for the price of the
land and labor. Land—virgin forest—can be empoldered and ditched for $35
an acre. The first year’s two rice crops will repay this and continue
to do so for five years, when the cocoanuts will yield a regular income
for fifty or sixty years. This, at least, is the calculation of the
agriculturist.
Deer, peccaries and capybara are found on this little clearing, and we
saw several of the latter animals running about among the underbrush
on the bank. Mealy Amazon Parrots[63] were nesting in an inaccessible
stub. Ant-birds of several species were by far the most abundant birds.
Everywhere the undergrowth was flaming with sharp-pointed scarlet
blossoms on long stalks which a native called Wild Plantains.
Below the plantation, mangroves composed the only vegetation visible
along the banks of the river, and before long our canoe began to rise
and fall with the swell of the sea. For days the smell of the damp
tropical marshes had filled the air, and now we sniffed eagerly at the
invigorating salt breeze. We lowered the tarpaulin, tied everything fast
and prepared bailers under the direction of Marciano.
At last, rounding a curve of the river we came in sight of the sea—a vast
stretch of turbulent brown water. A Cocoi Heron[31] and an American
Egret[32] flew away with protesting croaks, and we began to pitch and
toss as we turned south, beyond the outermost sprawling mangrove roots.
We had been warned on no account to make this part of the trip with other
than full-blooded Indian paddlers, and when we saw the need for steady,
skilful work, we were indeed glad that we had Marciano and his good
crew. The waves were too muddy to break, but they rolled high over the
low rail of our canoe and we were soon soaked through and had to bail
steadily to keep the frail craft from filling. In the midst of all the
excitement three splendid Flamingos[42] flew overhead, one close behind
the other, necks and legs extended to the full. We watched them until
our eyes ached, and then a dash of several quarts of salt, muddy water
in our faces, brought us suddenly back to grim reality. After we had
paddled three or four miles, we entered the broad mouth of the Pomeroon,
turned close in along shore and finding a sheltered bight, waited for
the turning of the tide and to give our Indians a much-needed rest. The
heavily laden canoe had given them a hard paddle against wind and tide,
and we were to travel onward throughout all the night.
As dusk settled down a Frigate-bird[49] swooped past, followed by a large
flock of several hundred Boat-billed Herons[37] croaking like their
relatives the Night Herons, and on their way doubtless from some roosting
place to their nocturnal feeding grounds; for as they reached the water
they scattered, some going up the river, others along the shore.
From the east, straight across the whole width of the Pomeroon came
another great flocking, a host of Mealy Amazon Parrots[63] flying as
usual two and two close together—by hundreds and by thousands. They
turned south along our bank and flew inland, and were joined, almost over
the spot where our canoe was moored, by another great multitude of their
kind, coming steadily down the coast. At the very lowest estimate there
were eight or ten thousand parrots. Once and only once we saw a solitary
individual unaccompanied by a mate. While still in view he attempted
to attach himself to a pair of birds, whereupon both dashed at the
unfortunate intruder and drove him headlong out of sight below the level
of the branches. It is indeed a serious thing to lose one’s mate if one
is a parrot! To be a widow or a widower is to be an outcast.
At ten minutes past six the parrots vanished in the dusk and true to
its name a “six o’clock bee,” a species of large cicada, sent out its
shrill whistle from the mangrove to which our canoe was tied. Here for
the first time since we left Farnum’s we encountered mosquitoes and sand
flies, but oil of tar did much to discourage them. It is a curious fact
that although the prevailing wind blows in the direction from which we
had come, yet these troublesome insects are said never to pass beyond the
line of the Pomeroon’s mouth.
After an hour of paddling we stopped for a supply of water at a tiny
Portuguese store built on piles, and going by the name of Poc-a-poo.
It was a weird little place with rows of tiny shelves on which were
bottles of lemon soda which was remarkably good, and an assortment of
ribbons, knives and paddles for trade with the Indians. We purchased
some well-made Carib Indian baskets and, stumbling over a caged Guan[6]
or Maroodie as they called it, ordered it sent to Georgetown, where it
appeared the following week and is now a contented inmate of the New York
Zoölogical Park.
At nine o’clock we started on our all-night paddle up the Pomeroon. Like
most tropical nights near the sea the air was chilly. We rolled up in our
blankets, and anointed our faces with the tar oil. The scientist chose as
his night’s couch one of the long sloping side seats. The slope was only
a fraction of a degree, but gravity and drowsiness would invariably cause
the downfall of the occupant of the seat, much to the disturbance of the
canoe’s equilibrium.
[Illustration: FIG. 98. SOUTH AMERICAN THATCHED HOUSE, AND NESTS OF GREEN
CASSIQUES. (Photo by Bingham.)]
As we lay and listened to the strange rhythm of the paddles, and
watched the brown current swash past the side of the boat, we thought
of all the exciting scenes this river and this coast had witnessed:—the
ill-fated search for El Dorado by Sir Walter Raleigh; then the capture
and recapture of the colony no less than three times by Dutch and
British. Later came a period of great prosperity when hundreds of sugar
plantations yielded great profits to their owners and the social life was
as gay as that of our old Virginia. Then followed the ruin of the sugar
industry, bands of run-away slaves taking to the wilderness; and now
to-day, the chimneys of the old mills are often the only marks of former
civilization which the jungle has not obliterated.
We skirted the mangroves for hours and saw nothing but an endless
succession of those weird stilted plants, while scores of four-eyed fish
skipped and slithered over the mud, or dashed across our bow, attracted
by the glow of our lantern. In the electric light they looked pale and
ghostly against the black mud.
At midnight we passed a light which showed the location of Marlborough
Police Station. Two hours later we heard weird music from a tom-tom and a
four-toned fife or flute. Crude as it was, it had a wild melody and the
syncopated, or “rag,” time was perfect. We could see the hut near the
water and hear the shouts of the dancers as we passed down the centre
of the river. We were hailed by a canoe of half-drunken negroes who put
off and wished to accompany us up the river. Marciano gave a low command
and one of the Indians muffled the lantern; then all swung together in a
new rhythm—the full-speed paddle-rhythm of the Caribs—and we fairly flew
through the water. After every five minutes spurt our crew rested for
a few seconds to locate our unwelcome pursuers. At first they cursed
us and paddled furiously, but their tipsy efforts were no match for our
lithe red-men and the negroes soon dropped out of sight and hearing.
There was no moon but throughout all the night whenever we awoke, the
southern cross gleamed brilliantly down at us, and almost in the zenith
Orion stood ever poised in his gigantic stride. As usual frogs and toads
furnished most of the nocturnal music, and we spent an hour or more in
classifying the various utterances. Among them was the Telegraph Toad
who spoke in a regular make-and-break Morse code, sending his wireless
messages to his mate. Another, heard more rarely, was what we called
the Wing-beat Frog. This species gave out a muffled throbbing roar like
the hurried wing-beats of a Swan in full flight. It would last for five
seconds, to be answered instantly by another across the river.
From the wonderland of the narrow Biara, we had come out upon the
boundless expanse of the ocean, passing thence to this splendid river
a half mile across. But we had far from finished the experiences and
variety of this ever-to-be remembered trip.
At daybreak we pushed through a tangled mass of lilies and water
hyacinths into a tiny caño or creek, and in a soft rain, while the tired
Indians slept beneath protecting palm leaves, we cooked erbswurst and
cocoa. The morning chorus was infinitely sweet, from flocks of invisible
songsters, a trembling descending chord of three notes, rising at the end
in a plaintive, questioning way.
At eight o’clock we went on again, the Indians apparently perfectly
rested after their two hours’ sleep. The Pomeroon narrowed to about a
hundred yards, mangroves disappeared and mucka-mucka with its oblong,
pineapple-like fruit, took their place. Flowers were abundant,—white
convolvulus; wild sorrel, pink with deep carollas; large yellow blossoms
with scarlet hearts, and many other varieties. Four-eyed fish were
still common and Great Rufous Cuckoos,[77] Lesser Kiskadees[103] and
Swallow-tailed Kites[58] were building nests.
[Illustration: FIG. 99. MILES OF LILIES.]
At Pickersgill Police Station we stopped for lunch. These posts are the
sole representatives of law and order in the wilderness, and here the
semi-military organization of negro police have their quarters. Most
of them are men of unusually large size, and in disposition they are
pleasant and obliging. They never failed to do their best to make us
comfortable. The duty of these men is varied. Besides being responsible
for the good conduct of the inhabitants of their districts, they keep
account of shipments and all passing boats and passengers, and stand
ready to run down, or rather paddle down, fugitives from justice. At each
post are little rooms reserved for travellers, and here any strangers
with proper credentials are at liberty to swing their hammocks and make
themselves at home. The sergeant had just trapped a half dozen pretty
blue and yellow Violet Euphonia Tanagers[140] in a mango tree near the
station. The usual colony of Yellow-backed Cassiques[151] was deserted
at the time of our visit, but had been occupied twice during the last
year. Lying half in the water in front of the house was an anaconda
fifteen feet long which had just been shot. We purchased thirty bananas
for fourpence, and with fried bananas and bacon, the unfailing and never
cloying erbswurst, jam, educator crackers and lime squash, we had a meal
fit for the gods.
At this point we left the Pomeroon and turned up the Harlipiaka for
two hours, then into the last real river of our trip, the Tapakuma.
This river was only about seventy-five feet wide and with vegetation
neither grand nor very luxuriant, principally eta palms and mucka-mucka.
Wild cocoa and clavillina blossoms were everywhere and numerous Lesser
Kiskadees[103] were building. Many small, deserted estates appeared
as the river grew narrower, and morpho butterflies and Silver-beak
Tanagers[146] haunted the half-overgrown ruins. Catching sight of a snake
on an overhanging branch, we persuaded Marciano to steer close to it, but
as we reached out to seize it, our Indian’s fears overcame him and he
swung out quickly, the serpent making its escape into the water. It was
a harmless species about five feet long, and yellow-brown in color. With
the exception of the dead anaconda, it was the only snake we had seen on
our trip. When we commented on this, Marciano relieved his feelings in
two words, “Me glad!”
It was dead high tide, although the water was fresh—backed up by the salt
tide farther down. The surface seemed to be covered with rubbish, and
at first glance it looked as unsavoury as the water in a New York ferry
slip! But when we examined it, the flotsam proved to be composed of a
host of various nuts and seeds, many of which were beginning to send out
roots and leaflets. They were of all shapes and sizes—from large flat
disk-like pods and round vegetable-ivory nuts, to smaller ones covered
with corrugated husks, fluted or polished like metal.
The river became still more narrow, and twisted and turned to every
point of the compass. Flowers were abundant and we noted at least twenty
species with large and conspicuous blooms. A blue-bell blossom was
especially characteristic of the Tapakuma, growing up from the water six
to thirty inches. There were few lilies and the predominating tree was
one with sensitive foliage, which went to sleep in the late afternoon.
Several species of orchids in full flower were common, and from one
branch we pulled into the canoe a string of a dozen plants of a most
fragrant white orchid—_Epidendrum nocturnum_. The whole region was very
different from that of the Biara but no less interesting.
Just before sunset we came to the fairyland of Tapakuma Lake. We had
zigzagged through many miles of tortuous channels, with copper-colored
Indian hunters passing us now and then, silently in their small canoes.
At last we came to a portage—a gentle slope up which our canoe was
dragged, over the divide and into the great grassy expanse of water
savanna, in the centre of which is the dark deep lake.
We walked a few yards into the woods to see some “falls” which turned out
to be only a moderately foamy rapid, and on the way we disturbed a large
troop of monkeys which limbed off slowly through the branches; and then
hurried back to our boat, for we were still far from Anna Regina, where
we planned to spend the night.
On and on we went, the darkness settling quickly down. A new Castanet
Frog raised its voice. This was really remarkable—a syncopated Oriental
rhythm, clicking musically, and held by one frog for only a minute or two
when another instantly took up the little tune. This shifting of place,
the music sounding first here, then farther on, made it seem as if some
invisible dancer were swiftly whirling over the reeds and tules. One
could hear the clicking of the castanets and the tinkling of anklets, and
the thought was made more vivid as a bejewelled coolie woman passed us in
a long narrow dug-out, paddled swiftly by her husband.
The water was very high and a wide new channel among the grasses so
confused Marciano that we paddled for an hour before we realized that
we were lost. We changed direction and guided ourselves by the stars,
passing some dense grass through which we had to push laboriously. At
last Marciano sent a clear, penetrating call through the night and the
coolie answered, far ahead and to the left. We called twice after that
and then came into a canal, and soon were alongside two canoes blocked by
a lock. We would have as soon expected to find a motor car here in the
wilderness as a canal lock, but nevertheless there _was_ a canal lock
with no one to operate it. By our combined efforts we opened it, passed
through and found ourselves surrounded by miles of sugar-cane fields. We
had entered the back door, as it were, of the great sugar plantation of
Anna Regina, one of the few which are still in operation. We were on the
home stretch and the Indian boys towed us the remaining distance, running
at full speed, tumbling head over heels into the water; and forgetting
for once their usual Indian stolidness, they giggled and chattered as if
they were out for a lark, instead of having paddled a heavily laden canoe
on thirty-six hour stretches!
[Illustration: FIG. 100. THE ROAD TO SUDDIE.]
At midnight we reached the end of the canal, and a hundred yards up a
road we found the Anna Regina police station. The guard turned out,
cleared away the judge’s bench and witness box in the courtroom and laid
blankets for us on the benches, as there were no rafters for our hammock
ropes. Our Indians would not come near the dreaded prison house, but left
our baggage at the entrance. They said good-by as they were to start back
at once. We had grown to have a real affection for these simple men and
boys, and found them the best of travelling companions, silent, courteous
and wonderful workers. May the time come when Marciano will again pilot
us through that beautiful region to which no pen or camera can do the
slightest justice!
The following morning after a walk through the neighboring coolie village
of Henrietta, where we purchased some Yellow-bellied Callistes[142] and
other birds, we secured a carriage, with a horse and a mule as motor
power, and drove to Suddie, taking the steamer thence down the Essequibo
River to Georgetown.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WATER TRAIL FROM GEORGETOWN TO AREMU.
We allowed ourselves only forty-eight hours in Georgetown to unpack our
specimens and prepare for our second expedition into the “bush.” This
time we were to leave the coast and strike straight inland, passing up
the Essequibo River to Bartica, thence via the Mazaruni and Cuyuni to
the Aremu and the Little Aremu rivers. Near the head-waters of this last
stream was the gold mine which marked our journey’s end, deep within the
wilderness.
On the morning of March 23d, we left Georgetown on one of Sproston’s
steamers en route for Bartica. A pair of Gray-breasted Martins[122]
accompanied us, and we found that they were nesting in an angle between
two beams of the main deck covering. Young birds were in the nest, so the
Martins must have accompanied the steamer on many of the alternate day
trips between Georgetown and Bartica. Not only this but the river boat
exchanges routes every two weeks with her sister steamer which is plying
on the outside northwest route to Morawhanna, the fortnightly change from
fresh to salt water doing away with all need for keel cleaning. So these
birds had started their nest while the boat was making her sea trips.
During much of the time we were on the boats the birds kept flying out
to each side over the water in pursuit of insects for their brood. They
sometimes went far ahead or out of sight a half mile to shore.
After entering the wide estuary mouth of the Essequibo we passed Leguan
and Hog islands, each over ten miles in length, while above these a
succession of smaller islands appeared. The river is about three miles
in width, fringed with mangroves, and we saw no life on shore save
occasional Cocoi Herons[31] feeding on the flats.
[Illustration: FIG. 101. GRAY-BREASTED MARTINS NESTING ON THE STEAMER.]
The Essequibo is the largest river in the colony and rises in the extreme
south, somewhere in the Acarai Mountains near the equator, some six
hundred miles inland. Like all the great rivers of this region it is
navigable by steamers for only a short distance, rapids and cataracts
barring the way about fifty miles above the mouth. The first great
tributary is the Mazaruni, entering from the southwest and touching with
its uttermost head-waters the very base of that mysterious lofty plateau,
Roraima, on the borders of Brazil.
We landed at the very apex of the point of land between the Essequibo and
Mazaruni rivers,—the village of Bartica or Bartica Grove. It is a most
dilapidated place, half in ruins, a single street of miserable houses
filled with blacks and coolies.
We were invited to spend the night at the house of an Englishman, Mr.
Withers, enjoying again the unfailing hospitality of the wilderness. In
a launch we proceeded three miles up the Mazaruni, and climbing a steep
hill, denuded of its forest, we turned and revelled in the magnificent
view. A small, heavily-wooded island in the foreground broke the
surface of the shining waters, and beyond, the two mighty rivers rolled
ceaselessly, joining their floods with hardly a ripple. Directly across,
on the opposite shore of the Mazaruni, the picturesque white buildings of
the penal colony could be seen, looking more like the hotels and cottages
of some watering place than like prisons. If one must be imprisoned for
life there are few places one would prefer to this!
An American company had obtained a concession of some seven thousand
acres for the purpose of raising sisel hemp, and Mr. Withers was in
charge of this important undertaking. His home, on the crest of the hill,
overlooked the surrounding rolling country, six hundred acres of which
had already been cleared during the preceding nine months and planted in
the valuable fibre plant. Here again we found a most ingenious system
of catch crops, peanuts, castor beans and corn, surrounding but not
interfering with the slower growing sisel. Their success was yet to be
proven.
A careful study of the effect on animal and plant life of this clearing
away of the forest would yield much of interest. Many sloths with young
were caught when the trees were being felled, and Goldbirds, Woodhewers,
Parrots and other forest birds had now retired some distance from the
clearing. The antlers of two deer shot here were simple spikes. Insects
of all kinds had greatly increased, and caterpillars of strange shapes
and colors were legion in number and doing their best to undo the labor
of the agriculturists. Insect-eating birds of certain types had increased
enormously, and Gray-breasted Martins,[122] Barn[121] and Variegated[119]
Swallows filled the air, while Kiskadee Tyrants of three species,[101],
[103], [104] other Flycatchers, House Wrens,[124] Seedeaters,
Hummingbirds and Honey Creepers were abundant, swooping over the open
fields, snatching insects from the air, or leaves, or ground, according
to the method of hunting of each species. The Honey Creepers[136a] were
continually getting into trouble here as elsewhere in the darkened upper
roof space of the house, and many had to be caught and liberated daily.
[Illustration: FIG. 102. COOLIES AND THEIR WIVES FISHING IN THE
ESSEQUIBO.]
Small snakes and toads are also said to have increased, due doubtless
to the increase of insect food, but the abundance of agoutis or acouris
was unfortunately only too evidently due to the supply of succulent
vegetables.
This evening the regular afternoon wind continued until late, and it
was too cool to walk about without a coat. The wind sounded anything
but tropical, howling around the eaves of the house like a northern
blizzard. The moon rose about nine o’clock—a great flat-sided ball of
orange, lighting up the pale bare fields but throwing all the jungle into
blackest shadow. Soon the light became stronger and the two southern
crosses paled from view, the false one higher up, kite like, and the
_vera cruz_, low and resting on its side.
“Sproston’s” is a company which controls many of the steamer and launch
lines of the colony, and gives remarkably good as well as reasonable
service. When the day comes that the tourist learns of the beauties of
this country, the transportation lines will become of immense value.
Now they depend principally on the many American concessions and other
interests for freight, and upon pork-knockers and bovianders for
passengers.
At nine o’clock on the following morning, travelling again on one of
Sproston’s launches, we left Mr. Withers and proceeded up the Mazaruni,
in about an hour reaching the point of its confluence with the Cuyuni.
This was as beautiful as the junction of the Essequibo and the Mazaruni
which we had left. Turning up the Cuyuni we went on and on through a
region of indescribable beauty. The noble river spreads out in a wide
smooth expanse,—a tropical Hudson with palisades of trees. It is very
shallow and when the water is low there is little but tide at this
point. Hence mangroves are dominant, becoming, however, smaller and less
numerous as we proceeded. At eleven o’clock we reached the beautiful
falls at Lower Camaria Landing and went ashore to find a delicious
breakfast prepared for us by the genial and hospitable Mr. French and
served by his aged man-servant, who was christened _Swan_, but who was
familiarly known throughout the colony as “French’s _Boy_.”
[Illustration: FIG. 103. FALLS AT LOWER CAMARIA.]
At Camaria a series of all but impassable rapids and falls occurs, and a
portage of three and a half miles is necessary. A well-made sandy wagon
trail points the way, rising gradually and then slowly descending again.
At the top of the rise the sand is of the finest and whitest quality.
Butterflies were extremely abundant along this wood road, a dozen
splendid blue Morphos being sometimes in sight at once.
One interesting species of butterfly (_Castina licus_) was very common,
flying along ahead of us with short spurts and alighting on bare twigs,
just within the shadow of the jungle. They were dark brownish above,
tinted with dull orange and green and with four broad streaks of white
across the wings. They were perfectly protected in the positions of rest
which they chose on small bare twigs, the brown merging invisibly with
the dark recesses of the undergrowth beyond, while the white markings
exactly simulated a white orchid blossom, sprouting, as so many of them
do, from a leafless stem. As the mule cart passed laden with our luggage,
we seized the Graflex camera and secured the accompanying photograph.
In spite of their protective colors and mode of resting, the wings of
almost all had been nipped by birds, and we saw one fall a victim to a
Flycatcher. The characteristic birds of this trail were Swallow-tailed
Kites[58] and Yellow-bellied Trogons,[76] the former soaring overhead
every few minutes and the latter dashing from cluster to cluster of
berries.
In the middle of the afternoon our walk brought us to Upper Camaria,
where we were again on the bank of the Cuyuni. Here, tied to a gigantic
Mora tree, a second launch awaited us, and from here to our second
night’s stopping place at Matope we stopped only once, at Tiger Island,
to take a few “pork-knockers” on board. Although there were only
three small, hut-like houses here, there was the invariable colony of
Yellow-backed Cassiques.[151]
The tide was blocked by the succession of falls and rapids, and so
at Upper Camaria the whole character of the vegetation was changed.
Mangroves had vanished and in their place were mucka-mucka and other
aquatic growths, backed by the solid walls of trees and vines.
[Illustration: FIG. 104. A BUTTERFLY MIMICKING AN ORCHID.]
Snakebirds[48] were perched in solitary state at frequent intervals
along the banks,—silent, sinister looking, craning their necks out at
us and either dropping quietly into the water and sinking from view or
flapping heavily upward. Ordinarily their flight is very pelican-like;
six or eight flaps, then a short scale, but when they once reach a high
altitude, they soar most gracefully with set wings, first in a wide,
slow circle, then with a sudden straight rush, then a circle and so on,
all apparently without a single wing beat. When thus high in air they
have a most peculiar arrow-shaped appearance; thin sharp beak, slender
neck and body, and broad, fan-shaped tail.
[Illustration: FIG. 105. FRESH-WATER FLYING FISH.]
While the launch was puffing slowly along we saw one of the most
unexpected sights of the trip—a fresh-water flying fish _Carnegiella
strigatus_. It did not leave the surface entirely but skimmed steadily
along in a straight line with the tip of the deep keel of the abdomen
just cutting the surface. It was small, not more than two inches long,
and of the greatest interest to us at that time, as we did not then know
that such a thing as a fresh-water flying fish existed. To see a silvery
little form break from the mirror-like surface of the river and go
skimming off through the air left us amazed.
These fish were silvery in color, marked with irregular black markings,
with long, wing like pectoral fins and a remarkably deep keel, like the
keel of a racing yacht.
As we went on, the walls of foliage became higher and more dense,
stretching up, far up above our heads, until the topmost branches were
from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five feet above the water.
Majestic vistas opened out ahead of us, and now and then great solid
banks of flowers hung like huge tapestries upon the foliage walls. One
white flower with a plume-like tuft of long slender stamens, filled whole
bends of the river with its sweet perfume and formed aërial banks of
bloom fifty feet square. We saw here for the first time the Green River
Ibises[26] looking dull black in the sunlight. They were of the same size
as Scarlet Ibises but with a shorter tail, and flapped more slowly in
flight.
[Illustration: FIG. 106. SALT-WATER FLYING FISH.]
Just before dusk we reached the house of the government agent of this
district, Mr. Nicholson, and were made welcome at his little home in
the heart of the wilderness. The house is on a steep bluff of red clay,
changing to yellow near the water and commanding a fine view up and down
the river. Below, the river is smooth and shining, while a quarter of
a mile above the house a mass of tumbling white water blocks further
progress and marks the second portage.
In the yard near the house one passes through a cluster of young fruit
trees and here two small colonies of Yellow backed Cassiques[151] had
located, clustering their pendent nests almost within arm’s reach about
two big nests of stinging ants. At dusk several hundred Smooth-billed
Anis[80] dropped into a clump of bamboo and with much racket and
squabbling settled for the night.
[Illustration: FIG. 107. CUYUNI RIVER.]
This region is wholly undisturbed, the few “pork-knockers” and Indians
who pass keeping entirely to the river. Mr. Nicholson told us that
Capybaras (_Hydrochoerus capybara_) came every night and raided the
vegetable garden, and we had good evidence of this. Pushing through
the bush a short distance downstream at dusk, we saw a small herd of
these creatures appear and distribute themselves over the banks. Some
waded along the shallows, or swam out and dived, to come up with a
mouthful of algæ. Others climbed the clay slope and disappeared into the
jungle. They seemed like reincarnations of some of the great unwieldy
prehistoric beasts—restorations of those bones by which alone we know of
their existence in past ages. It was too dark to photograph these giant
rodents, but by the kindness of Dr. Bingham we are able to show several
splendid photographs of Capybaras, taken in their haunts.
[Illustration: FIG. 108. A HERD OF EIGHT CAPYBARAS, SIX ADULT AND TWO
YOUNG. Notice the Snout of a Crocodile in the Water on the Left. (Photo
by Bingham.)]
The Indian hunter at Matope finds abundance of game within a mile of the
house; two kinds of deer, tapir, peccary, and of course Curassows and
Guans. Trumpeters[25] are often heard from the house but are considered
too tough for food.
We talked, chiefly by signs, with the Arowak Indian hunter who had just
come in with a Bush-hog or Peccary (_Dicotyles tajacu_). As soon as
the animal is killed, the gland on the lower back is cut out, a piece
of skin being removed about four by eight inches. If this is not done
immediately, the flesh will become musky and unfit to eat. The hunter was
familiar with the rare White-lipped Peccary (_Dicotyles labiatus_), which
he described as larger than the common kind and going in small families
of two to five individuals. This was a dangerous animal, and more than
once he had been treed by them, whereas the Common Peccary was timid and
harmless except when wounded or cornered.
Mr. Nicholson had recently seen a full-grown Great Anteater
(_Myrmecophaga jubata_) swimming the river, and curiously enough we later
witnessed a similar performance where the banks were about a third of
a mile apart. The creature was making fair headway, although drifting
rapidly, and was completely immersed save for the elongated snout and
head, and the upper part of the bushy tail, which waggled frantically
with the efforts the anteater was making.
Mr. Nicholson promised to obtain some living Trumpeters for us and
later kept his word by sending one to New York a few months after we
left. There are gold diggings near here which were worked by the Dutch
in 1625. In the earlier days of the English occupancy, gold smuggling
was an every-day occurrence at Bartica, and Mr. Nicholson had to take
extraordinary precautions to guard against it. He would scrape a line
under the keel of a boat from stem to stern, by this means often
discovering hidden bags of gold. Many a coopful of innocent looking
fowls, brought down by the “pork-knockers,” were slain by the government
inspectors and found to have their crops and gizzards filled with the
precious yellow grain. Cartridges were a favorite means of smuggling,
the powder being removed and replaced with gold. There is no longer any
attempt at smuggling now as it does not pay.
[Illustration: FIG. 109. GREAT ANTEATER. (Photo by Sanborn.)]
Vampires (_Desmodus rufus_) are so abundant at Matope that every evening
one of the servants collects the chair cushions on the veranda and packs
them under an upturned chair. Otherwise, the dogs, bitten while sleeping
on these cushions, would ruin them with their blood. We swung our
hammocks on the veranda and kept one light burning, and although the bats
squeaked shrilly throughout the night, none of us were bitten.
Early next morning we packed up and set out, and in a few minutes a
launch landed us at the foot of the falls. This portage was only about
a hundred yards in length, bringing us to Perseverance Landing. Here
were several tent-boats, most of them filled with “pork-knockers.” We
stored our luggage in the one reserved for us and climbed into a tent
ballyhoo with ten paddlers in addition to the bowman and steersman—all
big, powerful, piratical looking blacks, except the steersman, who was
an Indian. Now came the most exciting part of our trip, passing up the
series of rapids which filled the whole bed of the river. It took us
until noon to pass them. A smooth expanse of water would indicate depth
sufficient to float a steamer. Then a bar of granite would appear, rising
on shore into huge boulders and forming a series of foaming, tumbling
waves across the river. In such a place there were numerous small islands
and the width increased greatly, while the water everywhere was shallow,
with channels ramifying here and there.
As we approached one of these rapids the bowman stood up and the men
braced themselves for the tremendous exertion. Starting with a slow,
steady stroke, this became quicker and quicker as the white water was
reached, then the bowman, using his long paddle lever-like against the
thwart, held the ballyhoo steady, while the men drove her through the
swirling water. The current became stronger and stronger, the canoe
seemed to slow down, be stationary, even to slide back a foot or two.
Then the great black backs, glistening with perspiration, would twist and
bend in a final effort and the boat would shoot forward into the quiet
eddy at the foot of the rapid, with the water swirling past on each side.
[Illustration: FIG. 110. A TACUBA ON THE CUYUNI.]
[Illustration: FIG. 111. RAPIDS ON THE CUYUNI.]
[Illustration: FIG. 112. RUSHING THE BOAT INTO THE RAPIDS.]
[Illustration: FIG. 113. WARPING THE BOAT THROUGH THE LOWER WHIRLPOOLS.]
Now, at a word from the steersman, the blacks tumbled overboard, hastily
getting out heavy rope cables, which one or two of the most powerful took
in their teeth or tied around their waists and carried to some projecting
rock as far ahead as possible. After they had fought their way up to the
rock they tied the rope securely and now all hands took hold, some of
the rope, others of the boat, and pushed and pulled her up through the
boiling torrent.
In one or two cases it was possible to zigzag up through the less
formidable shallows. After a particularly difficult piece of paddling
we would rest in some backwater for a few minutes and have time to look
about us. Every snag held its complement of vampires which took to wing
only when we were very close. Solitary Sandpipers[21] and Parauques[70]
were abundant, the latter apparently nesting on the numerous little
sand-bars, and swooping near the boat or swinging up to a bare branch
where they perched lengthwise and watched us with half-shut eyes.
The rocky islets were covered with the low Water Guava (_Psidium
fluviatile_), and the rocks which are usually covered with shallow
water or those within reach of the falls were studded with thousands of
little starry flowers. In other places masses of delicate pink blossoms
raised their heads above the shining mat of green submerged leaves which
fairly carpeted the pools. The beds of pink, green and white amid the
pools reminded us strongly of the many-colored sponges, hydroids and
anemones in a tidal pool of the Bay of Fundy or a reef off a Florida Key.
These aquatic flowers, far out from shore, gave forth a sweet perfume
attracting flies, bees and even butterflies, which flitted through the
mist, just clearing the foaming water.
[Illustration: FIG. 114. A REST MIDWAY UP THE RAPIDS.]
Now and then small reddish-brown crocodiles were seen sunning themselves
on the sand-bars. One, not more than three feet in length, paid no
attention to the revolver shots which threw up the water close to him.
The little flying fish became more numerous as we went on, skimming here
and there in the smooth pools. Twice we saw one dash at an insect, once a
large bee and the second time a butterfly, but they were less successful
in their insect hunting than the Swallows—both the Banded[118] and the
Variegated[119]—which swooped across our bow. Whenever we went close to
a bank we saw multitudes of a new flower, with its graceful rebarbed
stamens, looking like the falling lines of sparks from a rocket.
We lunched to-day on a splendid outcropping of rock on the left bank,
after chasing into the cracks some big and remarkably colored tarantulas,
with light red bodies and dark legs.
One of the most delightful surprises on this trip was the boat songs of
the blacks. How we wished afterwards that we had written down the words
and music at the time. One melody remains clear in our memory:
[Music]
[Illustration: FIG. 115. THE FINAL STRUGGLE UP TO SMOOTH WATER.]
The words of the songs were delightful. One never-ending refrain imparted
the original and thrilling information that
“A long time ago is a veree long time.”
Another song was the Stevedore’s Shantée. Then all would break out in a
wild harmony.
“Dat citee hotel is de place wha I dwell,
Fare thee well—fare thee well—my citee hotel,
My citee hotel—my citee hotel.”
The one of which we never tired was all about “Salina—mya dear,” and we
made the men sing it over and over until they were breathless.
Like all negroes they were full of spirits and childish humor. Their
paddling was splendid but terribly wasteful of strength, as at the end
of each stroke they gave a strong upward jerk, sending a shower of drops
into the air. Our luggage ballyhoo was sometimes abreast of us across the
river and when the sunlight was reflected from the eight circles of water
thrown into the air at each stroke, the sight was a beautiful one.
When we returned several weeks later, the shooting of these rapids
was as exciting as had been the ascent. There was no slow difficult
paddling or dragging up of the ballyhoo, but a swift shooting downward,
giving fleeting views of tall walls of verdure, innumerable islets,
great smooth-faced rocks around which our canoe slid, perilously close,
her keel sometimes scraping the algæ on the bottom. We shot here and
there from side to side of the river, back and forth, guided by the
stolid-faced Indian in the bow. Now and then we would turn completely
around in order to keep to a deep channel which bent on itself at an
acute angle. Then a moment’s breathing in slack water before the men gave
way again, either to hold back with all their might or to put every ounce
of strength into their work to keep the boat steady in her course, as we
ran parallel to a double line of seething, trembling waves, to enter
which would have been instant destruction.
We would pass by a half dozen smooth-looking false channels, to enter the
single safe one, perhaps far across under the lee of the opposite shore.
A pilot not acquainted with every foot of the way would have overturned
us instantly. The Indian would head our bow into the roughest part of the
water apparently in sheer foolhardiness, but always the waves broke under
us and tossed us like a chip over the jagged rocks. A cross current in
the maelstrom would tear our bow out of its course, and at a cry from the
steersman, all ten backs would bend as one and fairly lift the boat back
into her course. As before, Macaws shrieked overhead, Cocoi Herons[31]
stood watching us like statues and the little living fish rose from our
bow and ploughed their furrows to right and left. But all passed as a
swiftly-moving kaleidoscope, as instantaneous side-lights upon the great
white tumbling mass of water which ever boiled and surged about us.
At noon of the day of our ascent we entered the Big Aremu River, a side
tributary of the Cuyuni not more than a hundred feet wide, and an hour
later we grounded at Aremu Landing. Here we said good-by to Sproston’s
launch and paddlers, and from here on were transported by Mr. Wilshire’s
own men and boats. We slung our hammocks that night in an open-work,
thatched and wattled house, the company’s storehouse, after a delicious
swim in the cool water.
No insects came about the vampire-discouraging lantern at night and
no evening choruses of birds were heard except a family of Red-billed
Toucans.[81] The iridescent rough-backed green beetles, known to jewelry
makers as Brazilian Beetles (_Mesomphalia discors_), were abundant on a
vine near the house.
As on our former expedition on the rivers of the northwest we found that
as the streams became smaller, their interest increased. The Cuyuni is
awe-inspiring and grand beyond words, but the banks of the Aremu, closing
in little by little as we ascended, brought us into more intimate contact
with the creatures of jungle and forest.
We started up the stream in an open ballyhoo of smaller size, at first
with paddles, but changing to poles when the water became shallower.
Snags, or tacubas as is the more euphonious native name, became abundant
and sometimes stretched far out over our heads. Flying fish skimmed in
all directions and vampires (_Desmodus rufus_) in scores flew from the
dead branches projecting from the water. They choose a small-sized one,
say two inches in diameter, and alight, one below the other, with heads
raised, watching us. Like little animated sun-dials they revolve on their
perches as the sun passes over, keeping the wood between them and the
bright light. Many of the snags had bits of dead leaves and other débris
clinging to them, brought down and lodged by the last freshet, and it
was not until we almost put our hand on them and the bats flew, that
we could tell whether we were looking at a cluster of vampires or dead
leaves. There were hundreds throughout the course of the river, so it is
a wide-spread diurnal roosting habit of these fierce little creatures.
The blacks in this part of the country call the vampires “Dr. Blairs,”
after a certain colonial doctor of the olden times whose favorite method
of treatment was blood-letting.
Swallows in the early morning filled the air above the river with a
cloud of rapidly moving forms. Orchids in full bloom were abundant,
long shoots of Golden Showers, the sweet _Epidendrum odoratum_ and
many others unknown to us, all drenched with dew and filling the river
canyon with fragrance. Three species of Kingfishers[67][68][69] and big
Yellow-bellied Trogons[76] appeared now and then. The trees were taller
than any we had yet seen, many of the moras and cumacas being much over a
hundred feet from base to top.
[Illustration: FIG. 116. SHOOTING THE RAPIDS AT FULL SPEED.]
At noon we stopped for breakfast in a primeval forest with rather thin
underbrush. Many small scarab beetles (_Canthon semiopacus_) were resting
in the hollows of leaves with their branched antennæ raised, waiting
apparently for some hint of an odor which should summon them to their
mission of life—the depositing of their eggs in decaying flesh. Spinning
through the aisles made by the giant columns of tree-trunks, were curious
translucent pin-wheels, and not until we captured one in the butterfly
net did we realize we were looking at the same attenuated forest
dragon-flies (_Mecistogaster_ sp.) which had deceived us so completely
five years ago in Mexico.[G] The movement of the long, narrow wings,
with the spot of white at the tips was, to the eye, a circular revolving
whirl, with the needle-sized body trailing behind. The white spots
revolved rapidly, while the rest of the wings became a mere gray haze.
These weird creatures, apparently so ethereal and fragile, were hunting
for spiders, and their method was regular and methodical. From under
leaves or from the heart of widespread webs, good-sized spiders were
snatched. A momentary juggling with the strong legs, a single nip and
the spider minus its abdomen dropped to the mould, while the dragon-fly
alighted and sucked the juices of its victim. If we drew near one of
these spiders on its web, it instantly darted away, sliding down a silken
cable to the ground or dashing into some crevice, but the approach of the
hovering dragon-fly, although rather deliberate, was unheeded, the spider
remaining quiet until snatched from its place.
On a tiny jungle creek we alarmed several large, blunt-nosed brown
lizards, with low dorsal crests, which ran up into the branches to escape
us. In this respect they differed from the big iguanas which always
dropped with a resounding splash into the water at our approach.
Near some wild plum trees whose fruit was ripe, we found tracks of deer,
agoutis and some of the smaller cats. The fruit was yellow and oblong in
shape with a large stone, and tasted the way a tonca bean smells—bitter
and yet sweet—a strange concentrated essence of the tropics which excited
one, in that it differed so completely from the taste of any other fruit.
Morphos became more abundant from this point on. Some were wholly
iridescent blue above—a blinding, flashing mirror of azure; others were
crossed by a broad band of black, while in a third species the blue
was reduced to a narrow bar down the centre of the wing. Great yellow
swallow-tailed butterflies and exquisite smaller ones flew about us. The
crocodiles of the Aremu were all small, none over three feet, and were
all black in color.
[Illustration: FIG. 117. A WILDERNESS PASSION FLOWER—SIMITÚ.]
As we went on we were impressed with the amount of work which had been
necessary to open up this river for the passage of ballyhoos laden with
mine machinery. Six months ago it had been impassable, except for small
Indian canoes, and these had often to be dragged ashore and around
obstructions. Now the little channel had been opened, and although for
the most part completely overhung with interlacing vines and branches,
yet our ballyhoo wound in and out around the tacubas with but little
hindrance. The cost of opening it had been more than $15,000. Huge
tree-trunks had to be sawn through, but even then, the wood of many
species having greater specific gravity than water, the trunks would sink
to the bottom like stones, offering a greater obstruction than before.
Dynamite was then used to clear them from the bed of the stream.
In the early afternoon, a beautiful dull-red passion flower on a climbing
vine became common, and we found that its fruit was edible and called by
the natives Simitú. Although apparently so much at home here, this plant,
known as the Water Lemon (_Passiflora laurifolia_), is really an escape
from cultivation.
The river twisted and turned in every direction and the banks were four
to eight feet in height with sloping bars of sand on the inside bends.
Palms were rather scarce, their place, in appearance at least, being
taken by the tall, slender Congo pump trees with deeply serrated rosettes
of leaves. Tree-ferns appeared in ever increasing numbers and stretched
their graceful fronds from the banks far out over our heads.
During midday, silence filled these river glades, both birds and insects
resting quietly in the heat, and the only sound was the regular scraping
of the poles against the sides of the ballyhoo. The heat was not
oppressive except in the glaring sunshine on the water, but such exposure
was rare in these deeply forested recesses. We had had no rain thus
far and the temperature of the mornings and evenings was delightfully
cool. At night we could scarcely keep warm rolled in a hammock in a
thick blanket. Unpleasant insects were entirely absent, and yet we were
travelling in the heart of a tropical wilderness, which most of us
have pictured as a sizzling, steaming hot-house, teeming with venomous
reptiles and stinging bugs of all descriptions.
[Illustration: FIG. 118. OUR CAMP ON THE AREMU RIVER.]
About three o’clock, the Goldbirds[115] began calling and some other
species with a single loud whistle. A Cormorant rose with heavy
wing-beats ahead of us, and when we flushed it the second time we shot
it. It was the little Guiana Cormorant[47] only twenty-eight inches in
length, with eyes of dull green. A deer broke away from the bank at the
sound of the shot and dashed off.
That night we made camp in the jungle. A skeleton shelter roof of poles
was thrown up, over which was stretched a tarpaulin, coming to within six
or seven feet of the ground all around. Then a double row of stout stakes
was driven into the leaf mould along each side and the hammocks slung
from them. They were springy, and one swung not only sideways but with a
slight end for end motion that made every movement easy.
While we were making camp we were hailed by a passing ballyhoo, the
occupant of which proved to be Mr. Fowler, the head of the Colony
Department of Lands and Mines, who had been at the mine on a tour
of inspection and was now on his way back to Georgetown. Hospitable
Mrs. Wilshire at once invited him to come over from his camping place
farther downstream and dine with us. A dinner party in the “bush!” We
all shared the feeling of festivity. The men hastily constructed a
table of the trunks of young saplings, while the rest of the party hung
lighted lanterns from the overhanging branches. Directly in front of
the camp was a tall, straight Copa tree draped with long hanging bush
ropes dangling from the lowest branches, seventy or eighty feet up the
trunk. The base sent out thin, far-reaching buttresses, the intervals
between which formed natural seats and closets for our guns and bags. Mr.
Fowler’s Indian hunter brought in several Curassows which we added to
the Cormorant for dinner. Mr. Fowler had seen a Bush-master (_Lachesis
mutus_) a few hundred yards upstream, the first poisonous snake of which
we had heard on this trip. We had a merry dinner, Mr. Fowler telling us
many an interesting story of his early days in the colony.
[Illustration: FIG. 119. POLING UNDER TACUBAS ON THE LITTLE AREMU.]
The jungle around our camp was alive with sound all night—frogs chiefly;
the wing-beating fellows, the heavily loaded freight engines, the
bleating calves and a new kind which raised its loud and continuous voice
in choking roars. One’s imagination pictured death struggles between
man-like monkeys and other creatures, the qualities of human and bestial
voices were so blended in this utterance. Vampires flew about back and
forth under our shelter but none bit us. So strange and wonderful was
this night in the “bush” that for many hours sleep was impossible.
Early next morning a light rain fell for an hour and through it we
photographed our night’s camp. As the sun shone dimly through the mist
a chorus arose—Woodhewers, Parrots, Macaws and in the distance the ever
thrilling moan of the red “baboons.”
The last black pushed off with his pole about eight o’clock and we
settled ourselves for our last day of river travel. The stream became
narrower and more diversified, in places being not more than twenty-five
feet from bank to bank, then spreading out to twice that width with
strange keel-like sharp rocks projecting from its surface. We elbowed
our way through a perfect maze of dovetailed tacubas and slanting
tree-trunks, which we went around or rubbed along or scraped over.
Sometimes we all had to crouch flat down to the level of the gunwale to
pass under a low trunk, or again even to climb out on to the log and
down into the ballyhoo on the other side. Now and then a pole would
be wrenched from a negro’s hand as the current or impetus of the boat
twisted it to one side, or the man himself would be flicked overboard
amid roars of laughter from his mates, who, when he climbed dripping on
board again, would inquire the cause for the sudden desertion of his
post.
[Illustration: FIG. 120. TREE-FERNS ON THE LITTLE AREMU.]
These tacubas, which are really fallen trees, are the most apparent
danger in the jungle, although the chances of accident from them are very
slight. Along the bank were many slanting trees, bound sooner or later
to give way. On our return journey down the Aremu we passed, or rather
scraped under, a huge trunk which completely spanned the creek. It must
have fallen about two days before and we had to push through a perfect
tangle of orchids and lianas.
Tree-ferns twelve feet high draped the banks; spiders of weird shapes
dropped upon us, buoyed up by their long silken cables; brush-tipped
aërial roots dangling at the ends of plummet lines fifty feet long were
drawn from stem to stern of the boat and across the pages of our journals
as we wrote.
Half an hour after starting we discovered a Three-toed Sloth
(_Choloepus_) high up in a tree almost over the water. Mr. Howell shot
the creature and we found it to be of large size, with long reddish-brown
hair. The face, expressionless as it always is in these animals, had
small eyes of a warm hazel color. Later we had it cooked and found it
quite palatable.
In many of these tropical growths the new or first leaf-shoots are pale
or brilliant red, this holding good in the case of the giant moras,
several trees with locust-like foliage, and even the flat, leaf-vines,
_Monstera_ or shingle plants, crawling up the trunks. One small tree
with entire leaves and covered with sweet-scented tassel-shaped flowers,
had at least half its foliage of a pale yellow-green. This is the spring
of this region in so far as such a region of never ending warmth and
moisture may be said to have a spring. On every hand flowers were in
abundance. All were unknown to us, but most were of large size and varied
odor and color. All the tales of the rarity of flowers in the tropics had
not fitted in with our experiences.
[Illustration: FIG. 121. A SLOTH IN ACTION.]
In the course of three bends of the river, during some fifteen minutes’
observation, we observed the following in masses of sufficient size to
catch the eye far off and add a decided color tone to the spot where they
grew: purple pea-blooms in wisteria-like bunches; falling-star white
flowers; pink two-petalled ground flowers in dense clumps; spider lilies,
the large kind; red passion flowers; white tubular blooms; five-parted
purple star-shaped flowers; wild cotton, in enormous masses of bloom,
resembling clematis and as fragrant; long thin racemes of very fragrant,
dull greenish white flowers; brush-like purple blooms, white at the base,
growing sessile on the trunks, with an edible fruit, which the blacks
call “Waika.”
This list is exclusive of all the many inconspicuous flowers and all
orchids, which were seldom out of sight. Its value lies only in giving
the faintest of hints of the wonderful beauty of these jungle water
trails.
[Illustration: FIG. 122. A SLOTH ASLEEP.]
On these upper reaches of the stream the two water birds most in evidence
were Tiger Bitterns[40] and Great Rufous Kingfishers.[67] One could
write pages trying to describe a single vista of this beautiful region
and yet give only a hint of its charm. In one place a mighty loop of a
lofty bush rope or monkey ladder with ornate woody frills decorating the
edges, hangs swaying high in air across the stream. Several other giant
vines have caught hold and have wormed their way in serpentine folds
along the first great swing. In the spaces between these huge living
cables, seeds and parasitic plants have taken root and grown, filling up
the network with their aërial bulbs and in turn furnishing rootholds for
an innumerable variety of flowers, ferns, orchids, mosses and lichens.
The mosses are long and fan-shaped like some species of coral, and
the lichens are red, pink, gray and white. The whole forms, high over
our heads, an enormous hanging garden which no human ingenuity could
duplicate.
Two hours after starting we reached the place called Two Mouths and
turned into the Little Aremu. In no place is this stream more than
twenty-five feet wide, with low, sloping sandy or clay banks facing steep
ones, first on the right, then on the left side, according to the bend of
the stream and the force of the current. As we went along a splendid male
Crested Curassow[4] flew up and was shot, to be added to our menu. Before
we came in sight it was clucking softly.
A splash around a bend, and sharp claw and toe marks showed where a
capybara (_Hydrochoerus capybara_) had just entered the water, and from
here on we found such tracks common on every sandy bank.
We were amused at our steersman’s occasional orders to the crew. In
places where the current was swift and poling was very difficult he would
shout in a most woful and despairing voice “O Lord!”, giving us quite a
start. We eventually found that he was intending this ejaculation for
“Pole-hard!”
[Illustration: FIG. 123. WHERE ONLY OTTERS AND FISH CAN PASS.]
Black-shelled mollusks were common on submerged logs, and on the banks
above the water line were scores of curious spiders and insects, while
dragon-flies of a half dozen or more species darted swiftly about.
Throughout the morning we were never out of hearing of the hammering of
Woodpeckers, or the cooing of Doves or the laughing, descending scales of
Woodhewers. The Chinese music of the cicadas came to our ears, a sound
which recalled vividly the forests of Venezuela.
The water was now at a medium level, but after heavy rains when it is
high, all the great tacubas six feet above our heads are submerged and
much of the land along the river banks becomes a swamp.
Farther upstream when the water became very shallow and the stream
narrowed to twelve or fifteen feet, some of us left the ballyhoo in order
to make the work of the blacks easier, and took to the trail. After a
fifteen minutes’ walk we saw the glimmer of sunshine through the trees
and knew that we had reached the gold mine of the Little Aremu.
CHAPTER IX.
JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU.
SOME PAGES FROM MY DIARY.
(_By C. William Beebe._)
Even more to the Gold Mine of Aremu than to Hoorie is the application
“island” or “oasis” in the jungle, appropriate. The clearing is about
twenty acres in extent, approximately circular, with the magnificent
forest trees crowding densely to the very edge. The bungalow and mine
shaft are on the summit of a symmetrical hill, which slopes evenly and
steeply down on all sides. The hill is about a hundred feet in height and
yet the trees far down at the foot tower high above it.
The concession includes about seven and a half square miles, and in many
places where the rock outcrops, well paying deposits of gold are visible.
At Aremu there is a soft quartz ledge about eight feet wide running
almost vertically and rich in gold. Often the metal is visible and a
small lens shows the yellow crystals encrusting the white matrix.
The first day at Aremu we went down in the mining bucket, two and
two—each clinging to the wire cable and balancing the opposite person.
Down and down went the swaying bucket, slowly revolving—the heat and
sunshine of the upper air replaced by the cool darkness—damp and chilly
with rich earthen, clayey smells. Eighty-five feet below the surface the
four leads began, one a hundred feet along the vein. This consists of a
ferrugineous gold-bearing quartz, somewhat decomposed by the dissolving
out of several of its constituents. The candles shed a flickering light
on the slimy, dripping walls and for a few moments one felt completely
confused—so hard was it to stand there shivering and yet realize that a
few yards overhead was brilliant tropical light and sunshine, gaudy birds
and butterflies. One seemed in a wholly different world.
[Illustration: FIG. 124. AREMU GOLD MINE, SHOWING BUNGALOW AND MINE
SHAFT.]
But though forever buried in dripping darkness, there were as bright
colors here as in the living creatures above ground. Each side of the
quartz vein ran an endless series of beautifully stratified, decomposed,
talc-like clays; purest white, orange, slate-colored, pink, blue, yellow
and brown—one hue succeeding another like some strange fossil rainbow.
Outside near the bottom of the hill, two gaping holes showed where the
blacks who discovered the gold years ago worked the ledge by hand—leaving
even in their tailings enough gold to make it well worth working over.
Now electric stamps, run by great boilers, do the work, all brought up
the Little Aremu bit by bit, with the greatest labor, at seasons of high
water.
Here as at Hoorie a few pork-knockers were allowed to locate their
diminutive claims and glean what superficial metal they could from
surface deposits. A mile away to the west was a large outcropping
known as “England” and here four or five blacks were working. On each
Saturday night they would bring their little packets of gold to the
store to receive credit checks or receipts. Once as we were crouching in
the jungle watching some “cushie” or parasol ants, two of these black
pork-knockers passed within a yard without seeing us, each with his
little bundle of worldly belongings on his head, topped by a wooden gold
pan.
I have mentioned panning as the most primitive method of mining, next
to which comes the “Long Tom.” At “England” we found a third advance—a
method of breaking up partly decomposed gold-bearing quartz. A deep
narrow pit showed where the material was found, shovelfuls being thrown
up on two successive ledges before it reached the surface. It was then
carried to an open thatched roof beneath which was a primitive, two-man
power stamp. This was nothing but a gigantic hammer made of two logs,
the hammer part covered with metal, and the handle hung in a socket,
so that the centre of gravity lay toward the head. Two men, balancing
themselves by clinging to uprights, stepped in unison on the tip of the
handle, their combined weight depressing it and raising the head; then
stepping off suddenly the hammer came down with great force on a pile of
broken gold-quartz, fed into a hardened hollow beneath it. This mining
enterprise required no less than five men, and they were taking out about
$1.20 each a day.
Comparing the division of labor among men with that among cells, we may
liken the single “pork-knocker” to an Amoeba, where a single man and
a single cell perform all the necessary functions; the Long Tom with
two men is like the simpler sponges—where one set of cells secretes
the skeleton of spicules, giving shape to the whole, and another set
lashes the water and absorbs the tiny bits of food. The crusher with
its five men, each performing his individual labor, corresponds to some
slightly higher organism—a jelly-fish or anemone,—while the electrically
run stamps, employing several score of men, is like the complex cell
machinery of a beetle or butterfly.
The Aremu Mine clearing had been in existence only about six months, and
the trees which were felled had been sawed up or burnt so that there
was no such abundance of wood-loving insects as at Hoorie. At night a
few Longicorn beetles would appear and buzz about, but almost no moths.
In fact during our whole stay only one moth of large size was seen. One
small species of moth, with wings of a general rusty-red, a light line
along the front margin and spreading only an inch, appeared in numbers on
the evening of April 2d. The following day we saw many of the Gray-rumped
Swifts snatching them from the bushes in the clearing. I brought a single
specimen back and found it was a species new to science, which has been
named _Capnodes albicosta_.[H]
[Illustration: FIG. 125. DESCENDING THE SHAFT.]
Walking sticks and mantises were more abundant. Some of the former had
well-developed wings on which they whirred about the bungalow; others
had none at all or reduced to a scale-like vestige. In an individual
of a third group the wings, while perfect, were pitiful affairs, mere
mockeries of pinions, barely an inch in extent, while the body of the
insect was almost five inches in length. When thrown into the air the
poor “stick” expanded his wings to the fullest but wholly in vain. There
was just sufficient spread of wing to act as a parachute and allow him to
scale safely to the ground.
[Illustration: FIG. 126. WALKING STICK INSECT.]
We watched him several days and never tired of his peculiar walk, swaying
from side to side. Often when at rest the front pair of legs would be
extended parallel with the antennæ, along the anterior line of the body,
making the imitation twig eight inches over all (Fig. 126).
As we walked through the jungle wood roads close to the clearing, large
forest dragon-flies, small tiger beetles (_Odontochila confusa_, _O.
cayennensis_ and _O. lacordairei_) and a few yellow-spotted Heliconias
were the most noticeable insects. One or two of the giant metallic
Buprestid beetles (_Euchroma goliath_) were sure to be seen flying about
the fallen trees, and our Indian hunter invariably made a dash at them,
and as invariably missed the active, alert creatures.
Passing by a great mora stump in the clearing, our attention was
attracted one day by a large caterpillar hanging dangling about two feet
from the ground, squirming and wriggling vigorously. We ran up and saw a
most interesting sight. Through a hole, about three quarters of an inch
in diameter, protruded one of the claws of a good-sized scorpion. These
villainous pincers had a secure grip on two of the long head spines of
the caterpillar, which was dangling helplessly. As the latter wriggled,
the scorpion made attempt after attempt to draw its victim inside the
hole, a most absurd thing, as from tip to tip of spines the caterpillar
measured almost two inches across. After watching this tableau I caught
the scorpion’s claw in a pair of pliers, drew him out, and, Milady
holding him up with the caterpillar, I photographed them together.
The caterpillar was a most gorgeous creature; pale green, fading into
yellowish at the posterior edge of each segment, while the movable
joints were dark brown. On the seven posterior segments there were six
rows of branched spines, the stalks pale orange and the branches pale
blue—the three colors, green, orange and blue, making a most harmonious
combination. On the anterior five segments there were two additional rows
of spines, small ones, low down on the sides. The eight spines on the
head segment pointed forward, projecting beyond the head. The longest
spines were on the second, third and caudal segment and were over three
quarters of an inch. All the blue branchlets ended in a dark, tiny needle
point, and they stung like nettles as we found when we accidentally
touched some.
I had never heard of a contest between two such creatures, and should
think the scorpion must have been hard put to it for food, to make
frantic attempts to secure such a prickly mouthful.
[Illustration: FIG. 127. SCORPION AND CATERPILLAR AFTER THEIR BATTLE.]
South of the bungalow, scrubby bush had been allowed to grow up and
here was a scattering of non-forest birds; three pairs of Silver-beak
Tanagers[146] and a pair of Seed-eaters.[131] Gray-rumped Swifts[72]
coursed over the clearing and Toucans, Macaws and Orange-headed
Vultures[52] were occasionally seen from the bungalow, while a pair of
splendid Red-crested Woodpeckers[88] hammered the trunks and leaped from
tree to tree all through the day.
In the clearing itself we saw little of mammalian life, although we dined
daily on all the bush meat from bush-pig to acourie. The whitened bones
of an ocelot lay in perfect arrangement at the edge of the clearing fifty
yards from the bungalow, picked clean by ants but for some unaccountable
reason untouched by Vultures. The animal had been shot at night, chicken
stealing.
At daybreak the red howlers came to the edge of the clearing and awakened
us from our slumbers by their wonderfully weird chant.
Jaguars were not seen or heard, except one reported by the mail carrier
who runs between Aremu and Perseverance Landing. Some years ago an Indian
near here found a litter of jaguar cubs containing two normally colored
and one black individual. The latter was purchased by a colonist and sent
to the London Zoo.
A dull-colored, harmless snake, four feet long, with two rows of keeled
scales along the back, was the only serpent we found in or near the
clearing. Lizards were everywhere and one very large iguana inhabited a
bit of wood-road, but evaded all our efforts to add him to our mess pot.
The Amphibians alone in this region would well repay months of study.
Our brief visit gave us only a glimpse of them. The commonest frog
in the jungle near the clearing was a medium sized, dark-bodied one
(_Dendrobates trivittatus_) with green legs and two pale green bands,
one running around the front edge of the head, back over the eyes and
down the sides of the body; the second line being beneath the first. The
under parts were covered with blue lines and mottlings. The first half
dozen seen were normal in appearance, but then one was encountered which
instantly drew my attention. A closer look showed that the back of the
animal was covered with a solid mass of living tadpoles, each over half
an inch in length. When I urged him into a jar, two tadpoles were scraped
off and wriggled vigorously. When put into water they sank to the bottom
and made no attempt to swim, although the tail fins were well developed
and there was as yet no trace of limbs.
I kept this frog in a box with wet earth and a puddle of water, and two
days later half the tadpoles had left his back and were swimming strongly
in the muddy water. They were attached to the back of their parent only
by their sucking disks, and the object of the strange association seemed
only temporary and not intended to last until the tadpoles became adult.
They would probably drop off and swim away one by one when their father
entered some forest pool. This species of frog was very active and
capable of remarkably long jumps.
As I shall mention later, the sharp eyes of my Indian hunter spied a
most remarkable frog in the jungle one day, which I brought home in my
pocket. Its scheme of protective form and color was perfect—the hue of
dried leaves and withered mosses, with deeply serrated sides and a high
irregular ridge over each eye. I placed it among some dried leaves and
tried to focus on it with my Graflex, but could not find it. Then I
stooped down and although the frog had not moved and I knew the square
yard within which it was resting, it took me a full minute before I
located it, and optically disentangled it from its surroundings. I have
never seen such a case of complete dissolution and disappearance. When I
alarmed it, the frog closed its eyes—thus obliterating the dark spots of
its irides, and then little by little opened them again.
Every evening at half past five o’clock we would troop down to the
stream and swim and paddle about on the sand bars in the half day—half
moonlight. The water was cool and refreshing and the temperature of the
air invigorating at this hour, and to lie on one’s back and look up at
the lofty moras and other trees stretching their branches fifty yards or
more overhead was a sensation never to be forgotten.
We spent ten days at the Aremu Mine, and it speaks well for the working
possibilities of this region that I was able to rise at five o’clock
in the morning and with intervals only for meals, keep up steady
work—exploring, photographing and skinning until ten o’clock at night,
when usually the last skin would be rolled up or the last note written.
I would then tumble, happy and dead tired, into bed and know nothing
until the low signal of our Indian hunter summoned me in the dusk of the
following morning. I worked harder than I ought to have done even in our
northern countries and yet felt no ill effects.
What impressed me chiefly in regard to the birds of this region was,
first the abundance, and second, the great variety. In the course of the
ten days of our stay, we identified 80 species of birds, and observed at
least a full two hundred more which we were unable to classify except as
to family or genus. Wishing to study the birds alive I refrained from
shooting as much as possible and chose to make this expedition rather
one of preparation in learning what tropical wood-craft I could from an
excellent Indian hunter, than of gathering a collection and thereby a
lengthy list of mere names. When, sometime in the future, we return to
this splendid field of study and spend months in careful observation of
some such limited region, we may hope to add something of real value to
our knowledge of the ecology of these most interesting forms of tropical
life. We have the results of the collector, par-excellence, in our museum
cases of thousands of tropical bird-skins. Now let us learn something of
the environment and life history of the living birds themselves.
[Illustration: FIG. 128. MILADY AND THE GIANT MORA TREE.]
It is against my rule to write in diary form, but owing to the limited
time we spent at Aremu and the series of events, some of which extended
over two or three days, I have made an exception in this case and will
put down a few of the incidents of jungle life in the order in which I
observed them. Far from giving all the observations made here on birds
and other creatures, I have included only those of greatest interest,
which will convey an idea of the conditions of life here as compared to
those in our northern woods and forests.
MARCH 28th.—Leaving the house before noon I crossed the Little Aremu by a
foot bridge, at the western edge of the clearing. The stream here flows
gently and smoothly; it is from one to four feet deep, and ten to fifteen
feet wide. Following it upstream, one is stopped within a few yards by
a perfect tangle and maze of interlocked vines and trunks showing what
it was like lower down before the hand of man hewed and blasted a free
channel. The forest about the mine clearing is probably near the extreme,
even of tropical growth. One feels absolutely dwarfed as one gazes up—far
up, at the lofty branches, where birds like tiny insects are flying
about, in a world by themselves. The trunks are clean, hard and straight
as marble columns and the undergrowth is thin, giving access in almost
any direction, yet dense enough to harbor many species of birds and
animals.
Turning south along a wood road, I started on my first tramp into the
jungle. It was the hottest part of the day, but there was all the
difference in the world between sun and shade, and here in the recesses
of the forest it was pleasantly cool, and birds and insects were abundant.
One of the first sounds which came to my ears was a loud, intermittent
rustling among the dried leaves, marked now and then by a low grunt.
Crawling up quietly behind a great mossy log, I peered over and was
surprised to find that I had been stalking a huge tortoise. I certainly
might reasonably have expected to see a mammal instead of a reptile,
as our tortoises of the north are not in the habit of attracting our
attention by their vocal efforts. This was a South American Tortoise
(_Testudo tabulata_) of the largest size, not far from two feet in
length, and he was busy rooting in the ground for some small nuts which
had fallen in great quantities from the tree overhead and settled among
the débris of the leaf mould. The shell of the tortoise was high and
arched, dark brown in color with a bright yellow centre in each shield.
There were two deep abrasions on the shell, apparently caused by the
teeth of some carnivore.
These tortoises were very common and we had many delicious soups and
stews made of their meat. They were, however, heavy and awkward to carry
and we never bothered to bring them home unless on the return journey
and near the clearing. In one individual we found eight eggs about to be
deposited.
My wood road led up a gentle incline down which logs had been skidded,
and after a half mile it merged gradually into the jungle. At the last
sign of the axe I sat down on a fallen trunk and quietly waited. Three
Blue Honey Creepers[136a]—two males and one green female,—dashed here
and there in the branches close overhead. They uttered sharp cheeps,
until the males flew at each other and began fighting furiously—ascending
for fifty feet in a whirling spiral of hazy blue and black, and then
clinching and falling to earth, where they clung together claw to claw,
and pecked viciously and in silence, their beautiful plumage disheveled
and broken. The lady—heartless cause of all this terrible strife—cheeped
in low tones overhead and nonchalantly plucked invisible dainties from
the undersides of leaves. I took a step toward the combatants and they
separated and vanished, the lady, be it noted, following swiftly in their
wake.
Close upon this melodrama came a fairy Manakin, black with a conspicuous
white chin. I never saw another and cannot identify it, distinctly
marked though it was. Through the forest came the low belling of Green
Cassiques;[150] then no sound save the drowsy hum of insects high
overhead. The most frequent noise came from falling leaves, twigs and
branches—yes, leaves, for “gently as a falling leaf” in this tropic world
might mean, “like the stroke of a sledge hammer!” The realization comes
again, as a yellow leaf eddies past my seat, that autumn is distributed
throughout the whole year, while the freshly opening pink and reddish
shoots on every hand show that spring is never absent.
[Illustration: FIG. 129. AËRIAL ROOTS OF BUSH-ROPE.]
I observed something circling about in an opening to my left and on
examining it found a peculiar flat cake-like wasp nest, with the solitary
pair of owners (_Polybia_ sp.) on the rim. It was attached to the
extremity of a long, slender bush-thread dangling from a great distance
above. There was not a breath of air and the secret of the circling
motion—the nest moving irregularly in an ellipse of about ten feet—was
not solved until with my glasses I made out a small monkey—a marmoset
apparently—clinging to a branch near where the bush-thread started. The
little creature had found some store of food in a hollow or crevice of
the bark. To get his hand in, he was compelled to push aside the dangling
curtain of aërial root-threads, and this occasional motion was enough to
send the end, far below, sailing around in a large circle.
As I resumed my seat, a great beetle, like a polished emerald, alighted
close beside me,—not heavy and blundering, like a June-bug or scarab,
but nervous, flicking its wings wasp-like, ready at an instant’s alarm
to whirr away as swiftly as light. A beautifully marked Longicorn
beetle buzzed past and alighted ten feet up a sapling, leaving me
eying it enviously, atremble with all my boyhood’s collecting ardor.
Heliconias sailed slowly past and one of the beautiful transparent jungle
butterflies alighted at my feet, with only a few dots of azure revealing
the position of the wings. White and yellow butterflies floated high in
air, where a hundred kinds of flowers flashed out among the green foliage.
Lizards were abundant in this little clearing, slipping along fallen
trees with sudden rushes and halts, or tearing madly after each other
with loud rustlings through the fallen leaves. Some were beautifully
colored, splashed with blue, orange and green; while other dark ones
had a network of delicate light lines crossing the back, cutting the
creatures up into likenesses of small lichened leaves.
When the sun shone out brightly, two or three minute midges danced before
my eyes—otherwise I was free from the “insect scourges” of the tropics!
The trees on this and all later days constantly drew from us exclamations
of delight. They were magnificent, awe-inspiring, and if I could think
of any stronger word of appreciation I should apply it at once to them.
Their immensity and apparent age made one reflect upon the transiency
of animal and human existence. Even the long-lived Parrots and Macaws
perching on their branches seemed like may-flies of a day compared with
these giants of the jungle, which had watched century upon century pass.
As I looked at the circle of trees bordering the clearing—a clearing
which itself was the result of the felling of only one such giant—the
great variety of trees was at once noticeable. Near relatives—brothers
and sisters, or fathers and sons—could not exist within each other’s
shadow. So it was that a dozen kinds were visible from my seat. One
splendid fellow sent up a perfectly rounded grayish column, one hundred
and fifty feet or more, propped with a single great fox-colored buttress,
sweeping gracefully out from the weaker side of the ground hold of the
trunk, like the train of a court lady’s dress.
Another column was round but deeply fluted, the trunk being rimmed with a
succession of scallops, while in a third tree known as Paddle-wood, this
was carried to an extreme, the trunk being little more than the point of
juncture of a dozen thin blade-like sheets of wood. The whole was of a
beautiful leaden-gray color.
The moras were the biggest and tallest trees within sight, and sent out
huge buttresses, twenty feet in all directions with space between them
for a good-sized room. The impression of security was perfect—it seemed
as if the strongest of winds could never overcome such a reinforced
structure.
Hearing near at hand the strange cicada _whirr!_ which we have described
in a previous chapter (page 23), I watched for the insect and soon traced
the sound to a very large cicada high up on the trunk of a tree. Wishing
to identify it and lacking other means of getting it, I backed away some
distance and brought it down with a 22 calibre shot cartridge. It is a
remarkable country indeed where one goes gunning for bugs! And not only
this, but I only winged my game! one pellet of lead breaking the main
vein of the right wing, bringing the insect to the ground where it buzzed
and flopped about until I caught and chloroformed it.
It was a beautiful species almost three inches in length with transparent
wings marbled with wavy black markings, and with the thorax and abdomen
ornamented with tufts of golden and brown hair (_Cicada grossa_).
Keeping to the left through the open underbrush I intersected another
wood road, then swung around and at last entered the clearing from the
southeast. Hearing a rustling I suspected another tortoise, and was about
to pass on when I saw leaves and twigs flying into the air behind a log.
Creeping from tree to tree I saw that the commotion was made by a trio
of Ant-thrushes or, as I prefer to call them, Antbirds. They took the
leaves and leaf mould in their beaks and threw them over their backs,
all three working side by side, covering a width of about two feet.
They were Woodcock Antbirds,[93] reminding one, in the general tone of
coloration of the upper parts, of that bird. The chin and throat were
black bordered with white which extended up the sides of the neck and
forward over the eyes. The tail was short and often held erect over the
back, while the strong legs and feet proclaimed them terrestrial rather
than arboreal. When flying or excited, a row of white spots flashed out
from all the wing feathers save the first two primaries, but when the
wings were closed only buff markings were visible. Now and then two of
the birds would spy some morsel of food at the same instant and a tussel
would ensue. With angry scolding cries the two contestants would strike
at each other with their beaks, with wings wide spread and the elongated
feathers of the back raised and parted, exposing the conspicuous white
base of the plumes, almost like a rosette. These white stars were
very conspicuous amid the dark shadows of the forest floor, vanishing
instantly when the wings were lowered. This color was not visible in
flight. Many of the species of this group of birds have a similar
concealed dorsal spot, and it must serve some definite purpose. When
the matter of dispute was devoured or had crawled away into safety, the
quarrel was at once forgotten and the birds began scratching peacefully
side by side as before.
A short distance beyond I encountered what I found later was the most
common assemblage of birds to be found in this region—a flock of Antbirds
and Woodhewers, with a few other species, such as Flycatchers and
Tanagers. One could not take even a short walk in the forest hereabouts
without observing several such flocks, numbering from a dozen to fifty or
more individuals.
The Antbirds comprise a family, _Formicariidae_, of which more than
two hundred and fifty species are known. They are rather generalized
passerine birds, which are found only in the tropical forests of northern
South America. Inconspicuous in color and retiring in habits it is only
when one becomes familiar with these tropical jungles that one realizes
how numerous these birds really are. Their notes are usually uttered only
at intervals and are often difficult to locate. They creep silently among
the lower branches or, as we have seen, search the ground for the insects
which form their food. The name Ant-thrush is rather a misnomer, for they
are not Thrushes, and while they are always attendant upon the swarms of
hunting ants yet they seldom feed upon the ants themselves, but on the
insects stirred up by the ferocious insects.
We know but little about the nesting habits of these birds, and we were
unable to locate a nest during our brief stay although we knew that
several were breeding near the clearing.
Like most other tropical families, Antbirds have been compelled by
competition to specialize, and we find some Shrike-like in habits as
well as appearance; others resembling the long-legged Pittas of the East
Indies, while the majority parallel Wrens, Warblers or Thrushes.
The Woodhewers of the well-named family _Dendrocolaptidae_, or
Tree-chisellers, form with the Antbirds a considerable percentage of the
smaller forest birds of this region. There are not far from three hundred
forms of these birds, all of dull colors—rufous or brown tones prevailing.
Woodhewers in the main parallel the Woodpeckers, and especially the Brown
Creepers, in their method of obtaining food. Their claws and feet are
strong, the legs short, and the tail feathers in the majority of species
are stiff and spine-like. They hitch up the trunks of trees, finding
their food in the chinks and crevices of bark, but not boring into the
wood like Woodpeckers. While the stiff tails show that all have probably
descended from tree-creeping ancestors, some Woodhewers have deserted the
trunks and have become Warbler-like in haunt and habit. Such a one is
the Cinnamon Spine-tail[94] or “Rootie” (p. 379). In the tropical forest
however, Woodhewers differ but little in their method of locomotion, and
one or more of these fox-colored birds hitching up a great trunk is one
of the commonest sights. There is remarkable adaptiveness in the bills,
some being stout and blunt, others long and curved.
The notes of these birds are, with the calls of the Toucans and Cotingas,
among those most frequently heard. In the early morning especially, the
sweet descending scales of single notes from various parts of the forest
forms a feature which is seldom lacking.
Just before I reached the clearing I flushed two labbas or pacas
(_Coelogenys paca_) which ran squealing almost from under my feet. These
are rodents, looking like giant Guinea-pigs about two feet in length,
with brown fur spotted with white. Their flesh is the most delicate of
all the “bush meat.”
Mr. Howell followed my tracks later in the afternoon and brought home a
Tamandua, or Lesser Anteater (_Tamandua tetradactyla_), which he shot in
a tree. This creature is rather sloth like in color and in development
of its claws, but its tail is prehensile, and nothing more unlike could
be imagined than the heads of the two animals, that of the sloth short,
round and blunt; the anteater’s long, slim and pointed.
MARCH 29th.—We had an excellent illustration this morning of how easily
one can get a totally wrong idea of the animal and bird life of a
tropical forest. Nine of us started out along a faint trail used by black
“pork-knockers,” which, after several miles of twisting and turning, led
to an outcropping of gold, known as “England,” all on Mr. Wilshire’s
concession. Throughout the whole tramp, although we lagged behind, we
noted not a single bird or animal of interest save for a scattering of
Toucans and Parrots. Every living creature fled before us or remained
hidden. One might thus tramp across a continent and report the tropics
to be barren of life, except in the tree-tops. Not only this, but the
few birds which flew over or were otherwise seen momentarily were
without exception brilliantly colored, and this would help to sustain
the wide-spread impression that tropical birds are invariably of bright
plumage, which is very untrue. There are really more dull-colored than
brilliant birds in the tropics.
[Illustration: FIG. 130. TAMANDUA. (Photo. by Sanborn.)]
At last I slip aside, let my companions go on, and make a detour to
the left of the trail. Here in the heart of the jungle I discover an
overgrown clearing with the skeleton of a hut in the centre. The ruin
itself is a thing of exquisite beauty, the half-decayed uprights and
roof saplings being interlaced and overhung with vines, the brilliant
scarlet, poppy-like passion flowers crowning all. From the blossoms
comes a busy hum of insects, in sharp contrast to the silence of the
trail along which we have come. In the virgin forest there is ever sharp
contrast. Brilliant bits of sunlight alternate with blackest shadow;
deathly silence is broken by the ear-piercing call of the Goldbird; the
dull earthy smell of the mould is suddenly permeated by the rare sweet
incense of some blossom or the penetrating musk of an animal or some huge
hemipterous insect.
In a clearing—even a deserted one like this and only a few yards in
extent—all is toned down. The odors are diffused and difficult to
analyze; the droning of bees alternates only with the sharper whirr of
a Hummingbird’s wings, either the brown White-eyebrowed one,[73] or the
beauty with long sweeping tail.[75] The Rufous-breasted Hummingbirds[74]
are abundant here and have quite a sweet song, a trill of twelve or
fifteen notes, slow at first but rapidly increasing and ascending.
The half hidden framework of the hut with the collapsed shelf and table,
tell of man’s past presence; so do the papaw, sugar-cane and banana run
riot; and suddenly we hear the sweet rollicking song of a little House
Wren,[124] man’s follower, filling the deserted glade with sweetness;
probably hoping that soon he will return and reclaim this fast vanishing
oasis. For when the trees and vines—already reaching up over the papaw
and bananas—close densely in, as they surely will, the jungle will become
sovereign again, and then the pair of tiny birds will flee. Not for them
are the dark silences, the tall sombre trunks. Their jubilant little
souls crave light and companionship. Many of the birds of the tropical
jungle have sweet single notes and calls—but most have harsh primitive
voices. All are characterized by a solemnity or plaintiveness of tone,
and none that I can recall have the joyful theme which fills the song of
this little pioneer from more civilized regions; a song which is out of
place away from mankind. Their sweetness has touched the heart of the
native Guianans, who call these Wrens God-birds.
It is nine o’clock, cloudy and cool, and I am sitting near the old hut
and write on a trunk fallen across the trail. A shuffling of feet comes
to my ears and soon a good-sized opossum, but smaller than ours of the
north, trots swiftly toward me. Not until he gets within arm’s reach does
he realize that something is wrong. I sit as immovable as stone and he
puts a grimy little hand on the very edge of this journal. His nose works
furiously, his rat-like beady eyes fairly bulge. Then he turns, just as
I grab at his tail, but his hind claws scratch my arm so severely that
I loose him, and he flees back on his trail—rolling awkwardly along but
making remarkably good time. He was probably on his way home after an
early morning’s hunt. Thus the jungle folk have already begun to close in
on this deserted clearing.
An hour later as I am kneeling quietly some six feet from the log, busy
liberating a beautiful little butterfly from the tangle of a spider’s
web, I am surprised to see the same opossum trot past. I know him because
he has a kink in one ear. To see what the little fellow would do I leap
toward him, but he has encountered me once and come to no harm, so he
will not be turned back again. Instead of dodging me, the opossum only
increases his speed, crosses the log, drops out of sight among the
bushes, snorts twice to himself, and is swallowed up forever by the dark
jungle. This log is apparently his regular highway, and he chooses to
risk my apparently fierce onslaught and to run over the opened journal,
bag, hat and gun, rather than change to a new path along another tree
trunk a few feet farther along the trail.
* * * * *
We mortals sometimes have faint hints of coming events, and as I was
leaving the clearing I instinctively kept all my senses on the alert. I
had proceeded only a few yards into the jungle when some of the sweetest
flute-like notes I have ever heard came from a patch of underbrush ahead.
What could it be! I knew that no human being could whistle like that, and
when they were repeated I realized how coarse any flute would sound in
comparison. Nothing in this world but a bird could utter such wonderful
notes. My memory recalled descriptions of the Quadrille-bird[125] and I
knew I was at last listening to it.
Our northern ravines have their Hermit Thrush; the canyons of Mexico are
transfigured by the melody of the Solitaire and here in the deepest,
darkest jungles in the world arises the spirit of the forest in song—the
hymn of the Necklaced Jungle Wren. Dropping everything which would impede
my progress, I crawled slowly and silently over the soft mould until I
was close to the patch of thick brush. Then I waited and prayed, and
the gods of the Naturalist were good, and a little brown form flitted
up to a low branch and from the feathered throat came the incomparable
tones of the fairy flute. The bird sang a phrase (I) of six to ten notes
at a time. This was repeated several times, when an entirely new theme
(II) was begun, which was given only once, then a third (III) and fourth
were tried. Each note was distinct, and of the sweetest, most silvery
character imaginable. In all but two phrases the invariable end consisted
of two notes exactly an octave apart, the last like an ethereal harmonic.
Twice the tones were loud and penetrating, twice they came so faintly
that one’s ear could hardly disentangle them from the silence.
Birds with scale-like songs are far from uncommon: in the north the
Field Sparrow; in Mexico the Canyon Wren; here the Woodhewers, but this
was wholly new, phrase after phrase each differing from the preceding.
How I longed for a phonograph! I scrawled a staff on a bit of paper and
pin-pricked the notes where they seemed to come and reproduce them here.
But what a parody they are, be they whistled or played!
[Music]
[Music]
[Music]
The Necklaced Jungle Wren,[125] or Quadrille-bird as the natives know it,
is a true Wren barely four inches in length, brown above, with a black
collar spangled with white. The face, throat and breast are rich rufous,
with the lower parts pale brown. This is the singer. The song no man may
describe!
A small deer sprang up at my left, and I had walked some distance in
that direction when I suddenly realized that I had missed the trail, and
had been following an imaginary opening through the jungle. On closer
examination this proved to be a deer trail leading to a small spring of
clear water. I will never forget the first thought of terror at being
lost in this endless forest. In one direction a few miles away lay the
bungalow; in the opposite direction one might wander for weeks without
meeting even an Indian. As this thought came I espied a little scarab
beetle resting in the hollow of a leaf, who, as I looked, climbed slowly
to the rim, wriggled his antennæ and took to wing. What a wonderful power
of scent it was which was directing him straight as a magnet, to some
far distant bit of decaying flesh, and with what marvellous vision the
Vulture high overhead spied me and hung for a moment watching me through
a break in the foliage! How dull and inefficient seemed all my organs
of sense in such a crisis as this. For a few moments I devoted myself
to discovering which was north, and from which direction I had come.
The cloudy sky and the sameness of all the vistas through the jungle
completely foiled me, and I had to give it up and ignominiously unravel
my puzzle deliberately and unromantically. I stuck my long-handled
butterfly net in the ground and began to describe circles about
it—widening them gradually, until on the third round I intersected the
trail and went on my way.
The danger of being lost is by no means an imaginary one, and even with
a compass it is sometimes difficult to retrace one’s tracks. The Indians
themselves have to guard against becoming confused when in a new region.
Before I reached the main trail, and met the returning party, I saw a
number of the exquisite White-capped Manakins,[109] clad in shining black
save for their snowy caps. Their flight, unlike their white-breasted
cousins which we met in Venezuela, was noiseless. They were far from
silent however, twanging their little vocal chords in an apology for a
song—a wheezy, grasshopper-like buzz. The females were silent, sombre
little beings—dull olive green above, with a grayish cap and paler below.
After lunch at one o’clock in the afternoon, I started out again and
climbed to the summit of a densely forested hill, southeast of the mine
clearing. The tree-tops were filled with birds and not for a moment was
I entirely out of sight or sound of one or more species. A few yards
from the clearing I followed up an excited cackling and found a pair of
splendid Red-crested Woodpeckers.[88] They had a nest in a tall dead
stub and were trying to dislodge an iguana which was steadily crawling up
a neighboring branch. A moment after I came into sight one of them struck
the lizard with its wings, whereupon the iguana reared up and lunged with
open mouth, the birds then ceasing their attack upon the inoffensive
saurian.
[Illustration: FIG. 131. AGOUTI. (Photo by Sanborn.)]
What splendid birds the Woodpeckers are—strong, active, full of vitality
and enthusiasm over life. These were big fellows, black above,
variegated on shoulders and head with white; thickly barred below and
with a long crest of blazing scarlet. They spent much of their time near
the bungalow, and when they drummed steadily their scarlet head-plumes
seemed a living flaming haze.
Near the summit of the hill a tall Silverballi had been felled and
sawed by hand into boards. This had made a small clearing like the one
I visited yesterday. The trees were filled with many species of birds
attracted by the abundant insect life, some of which I knew and made
notes upon, while most were unknown to me. A group of tiny feathered
beings was busy catching midges near the top of one of the highest
trees, their sharp _cheeps!_ coming faintly down to me. Hopeless of
ever observing them at closer range, I secured one and found it to
be a Buff-tailed Tyrantlet.[107] This waif of the upper air was less
than three and a half inches in length with rather unusual coloring,
the fore part of the body gray, the back, wings, lower breast and tail
rufous. Its claim to the Flycatcher family was proved by the broad
beak and remarkably long bristles. One must have an aëroplane or, more
practically, an observing station in the tree-tops to study these and a
hundred other interesting birds at close range. With a couple of hundred
spikes as a ladder, I intend some day to make one of these mighty trees
give up many of its secrets.
As I was about to seat myself on the ground beyond the clearing, a big
Guan[5] or Maroodie, as we learned to call it here, arose with a loud
cackling cry and a rush of wings. Simultaneously a dark-colored animal
slipped into a hole freshly excavated some twenty feet away.
I lay prone, waiting for some other unexpected manifestation of life,
but all was quiet. Then I prepared to watch for the reappearance of the
unknown burrowing creature, and pressed my face close among the ferns
where I could just see the entrance. A minute passed and directly across
my line of vision, a few inches away from my face, crawled, as rapidly
as it could move, a very large caterpillar almost four inches in length.
Never have I seen a more remarkable looking one. Its ground color was
a peculiar dark wine-red or purple, like the plumage of the Pompadour
Cotinga. From the sides of the back projected brush-like tufts of red and
black hair, while a continuous line of dense golden hair extended out
from the body just above the feet. Over six segments was drawn a pale
yellow pattern of the most delicate lace-like markings, a dainty network
different on each segment. Altogether it was a wondrous creature and
entirely put the burrowing mammal out of mind.
I carried it to our improvised laboratory on the veranda of the bungalow,
but it refused food of all description, and day by day became smaller
in size and duller in color. Instead of dying, it transformed one night
into a large, beautiful chrysalid, yellow-green with a pale bloom over
the surface. It was an inch and a half in length, thick-set in the centre
and tapering rapidly. The joint between the fifth and sixth segments
was hinged and the terminal portion would swing vigorously from side
to side. The spiracle on the sixth segment was cream colored and much
longer than the others, while the bottom of the chrysalid ended in two
short, brownish spines. Seventeen days later in Georgetown, a beautiful
orange-shaded Morpho butterfly emerged. I looked it up in a curious old
volume, “The Insects of Suriname” by Madame Merriam, written many years
ago, and found it was a rare insect, _Morpho metellus_, light orange on
the fore-wings, shading toward the body into pale green and on the hinder
wings to velvety black. From tip to tip it spreads six inches.
On this tramp I heard at least a dozen unusually loud or musical calls
and whistles, new to me, which I could not trace to their authors. In one
case, however, I was successful. Creeping up to a low, thick patch of
brush, a splendid scarlet bird flew out and alighted twenty yards away,
again giving utterance to its characteristic loud whistle. To-day I was
contented with listening and watching, but later I secured the bird as
I could not otherwise identify it. It was what I have christened the
Black-headed Scarlet Grosbeak,[134] differing from the description of
this species in being 8⅜ instead of 7½ inches in length. It was scarlet
below, dull red above, with a scarlet necklace and a jet black head and
throat. A yellowish female showed herself for only a moment. The whistle
was loud and penetrating, but sweet in quality. The first theme had three
distinct phrases which may be represented thus:
[Illustration]
The second consisted of three scales, the first ascending one being more
abrupt than the succeeding ones, thus:
[Illustration]
When the first bird ceased, another took up the whistle as long as I
remained near the place. What splendid birds these would be in an aviary,
striking both in color and notes. The nest, eggs and young, as is the
case with so many South American birds, are unknown.
Goldbirds[115] were calling all through the woods, and when one paid
close attention, considerable variation was apparent in their notes. One
individual uttered the _wheé! wheé! o!_ twice in quick succession with
the two introductory phrases (_vide_ page 189) only before the first
call. This was repeated three times and then the bird reverted to the
usual single utterance. On my way home two agoutis sprang up before me
and I secured one for the general mess.
CHAPTER X.
JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU.
SOME PAGES FROM MY DIARY (_continued_).
(_By C. William Beebe._)
For our supply of meat we depended altogether upon the efforts of an
Indian hunter who made daily excursions from the clearing after game,
and who never failed to come back heavily laden with some one of eight
or ten varieties of edible birds or mammals. He was an Arrawak, going by
the name of Francis, his real Indian name being of course never revealed.
Like most of the Indians we met, he was quiet, serious and taciturn,
but I had the good fortune early to win his approbation and to satisfy
him that, while my hunting clothes were no match for his copper-colored
skin in stalking animals, yet I could manage to get through the woods
without any great noise or bustle. The only personal information I could
obtain from him was that he was born on the upper Mazaruni, had a brother
and two sisters and was “’bout four hand” (twenty) years old. He got
fifty cents a day and his food for hunting and slept in a tiny hammock
swung beneath the bungalow floor. The Indian hunter at Hoorie was paid
sixty-eight cents a day without rations.
Francis and I had some interesting tramps together and one of my most
enjoyable memories of these great tropical jungles is of this little
red-man, short, well-built, muscular and absolutely tireless. I found
him to be a great help in searching for certain rare birds and animals,
and I learned a good deal of jungle craft from him. As one example among
many things, I noticed that he never stepped on a log or fallen tree,
and it was not until I had crashed through and hurt my ankle on one
which had been undermined by ants that I realized how excellent a rule
this was. A log of apparently the hardest wood might be but a shell thin
as paper. The facility with which Francis found his way about in rain
as well as sunshine was a puzzle, until by careful watching I found he
was constantly making new trails by breaking, in the direction of the
trail, tiny twigs, the leaves of which were of a slightly different color
beneath. Such a mark every fifteen or twenty feet was almost a hopeless
clue for me at first, although ultimately I learned to discover them more
readily. As the breaking made no noise and was accomplished by the least
motion of the hand, it was long before I detected it. When I went out
alone I chose to leave a “blaze” every _ten_ feet!
MARCH 30th.—At daybreak we started out on our first tramp, I with camera,
bag, gun and glasses. Half a mile from the clearing I cached the camera
and bag, the pace being such that I could not keep up while carrying
them. I have hunted in Canada and elsewhere with first-rate guides and
backwoodsmen, but this was a very different matter. From the moment we
entered the jungle the whole demeanor of Francis was changed. He walked
like a cat and _never for a moment_ relaxed his vigilance, and therein
he differed from a white man, who would unconsciously relax when he
thought game was still some distance away. His figure slipped silently on
ahead of me, flowing under trunks, passing around the densest clumps of
underbrush, while I followed and imitated as best I could, learning every
minute more than I had ever known of the art of effacing oneself in the
wilderness. Every step was made carefully and the entire field of view
ahead swept, and every significant sound noted. A branch would fall with
a series of resounding crashes and the Indian would apparently not hear
it, while a cracking twig or a low rustle which I could scarcely detect
would lead him off in an entirely new direction, not necessarily toward
the sound, but often to flank it or get to leeward of it. During the
first two or three hours we would give our whole attention to hunting,
but when the day’s supply was provided, we then stalked the birds and
wild creatures and watched them, as closely as we could.
Our first tramp was in a general south or southeast direction, passing
over a succession of hills, five in all, three of which were high and
quite steep, but all of about the same diameter with regular slopes and
flat, narrow valleys. These were mostly swampy, or if dry had a stream
flowing slowly along the middle. Agoutis were abundant in such places and
we could always depend on obtaining them when desired.
As we left the bungalow I had laughingly asked Mrs. Wilshire what meat
she desired for dinner and she said “Venison.” So when I told Francis,
in the broken English which we must use in talking to these Indians,
that we must get deer, he nodded and disdained the agoutis. If I had
said, “Francis, we must be sure to get deer to-day in preference to other
game,” he would have understood not a word. But “Shoot-um deer, eh? no
accourie, no labba, no maipurie,” outlined the day’s work perfectly in
his mind. I was rather reluctant to use this _um! ugh!_ language at
first; it savored too much of theatrical Indian dialect or of “penny
dreadful” wild-west jargon, but it soon became perfectly natural and was
really necessary.
After a half-hour’s walk Francis motioned me to take the greatest care,
and pressed my shoulder lower until I was almost on my knees while we
slowly crept around a great mora trunk. He pointed steadily ahead, but
after a three-minute scrutiny I could discern not a sign of life. Then he
raised his gun and fired, and set loose a half dozen feathered bombs, or
so it sounded as a flock of nearly full-grown Guiana Crested Tinamou[2]
arose with a roar. I secured one with a quick snap shot and we tied up
the brace of birds with a slender tough bush-thread. Fastening head, feet
and wings together, the Indian tied them ingeniously around his waist,
the birds hanging down behind out of the way.
At the sound of the guns three tiny male Purple-throated Euphonias[138]
clad in purple jackets, yellow caps and waistcoats, came down to see what
the noise was about. They were ridiculously tame and sang their simple
chattering song in our very faces.
In the fourth valley we found a perfect maze of agouti tracks mingled
with the fresh imprint of a tapir’s feet. Francis showed me the spot
where he had shot one of these “bush-cows” the week before. A few yards
beyond we found a deer’s track and in some way the Indian seemed to
know that the animal was close at hand. We crawled silently for twenty
or thirty yards through a shallow creek, then separated and crept along
the slope, one on each side. A sudden rustling of vines came from a bend
in the stream and we both caught sight of the bright rufous flanks of a
deer. We secured it and then for some reason Francis remained perfectly
quiet for five minutes while a delightful bit of wilderness life appeared
close to me.
The smoke from my gun was still clinging to the great fern fronds
overhead, when a second deer, a doe, walked fearlessly past along the
opposite slope, stopping to nibble at a leaf now and then, and at last
vanished in the underbrush. I was about to climb down to the deer we had
shot when I heard a splash and a weak little bleat, and, looking at a
pool ahead, there I spied the tiniest of fawns standing in the shallows,
looking full at me, and now then splashing the water.
I whistled and the little thing started toward me fearlessly, standing
knee-deep in the water, its tiny rufous form decorated with three lines
of spots, every one of which was perfectly reflected in the water.
Suddenly with a snort and a stamp the mother took one leap over a bush,
her eyes staring in terror at me, then turned and vanished. In some way
she had infused the spirit of fear into her offspring, for with a bleat
which was almost a shriek the little fellow galloped madly, awkwardly
after her, tripping every few steps as he turned his head to see if this
awful thing was pursuing. I never saw such an instantaneous change from
confidence to fear in any creature. The most remarkable thing was that
the mother and fawn had not taken fright at the roar of the guns in their
very ears. The very loudness and proximity must have had a numbing effect
on the organs of hearing. I found that Francis had seen the second deer
after shooting at the first, and had lain flat while she walked so near
him, that, as he showed me by her tracks, he could have reached out his
hand and touched her as she passed.
We know but little of the deer of this region, and I took some notes on
this first Savanna Deer (_Odocoileus savannarum_) which we obtained for
the mess. It was a male without horns, and of a uniform rich rufous above
with grayish-brown head, and the legs up to the hock mouse-color. The tip
and under side of the tail and inner thighs were white, while the rufous
color was continuous around the breast and belly. The deer stood 24½
inches high at the shoulder and weighed 70 pounds. It had been feeding on
leaves and on a great number of seeds of the Kakaralli tree, much like
the mora. The seeds look like nutmeg in the mace, and two grow in each
husk.
The skill and rapidity with which Francis prepared the animal for
carrying was remarkable. He removed eight-foot strips of bark from a
small tree which he called Mahoo and stripped off the tough pliable inner
layer. With this he bound the legs and head together, then tied a broad
band of bark about the body leaving it loose at the top. I hoisted up
the deer and he put his arms and shoulders through the tied legs as if
it had been a pack bag and slipped the loose band of bark across his
forehead, like the tump-lines of the Canadian Indians.
A gentle cool breeze was blowing down the narrow valley and the blood
from cleaning the animal had not been exposed five minutes when a line of
burying beetles and yellow wasps began coming up-wind to the feast. Such
a summons calls them far and wide from their vantage points on leaves and
branches, where we see them so frequently in walking through the jungle.
Before fifteen minutes had passed, an Orange-headed Vulture[52] appeared
soaring over the little opening in ever lessening circles. He too had
responded, but as much by sight as by scent, to the welcome meal.
On the way home we frightened a group of large weasel-like creatures
which we found to be Tayras (_Galictis barbara_) or, as the natives call
them, Hackas. Seven ran rapidly away snarling and I secured one. They had
been feeding on big grubs which they had nosed out among the dead leaves,
a rather remarkable occupation for creatures of the fierce Mustelidæ
family. The fur was dark-brown with a white spot on the breast, while the
tail was long and bushy.
Before we reached the clearing a Quadrille Bird[125] sang to us from the
heart of a tangled swamp, a new theme differing from any I had heard:
[Music]
During the four mile walk to the clearing there was hardly a minute
when we were out of sight or sound of birds. Big Blue Tinamou[1] and
Jacupeba Guans[5] boomed up before us; Woodpeckers and Manakins of
several species called and flew here and there, while we passed flock
after flock of Antbirds, Woodhewers, Flycatchers and Tanagers. One bird
which I secured, the Wallace Olive Manakin,[112] was altogether of a
dull olive, with none of the brilliant color patches of its congeners.
When I went to pick up the specimen I saw a curious jointed band lying
across it and found a six-inch centipede on the bird. The Manakin must
have fallen across the path of the Myriapod as it was crawling over the
jungle floor. While wrapping up this bird, a flock of tiny Brown-fronted
Jungle Vireos[128a] flew close to us, uttering a song like a diminutive
alarm clock, _Whirrrrrrrrrrr-chee! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrr-chee!_ Francis shot
one, which was hardly more than four inches in length, olive-green above,
paler below. Those who think that all tropical birds are brightly colored
should see the great number of species of sober little fellows like these.
MARCH 31st.—Francis and I started out in a light rain at daybreak in
search of Trumpeters and howling monkeys. The cook was well supplied with
meat so we did not intend to bother with game. With the help of Goeldi’s
plates of Brazilian birds and much crude attempt at sketching I had
taught Francis what creatures I wished especially to see.
About three hundred yards from the clearing Francis pointed out a
beautiful nest of a White-throated Robin[127] made of green, growing
moss, and placed close to the trunk of a tree, about six feet from the
ground. We marked the spot and went on, but a day or two later I returned
and examined it more carefully. This Thrush is olive brown above, pale
below with a streaked chin and throat like our northern Robin. Its most
characteristic mark, however, is a patch of pure white on the upper
breast, which flashes out like a star among the shadows of the jungle.
The parent was shy and would slip off at my approach, but return as
silently if I walked away for a minute. When I prepared to photograph
the nest she thought something was seriously wrong and voiced her alarm
with a sharp _cut! cut!_ When I focussed close to her home, her anger got
the better of her and she scolded me roundly with harsh notes, repeated
in phrases of seven, _chack-chack-chack-chack-chack-chack-chack!_
[Illustration: FIG. 132. NEST AND EGGS OF WHITE-THROATED ROBIN.]
The nest touched the trunk of the tree, but rested on a loop of a
two-inch bush rope or liana, which swung against the bark, binding one
tree to another. Just below was a fungoid excrescence larger than the
nest itself. The nest was a double one, the new one being built directly
on the older. The latter was composed of dry dead moss, while the new
one was fresh and green. There were two eggs, pale blue-green, thickly
spotted with brown of various shades, much more densely at the larger end.
We found this Robin was a common breeder hereabouts and discovered four
other nests, all within a half mile of the clearing, yet all in deep
jungle. The parents differed radically in their actions; two allowing
us to inspect their treasures without fear, while two others became
terrified if we approached within twenty feet of their nest.
To return to our Trumpeter and howling monkey hunt; it rained much of
the morning, but for the most part only a drizzle. Francis said that wet
weather made bad hunting except for deer and bush-cow or tapir, chiefly
because the continual noise made by the falling rain-drops made it
difficult to hear the rustlings of birds and animals.
I thoroughly enjoyed this new aspect of the jungle world. As usual
small birds were fairly abundant, of which apparently 99 per cent. were
Antbirds or Woodhewers. The most common Antbird in the valleys was the
Scaly-backed, slate-colored except for the feathers of the back, wings
and tail which were black tipped with white. At one place two dozen of
these little birds must have been in sight, uttering sharp, snapping
calls, and clinging, like Marsh Wrens, to upright stems in the low
underbrush.
Every now and then we came across a good-sized hole with fresh earth
thrown out at the entrance. Francis said that this was made by a “Yāsee”
and he recognized an armadillo when I drew it.
Suddenly the rain came down in sheets, and streamed through the dense
foliage. Francis gave me his gun, ran to a tooroo palm, a species which
has no stem but sends its leaves, fern-like, from a base level with the
earth. He cut off five stalks with as many blows of his knife, brought
them to me and stuck them upright in the fork of a low branch. We stood
under them for half an hour and never a drop came through, although three
inches out in any direction the rain was falling in torrents. It was a
wonderful example of a waterproof shelter put up in about thirty seconds.
Can we blame these Indians for a general lack of industry, when game is
as easy to obtain as we found it, and when one may build a house in a
half a minute with a few knife strokes!
During the entire downpour we saw only a Long-tailed Hummingbird[75]
which unconcernedly searched the undersides of leaves for insects.
Francis said its nest was hung on the side of the tip of a tooroo frond.
A fluted tree of large size near us he called ballicusan, saying it was
used for making paddles like ruruli. A section would look something like
this:
[Illustration: FIG. 133. SECTION OF PADDLE-WOOD TREE.]
The folds when cut off are so thin that a very little additional shaping
forms them into blades.
As we were walking along after the shower, several twigs fell on us,
which would have been unnoticed by me, as leaves and even branches are
continually dropping in these forests. But Francis looked up at once and
whispering “Baboon” pointed to where a great male red howler (_Mycetes
seniculus_) was walking slowly along a branch overhead. A carefully aimed
shot brought it to earth, stone dead. It was a magnificent specimen
weighing just twenty pounds and the hyoid bone protruded like an
exaggerated Adam’s apple.[I]
These howling monkeys are of course not really baboons, as these latter
monkeys live only in the Old World and have short tails; while the
howlers are members of the American family Cebidæ.
They are of a low type of intelligence and will not live long in
captivity, being morose and sullen, very unlike other smaller South
American primates. The hyoid bones in the throat are enlarged to form
a great thin-walled bony drum, which is the chief instrument in the
production of their wonderful voice.
There were two females and a smaller male in this party, but I got no
clear sight of the others after I shot the old one. As in the case of
the deer, tiny burying beetles began coming within two minutes after
the blood of the baboon had been splashed on the leaves. We had walked
for ten or fifteen minutes after shooting the monkey when we heard an
infantile roar from the remaining male. This the old one would never
have allowed, so we had an interesting example of the almost immediate
usurping of the leadership by a young animal, at the death of presumably
its parent.
Francis had remarkable eyesight, and when he once realized that I was
interested in small birds and other objects he would silently point out
everything in our path. In this way I found a remarkable frog which
was so protected by its color and markings that I should never have
discovered it by myself. I have mentioned it before as being of good
size, earthern brown in color, with a tall, thin leaf-like ridge on the
head over each eye and a row of light-grey tubercles like fringe down
each side of the body. From the tip of the nose to the tail extended a
narrow, pale bluish line and externally there seemed to be almost no
differentiation between head and body.
I heard Red-billed Toucans[81] calling in a high tree and stalking them,
succeeded in shooting two, both males, one younger than the other. The
coloring of their beaks was wonderfully brilliant and variegated. Their
notes were of the Robin-song type, _Phéo-pha!_ although the resemblance
to a puppy’s voice was also strong. They had been feeding on seeds with a
pinkish pulp which Francis called suluwafaddy.
There were three Toucans in this group and when the first old bird was
shot the others returned and called continuously and loudly. The third
also came back to the same tree and I found that this was the adult
female.
In this case as always, I did not take the life of a living creature
without some good reason: for sport, never—but either as food, or as in
this instance as the only way to solve a problem of scientific interest.
I had noticed trios of Toucans in many places and wondered whether the
third bird was an extra female or young. On the following day I observed
no fewer than five separate trios of Toucans of two species, and now that
I knew the dull-colored upper tail-coverts were a clue to the young bird
of the year, my high power stereo glasses showed me a single young in
each instance. We know practically nothing of the nesting habits of this
group except from vague accounts. So it is certain that in this region
the rule is that only one young bird is reared to maturity.
The loud hollow whirring of the wings of these birds often drew our eyes
up to the tree-tops and we had many opportunities of watching them feed.
The commonest way was for them to creep out as far as they dared to the
branch tips and then crane their necks and bills to reach the fruit.
But often they adopted a more spectacular method. A trio would beat
heavily into a berry-laden tree and perch quietly a few moments, looking
carefully in all directions for danger, overhead for hawks and eagles,
beneath and around for monkeys, opossums and snakes. Then one would
launch out, make a flying leap at a pendent cluster of fruit, clutch
it frantically with its feet, and dangle and sway for ten seconds at a
time—reaching out the while and filling its bill with the berries. Then
when the bird dropped exhausted to a branch below, it would swallow what
it had gathered.
After shooting the Toucans I leaned my gun against a patch of black moss
on a tree trunk. To my astonishment the moss whirled outward and back,
and then I saw it was a host of caterpillars crowded as densely as they
could be in a patch three feet high and forming a semicircle about the
six-inch trunk. They were covered with black, branched, stinging hairs,
with two longer tufted ones on the segments near the head. As Francis
said, “Um wurrum’s hairs bite hard!”
I began experimenting with their reaction motions. I found that any _sst_
sound or hiss, the snapping of fingers, whistling, hand clapping, or
pounding on the metal or wood of my gun, caused absolutely no response on
the part of the caterpillars. No matter how close to the creatures or how
loud or sudden was the sound, unless they were touched they did not move.
On the contrary, any utterance of such sounds as _bis!_ _bow!_ _bing!_
_buzz!_ even when so low as hardly to rise above a whisper, caused every
caterpillar of the many hundreds to react as one. The head with the long
tufted appendage was jerked quickly backward, then down, and on the edges
of the mass from side to side. Those in the centre, because of their
position, had only the up and down flick. The effect as a whole was
indescribable. An inconspicuous growth of moss was transformed like a
flash into a seething, rearing mass of waving caterpillars. A suggestion,
altogether theoretical, is that the reaction to the buzzy sounds may hint
that the chief danger feared by these caterpillars is the fatal buzz of
the wings of the ichneumon fly.
This evening we added baboon and bill-bird to our venison, and were
surprised to find the former tender and by no means devoid of taste.
The Toucans were tough, but more than one of us came back for a second
helping of “howler”—in spite of the cannibalistic chaff with which we
were regaled!
[Illustration: FIG. 134. PHONETIC CATERPILLARS.]
The rain had increased in amount successively during the last three days
and to-night a new sound was added to our nocturnal chorus—the Bubbling
or Gurgling Frogs, which, by the score, vented their joyful emotions in
energetic gulps from the jungle at the edge of the clearing.
APRIL 1st.—Having missed finding Trumpeters yesterday, Francis promised
them for to-day and we took a long tramp full of incident as usual. We
circled to the north, swinging around beyond the first two valleys and
then turning and describing a second curve intersecting the first. Two of
the Jungle Wrens or Quadrille Birds[125] sang their incomparable strains,
each with a theme of its own. The first had two phrases which it uttered
alternately, thus;
[Music]
There is absolutely no other bird song with which to compare it.
The timbre, when heard at a distance, is that of the Wood Thrush
quality—sweet, liquid and altogether ethereal. But the distinctness of
the notes and their remarkably intricate trios and gradations are wholly
unique. Three or four large species of Antbirds ran rapidly here and
there, holding their short tails erect and jerking them frequently, thus
presenting a decidedly ralline appearance.
We saw several Little Tinamous[3] in the course of the day, one of which
I shot. When the cook cleaned it in the evening, he found an egg about
to be laid. Several days later a short distance from the clearing,
a bird of this species was flushed from a slight hollow between the
buttresses of a mora. The following day when the bird flew from the same
spot it was found that an egg had been deposited. It was of a burnished
purple color and was 35 × 45 mm. in size. Although we knew that the
egg had been laid less than twenty-four hours before, yet it contained
an embryo corresponding to a four day chick. This fact, in the case of
these generalized birds, may have some significance when we remember the
advanced state of embryonic development characterizing the newly laid
eggs of many reptiles.
After an hour or more of the most careful stalking in a low swampy
valley, we heard the unmistakable thunderings of Trumpeters[25] or
Warracabras, and my blood leaped in response. Long before I could hear
them, Francis had distinguished the low booming note amid all the other
jungle sounds. I had studied specimens for months in the north and had
searched in vain for any definite account of their habits. And now,
although the briefness of my stay would permit of almost no chance for
real investigation, yet here at any rate were the birds themselves in
their native haunts. At last we flushed two which flew down from their
perch with a sudden whirr of wings and ran swiftly out of sight. As they
flew they uttered the familiar _Chack! chack!_
These interesting birds have no near relations, but form a Sub-order
by themselves. They run very swiftly but seldom use their wings, and
although they swim quite well, rivers of any size are never crossed.
Large flocks are sometimes met with, but the birds travel more often in
small parties. They feed on the ground and roost in the tall trees. The
voice has many variations but the sound from which the name is derived is
very loud and sonorous, and can be heard at a great distance. Trumpeters
are very common pets among the Indians, to whom they become greatly
attached, and although given full liberty in the midst of the dense
bush they never attempt to return to their former homes. When standing
upright, the Trumpeter reaches a height of from 18 to 20 inches. The
head and neck are black and covered with soft velvety feathers, about a
quarter of an inch in length, and slightly recurved. On the upper part of
the breast and the lower part of the neck a purplish iridescence appears
on the feathers while the rest of the plumage is entirely black, with the
exception of a brownish band across the back, and the grayish plume-like
secondaries. The tail is very soft and does not exceed four inches in
length and is indeed hidden by the wing feathers.
I made careful inquiry concerning the nesting of the Common Trumpeter.
So-called biographers have credited it with nesting on the ground or in
a hole high up a tree; of laying from two to ten or more eggs, which in
the words of the describers are white, dirty-white, or green!
I questioned Francis at various times and could never get him to vary his
answers. He said that the Trumpeter nested in the hollow of a tree and
laid three, four or five white eggs.
On another occasion I questioned the Indian who hunted for Mr. Nicholson
at Matope and he said the Warracabra builds a nest of leaves well up in a
tree and lays five white eggs.
While waiting for the Trumpeters we heard the strange Bare-headed
Cotinga[117] or Calf-bird. The note has been compared to the lowing of
a cow, but to me it seemed much more musical resembling the humming of
a goblet when one’s moistened finger is rubbed around the rim. The bird
is yellowish brown with a bare head and keeps to the tops of the trees.
It is not shy however and can easily be approached and watched with the
glass.
The most interesting discovery I made to-day was the elaborate courtship
and challenge performance of the Crested Curassow.[4] In a low bit of
valley with thick underbrush we put up a deer which dashed off before we
could catch more than a glimpse of it. It was followed by two agoutis,
one of which we gathered in for dinner. The note of alarm of these
rodents is a loud nasal _Wăăăăh!_ Then Francis clutched my arm and by
listening intently I could just hear a faint low mumbling. It might have
been a bumble bee a few feet away, but the Indian pointed to the east and
said “Powies—Warracabras! Me go shootum labba.” Which very plainly meant
that there were Curassows and Trumpeters near me and that he would leave
me to stalk and study them, while he went to secure a toothsome paca for
dinner.
I cached my gun, in fact everything but my glasses, and began creeping
as silently as possible down the course of the little valley. Francis,
quietly amused, smiled as I tied my handkerchief tenderfoot fashion to my
gun; expressing quite as much as a multitude of chaffing remarks could
have done.
[Illustration: FIRST PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING, A SLOW WALK WITH RAISED
TAIL.
FIG. 135. Rear view.
FIG. 136. Side view.]
Foot by foot I pushed through or crawled under fallen trees and tangled
vines and tree-ferns, close to the hot steaming forest mould, with the
low distant booming becoming ever more distinct. The ventriloquial
quality completely deceived me, and long after I thought to see the
performer I went on and on for many yards. At last I turned to the south
to gain the shelter of a great fallen tree which had begun to merge its
rotten wood with the débris of the jungle floor. I shall never forget
pushing aside a mass of beautiful green orchids and slipping into a
great hollow made by a second tree which had fallen athwart the first.
Just beyond were three Crested Curassows,[4] a male and two females, the
latter busy scratching among the dead leaves, while the male was devoting
himself to a most remarkable performance.[J]
The splendid bird walks slowly up and down the clear space which he has
chosen. The entire body is tilted far forward, the breast low and the
wings pointing down in front, the wrist portion, or shoulder as it is
often wrongly called, dropping almost to the ground. The wing tips lie
flat upon the back, and the tail is raised, while the head is held high,
almost touching the back and tips of the wings. The tail, carrying out
the line of the back, points straight upward, and the white belly, flanks
and especially the under tail-coverts are fluffed out to their greatest
extent, forming a most conspicuous white mark against the black of the
remaining plumage. (Fig. 135.)
[Illustration: SECOND PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING.
FIG. 137. Standing with Pebble in Beak, striking the Head against the
Back.]
Now from a tree near by comes a low penetrating moan or muffled boom.
The bird in front of me at once changes his whole demeanor. He continues
his walking but it assumes more of a mincing character, uttering all the
while several notes, like low but shrill squeaks or gurgles, mingled with
snorts and snores, all rather subdued. These seem rather hit or miss,
there being no regular sequence or similarity of the utterances. Several
times these sounds are interrupted by the bird stopping, appearing to
pick up something, and then to dash its head violently against its back,
producing a low champing sound which seems to excite the females, who
otherwise are wholly indifferent. Try as I may I can make nothing of this
action, and later it is an indiscreet, impatient movement of mine at such
a juncture that ultimately frightens the birds and ends my observations.
I was delighted therefore when observing the Curassow in the north to see
the bird repeatedly pick up pebbles or a feather or twig and champ them
in its bill just as the wild bird did. The clicking sound resulted only
when a hard object was picked up, but the dull thuds were made by the
skull of the bird striking violently against its dorsal vertebræ, the
object it had picked up being held meanwhile in its bill. (Fig. 137.)
The wild Curassow soon drops whatever it has picked up and claps its
wings together seven or eight times over its back, making a loud slapping
sound. It then turns its back on its rival in the tree, plucks nervously
at the wings, right and left, for a full minute or longer, and then
reaches convulsively forward several times, with its head and neck, the
bill being wide open, gulping in a great quantity of air. Its abdominal
air-sacs swell, its wings are lowered and rounded out until the bird
appears half as large again as usual. Thus it stands, half squatting
with lowered head and tail, and within a period of five to ten seconds
utters usually four notes of the deepest and most penetrating character.
Now that I am within a few yards, they sound no louder than when several
hundred yards away. The exertion put forth shows this vocal effort to
be a strenuous one, and at the second performance the tones are rather
low and confused. But the normal utterance, this climax of the whole
challenge, is as follows:
[Music]
This may be imitated by anyone with a deep bass voice by humming the
syllables _Um, um, um-um-um_, to the notes as I have written them.
During this period the actor, as observed in the captive specimen, seems
almost in a trance, standing with half closed eyes, oblivious even of a
hand resting on the feathers of his back, and the recovery is slow, the
bird seeming dazed for a short time.
As I lay concealed in the Guiana forest, the whole performance was
repeated five times in twelve minutes, the Curassow appearing most
excited after it had finished the challenge call. It frequently ran to
the hens and walked about them, while the captive bird which I observed
paid no attention to the hens, but showed off to human visitors and
devoted himself to attacks upon their footwear.
[Illustration: THIRD PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING.
FIG. 138. Back turned, Wings lowered, Air-sacs inflated, uttering the
penetrating Challenge Call.]
No part of the performance was ever omitted. Invariably he turned his
back on his rival or observer, invariably he first walked and snorted,
then champed and clapped his wings, and finally sent out his challenge.
As I have said, one may closely imitate this call, and the birds, as I
learned on another occasion, will respond to repeated calls and come
within shooting distance.
Taken altogether, the performance was a most delightful insight into
the lives of these little known birds, and the complexity and intricate
succession of the various maneuvres was remarkable. As I have said, at
one of the pebble champing periods I become so interested that I made
a noise and the three birds rose at once and whirred away, while I
retraced my steps. I returned as carefully as possible and encountered
a troup of small monkeys which passed close overhead, sending down a
rain of dead twigs. They apparently have the habit of breaking off twigs
when they are progressing leisurely, as I observed this same unnecessary
amount of falling twigs and branches on several other occasions. When
thus engaged they make a great racket, uttering now and then plaintive,
inarticulate sounds. When once they spy you beneath them a sudden chorus
arises like the greatly exaggerated swearing of a red squirrel, and off
they go rapidly, silently, with not a sound of breaking branches.
Finding a good point of vantage not far from my gun and bag, I waited
for Francis, squatting—coolie fashion—out of respect to the bête rouge
which were numerous and enthusiastic at this point! I sat there five
minutes and not a moment was devoid of interest. I accidentally snapped a
stick, and like an electric spark came a sharp _zizz!_ at my very elbow.
I jumped as if an electric shock had indeed accompanied it, and then
broke another stick. Again the _zizz!_ snapped in answer, and close to my
resting place I discovered a “Six o’clock Bee,” as the natives call these
giant cicadas (_Cicada grossa_). Like the Curassow, he was on the _qui
vive_ for rivals and ready with his challenge. As often as I snapped a
stick, he whirred out an answer.
A pair of Blue-and-yellow Macaws[61] screamed. When heard in the
distance, all harshness is eliminated from their voices, and an extremely
human quality of sound is acquired, as of one person calling in a
high tone to another. A Green Cassique[150] whirred overhead, tolled
his cow-bell and strutted with slow elaborateness. Suddenly a pair of
Trumpeters[25] came into view, but saw me at the same instant, and with
loud _chacks!_ fled in all haste. Going on to our meeting place I almost
stepped on Francis, who had been, quietly watching me and resting after
having returned with a load of game.
We struck the broken twig trail on which we secured the old howling
monkey yesterday, and a few hundred yards from the spot we heard the
young male roaring. He had improved wonderfully on his falsetto yell of
yesterday, and except for a general weakness of volume and an occasional
break and tendency to get out of breath, he made a good showing in
the vocal gymnastics of his race. Twice after this we ran across the
youngster and each time he was howling, but entirely alone. He had not
yet secured a mate and his mother and aunt had apparently deserted him
upon his assumption of leadership!
A half-hour’s walk close to the clearing this afternoon revealed birds
everywhere in flocks, passing leisurely. Small Woodpeckers were tapping,
Woodhewers picking and prying, Antbirds peering under leaves and twigs,
and the Flycatchers audibly snapping up insects in mid-air. The jungle
was filled with dee-dee-dees, chirps, chacks, low mewings and whistles,
while a rain of falling leaves, ripe berries, dead twigs and bits of bark
marked the progress of the flocks. I shot a number of birds which were
new to me, one of which I could not find until after ten minutes’ search.
When I discovered it, a line of ants five yards long had formed and it
was covered with their bodies. So swiftly do tropical scavengers work!
I secured a Wedge-billed Pygmy Woodhewer[96] with its single young one,
which must have left the nest that very day. Curiously enough, the latter
perched as often as it clung to the tree-trunks, and keeping this in mind
I found that the measurements of the two birds were very interesting.
There was almost no difference between the length of the wings and beaks
of parent and young, but the tail of the young bird was only 1⁷⁄₁₆ inches
in length as compared with 4¾ inches in the adult. From this it appears
that the climbing habit is not developed as early in the young Woodhewer
as in Woodpeckers, in which it seems instinctive from the first.
Resting my camera for a moment against the buttress of a giant mora, a
small brown bird flew out and I recognized another Wedge-billed Pygmy
Woodhewer.[96] It flew to a sapling and peered at me around the side.
When I did not move away it came nearer and voiced its disapproval by a
five-syllabled cry, _chik-chik-chik-chik-chik!_ This made me suspicious
and peering down a narrow crevice formed by a deep fold in the buttress
I caught a glint of white, and finally made out three eggs, one of
which seemed to be freshly broken. A safer or cosier place could not be
imagined. The crevice was eighteen inches deep and only two inches wide,
with the opening of the fold almost closed by a small dangling bush rope.
The nest itself was only two feet above the ground. The eggs were pure
white and were laid on a thin net-work of rootlets and fibres resting on
the black mould which had collected in the crevice. The following day it
took me two hours of hard work, cutting and sawing, to reach the nest,
and when Milady spooned up nest and eggs, four good-sized scorpions came
with them, unpleasant guests I should think! There were two eggs in the
nest and a broken one on the ground outside which the parent had removed
the night before. This egg had probably been broken by the hurried flight
of the parent on the preceding day. The eggs were a broad oval in shape,
dull white and both measured 20 by 16 mm.
Four other pairs of birds were nesting on this side of the clearing,
Yellow-winged Honey Creepers,[136] Jungle Wrens,[125] two pair of
White-throated Robins,[127] and a Guiana Quail or Douraquara.[8] This
last I found wholly by accident as I was watching a dragon-fly which
had been injured by a small Flycatcher. Good-sized pieces were bitten
out of the two hind wings and one of the others was doubled and broken.
Yet the brave little insect was far from giving up and managed to fly
slowly, albeit with a heavy slant to one side, the loose wing making a
whizzing sound as it vibrated. I followed to see its ultimate fate. As
it passed the end of a log a green lizard leaped from a leaf and seized
the unfortunate insect in mid-air, thus typifying the _anlaga_ of bird
flight. The lizard fell full length upon a rounded pile of dead leaves
and like a bomb there shot forth the whirring form of the Quail, which
scaled off between the trees.
We found the Douraquara[8] had rocketted from a tunnel about a foot
in length, made of twigs and dead leaves, which led to a round hidden
nest cavity containing four white eggs, one of which was broken. On the
following day the Quail had removed all trace of broken egg and shell. So
completely was the nest a part of the jungle floor that never except by
accident would we have discovered it.
Day after day, on every tramp we took we were more and more impressed
with the myriad examples of protective form and coloration. As I have
said before, it is the immense variety rather than the exactness of
detail which makes these resemblances so effective. I became so confused
at times that repeatedly I would net a falling leaf or blossom or even
fire at an imaginary bird, or on the other hand fail altogether to notice
some rare bird or insect until I passed on some distance and happened
to turn around. For instance, while walking along I saw something
drift down and catch on a leaf. I thought to myself, this is surely an
insect, although a most remarkable mimic. Then I bent over and examined
it closely, lifting the branch close to my eyes, and decided it was
nothing but a dead leaf, half curled and shrivelled up. As I turned
away I swooped at it idly with my net and lo! it took to flight and
cost me several yards of hard pursuit before I secured it again. The
irregularity of its wings, their leaf-brown color edged with a line of
yellow, and the remarkable drifting flight in full sunshine, all helped
to deceive me. It was a moth, _Gonodonta pyrgo_.
The Goldbirds,[115] although the size of large Thrushes, are absolutely
indistinguishable in their garb of dull brown in the shadowy mid-forest,
neither descending to the ground nor ascending to the sun-lit tree-tops.
Almost as common as the piercing _wheé! wheé! o!_ of the Goldbirds was
a less loud but penetrating _Chuckle-de-deé!_ which we heard almost as
soon as we entered the shadows of the jungle. Three days of intermittent
search passed before we discovered the author of this omnipresent sound.
The note seemed to come from the tree-tops and we unconsciously held in
mind a bird at least the size of the Goldbird. Imagine our surprise when,
after searching the branches with aching necks, we finally detected the
bird in the very act, finding it perched only about ten feet above our
heads. It was a veritable mite of a bird, the Golden-crowned Manakin[110]
clad in forest green with a tiny crown spot of yellow. From head to
tail he measured less than three inches, and of all the marvels which
we have encountered in our travels the most remarkable was how such a
tiny creature, considerably smaller than our Ruby-crowned Kinglet, could
produce such a tremendous volume of sound. His _Chuckle-de-deé!_ can
easily be heard a hundred yards away through dense forest.
Once identified it was an easy matter to locate these little Manakins.
They loved the deep, damper parts of the woods and were ridiculously
tame, perching quietly and calling continuously when one walked around
within arm’s reach. We discovered the nest of one of these birds a short
distance from the mine clearing in a sapling about seven feet from the
ground, a very frail affair suspended in the fork of a branch. It was
merely a thin cup of fine bush threads and rootlets, while two or three
small leaves were fastened to the bottom with strands of cobweb. One
could see through it anywhere. It was only 1¾ inches across and ¾ of an
inch deep inside the cup.
The bird was on the nest and refused to leave until we lifted her off and
photographed her. Then she flew and chuckle-de-deed with all her little
power!
[Illustration: FIG. 139. GOLDEN-CROWNED MANAKIN LIFTED FROM NEST.]
While insects were far from rare in the jungle itself, they were present
in myriads in the little fallen-tree clearings. Blue Morphos flashed in
and out of the thickets, while white-spotted, clicking ones, snapped
back and forth. In the darker recesses the transparent Ghost Butterflies
flew silently and almost invisibly, while Heliconias threaded the vines.
Giant bees buzzed past now and then. One which I caught was an inch and a
half long with tremendously thick and hairy hind legs, an orange collar
across the front of the thorax and an equally broad band of yellow on the
abdomen (_Centis americana_).
[Illustration: FIG. 140. YOUNG DUSKY PARROTS.]
Among the most interesting birds which we found nesting were Dusky
Parrots.[66] About one hundred yards from the clearing we observed two
red-breasted Parrots fly from a hole about forty feet up in a tall dead
kakeralli tree. We watched the tree, morning and afternoon for several
days, often for an hour at a time, but neither saw nor heard anything
of the birds. Fearing that we had been deceived in thinking they were
nesting we had a black cut down the tree, but no sooner had the dust
settled from the débris of rotten wood than a chorus of raucous cries
arose, and four young Parrots, nearly fledged, were gathered into a hat.
The quartet showed an interesting sequence of growth, there being
several days’ difference between each one. The youngest was clad only
in quill-like blood feathers; number two had the scapulars, part of the
crown, the breast and a half inch of the tail feathers out of the sheath.
Number three was pretty well feathered except for face, throat, under
wings and sides, while number four was to all intents and purposes a real
Parrot! The way in which the old birds kept hidden was remarkable.
One day Milady and I started out with only the lay of the land and a
compass for guide and walked straight toward that unknown region lying
to the northwest. A whole chapter could be written of our observations
on that single tramp, but I shall keep our notes for a future work on
the natural history of this region and add to this already too lengthy
account only a few paragraphs.
We saw many Lavender Jays[161] restless and numerous, yet curious to know
what manner of beings we were. Their alarm note _Keeeow!_ accompanied us
for a long distance. Later in the morning we spent some time watching a
dense line of parasol ants. They were as gay as Fifth Avenue on Easter
Sunday, being laden with the purple and white blossoms of some forest
tree. The broad wavering banners interspersed with those insects which
bore stamens and pistils lance-like, presented a most humanly comical
appearance. The tiny creatures are so serious and in such a hurry and yet
look so tipsy and political, that one never tires of watching them.
[Illustration: FIG. 141. EARLY MORNING IN THE WILDERNESS.]
Black clouds and a high wind overtook us and we walked rapidly on,
looking for some sort of shelter, he were lucky enough to discover a
huge tree, hollow, even to the centre of the buttresses and this we made
our headquarters during the storm. From each of four natural windows
we watched the jungle life during the rain. A small patch of the black
caterpillars was near by on a light-barked tree, all reacting or not
according to whether we ejaculated _sst!_ or _buzz!_ As before they
were very conspicuous and made no attempt at concealment, although at a
distance they resembled a black knot-hole on the trunk. But their rôle
was evidently to depend on their threatening actions and their even more
reliable stinging hairs.
[Illustration: FIG. 142. INDIAN HUNTER BRINGING IN A PECCARY.]
On the very floor of our shelter a tragedy was enacted. A small wasp
(_Notogonia_ sp.) less than an inch in length with a splash of gilt on
thorax and head, dashed upon a brown cricket (_Gryllus argentinus_)
more than twice its size, and stung it. Then the wasp left its prey and
ran off about eight inches to a round hole which it had excavated in the
black wood mould. Back to the cricket again it came, turned it right side
up, seized it by the head and began to drag it along. Although I can
hardly credit the wasp with the conscious intention, yet its sting had
certainly been delivered in exactly the right spot. The whole cricket
was paralyzed except for the two front pair of legs. The motor nerves of
these were unaffected and they kept up a convulsive pulling and pushing
which aided the wasp greatly in its difficult task. Indeed the wasp did
little but straddle its prey and steer, while the cricket pushed itself
along.
Just before the latter disappeared still kicking into the hole, the wasp
stung it again and laid a small curved white egg on one of the hind legs
of the cricket. The hole was just the right bore to admit the body of the
victim and was six inches deep.
As soon as the sun came out, huge metallic Buprestid beetles boomed about
the trunk and the Woodhewers began their sweet scale-songs, and close
over our heads a tiny Golden-crowned Manakin[110] joined in with his
_Chuckle-de-deé!_, the effort almost lifting him from his perch.
* * * * *
In offering these notes on the jungle life about the Aremu clearing, I
have purposely refrained from classifying them, as I wished the reader
to realize how, in this region of superabundant life, events crowd in
upon one—insect, bird, flower, animal—without apparent rhyme or reason.
Yet they really pass in splendid sequence, the key to which lies in the
ultimate relation of each to the other. Some day, if we do not delay
until the destroying hand of man is laid over this whole region, we may
hope partially to disentangle the web. Then, instead of a seeming tangle
of unconnected events, all will be seen in their real perspective:
The flower adapted to the insect; the insect hiding from this or that
enemy; the bird showing off its beauties to its mate, or searching for
its particular food. These things can never be learned in a museum or
zoölogical park, or by naming a million more species of organisms. We
must ourselves live among the creatures of the jungle, and watch them day
after day, hoping for the clue as to the _why_—the everlasting _why_ of
form and color, action and life.
CHAPTER XI.
THE LIFE OF THE ABARY SAVANNAS.
(_By C. William Beebe_).
We had made two successful expeditions into the jungle or “bush” of
Guiana, and now our third and last trip was to be in the open savanna
region in the eastern portion of the Colony, near the coast. The first
resident American to welcome us to British Guiana was Mr. Lindley Vinton
who, with Mrs. Vinton, did all in their power to make our stay in
Georgetown a pleasant one. Their house was made our home and certainly no
strangers in a strange land were ever made more welcome than were we.
Mr. Vinton is a living refutation of the statement that continued
residence in the tropics invariably results in loss of energy, for
seldom, even in our own virile country, can one find a man more full of
vitality. At the time of our visit he was interested in several large
concessions, one of which was a rice growing proposition on the Abary
River.
When he promised “Canje Pheasants,” or Hoatzins[11] in his back yard, and
thousands of Ducks flying past every day, we smiled as we remembered the
Hoatzins in the depths of the Venezuelan mangroves. But, exaggerated as
we believed his enthusiastic reports to be, we were glad indeed to accept
his invitation to spend a week at the bungalow on the rice plantation. We
ultimately found that he had actually understated the conditions of bird
life on the Abary!
On April 12th, Milady and I took the funny little compartment train for
Abary Bridge, or, as our ticket read, Belladrum, which we reached at 9.30
after a two hours’ slow ride.
The land along the coast is all flat savanna, dotted for the first half
of the journey with tumbled down coolie huts and tiny dyked fields of
pale green young rice. Later for some distance these give place to large
groves of cocoanuts. On the left, stretch the seawall dykes, relics of
Dutch industry, perfected by the English.
Throughout the entire journey, hundreds, sometimes thousands of birds
were in sight, often for several miles in succession; but as exactly
similar scenes were later visible and at closer range on our up-river
trip, I will not repeat myself.
The train was stopped for our benefit at the bridge across the so-called
Abary River, which proved to be a little stream only about a hundred and
twenty-five feet wide. Loading our luggage and ourselves into a fussy
little launch we chugged up-river for three hours.
Along the right bank—the leeward—for most of the distance, grew an
irregular fringe of bushes and low trees. Beyond, almost to the horizon,
stretched the vast savanna, covered with reeds, rushes and tall coarse
grass, each a pure culture in its place of occurrence.
Scattered over this great expanse were myriads of birds of many species,
the only other visible living creatures being a small herd of half-wild
cattle here and there.
[Illustration: FIG. 143. AMERICAN EGRET ON THE ABARY RIVER SAVANNA.]
For the first few miles two species predominated—as they had almost
all the way from Georgetown—the Little Yellow-headed[154] and the
Red-breasted Blackbirds.[155] Few more beautiful sights can be imagined
than a cloud of these birds rising ahead of the train or launch, and
scattering far and wide over and through the reeds. The general color of
both is a rich black, which itself contrasts strongly with the green of
the savanna. But when we add to this the brilliant yellow head and neck
of the former and the scarlet throats, breasts and wing edges of the
latter, the color scheme is one which is never forgotten. The two species
would rise in distinct flocks, perhaps six or eight hundred of each,
flow up and over the tall grass in two living waves of scarlet and gold,
and then intermingle, the rain of red and yellow sparks being gradually
quenched by the green expanse, as the birds settled among the shelter of
the reeds. Of course these flocks were composed only of those individuals
close to the track or the river bank. How many myriads were scattered
over the savanna we shall never know. We must have flushed a great many
thousand of these two species in the course of the day, and scattered
among them were a few Guiana Meadow larks[157] looking much like our
northern birds.
Every few dozen yards over the savanna, a tall white figure stood
motionless, silently watching us—American Egrets[32] distributed
for their day’s fishing, hundreds dotting the marsh, each solitary,
statuesque. Among them was a sprinkling of Wood Ibises[28] and beautiful
Cocoi Herons.[31] These latter were much shyer than the others and all
within a hundred yards of us would take to flight as we passed, leaving
their more fearless comrade-fishers in full possession.
All these Herons soon became a common sight, and we swept mile after mile
of savanna with our glasses, seeing nothing but the white birds dotted
everywhere. At last we were rewarded, and a giant white Stork came into
sight, towering above the Herons, with black head and neck, and the sun
reflected from the distended scarlet skin of the lower neck. The bill had
the faintest of tilts upward and we knew we were looking for the first
time at a living Jabiru,[30] the biggest and perhaps the rarest wading
bird of our continent. It stands fully five feet in height and the spread
of the wings is about eight feet.
Soon another appeared a half mile farther on, and a third, and before our
journey’s end we had seen at least a dozen of these splendid birds. We
have but one or two meagre descriptions of its nesting and I therefore
have included among the illustrations a most interesting one taken by Dr.
Bingham, showing a Jabiru on its nest together with its two half-grown
young. These birds do not nest on the Guiana savanna but retire at the
rainy season far into the interior.
[Illustration: FIG. 144. NEST AND YOUNG OF JABIRU. (Photo by Bingham.)]
Spur-winged Jacanas[23] in loud cackling pairs were everywhere, showing
conspicuously against the green reeds—dark chocolate when at rest and
flashing pale yellow in flight. Guiana Cormorants[47] and Snakebirds[48]
rose or dived ahead of the launch, twenty of the former taking refuge in
one small tree as we passed.
Hawks were abundant and one of the most numerous was the Cream-headed
Hawk,[54] which soared low over the savanna or perched on the shrubs
along the bank. Small birds showed no fear of it, often alighting in the
same tree. From almost every bush along the river bank little Guiana
Green Herons[38] flew up from their nests, built close to the surface
of the water. These herons “froze” like Bitterns when they alighted,
standing motionless with the bills at an angle of 45°. Along the railroad
they were semi-domesticated, flying fearlessly in and out of the coolie
yards, and snatching bits of food from the very door-ways of the huts.
About eleven o’clock, on rounding a sharp turn in the river, we saw what
appeared to be great expanses of burnt marsh. On and on we went and
at last we realized that we were looking at vast phalanxes of Ducks.
Suddenly, without warning, a living sheet of birds rolled up from the
ground, hung a moment, then gained momentum and wheeled upward. Thousands
began to rise at once, until for fifty or a hundred yards on each side
of the river, there was an almost unbroken wave of birds, flying upward
and backward. From this mass of life, giving forth a medley of shrill
whistles which soon deepened into a perfect roar of wings, single lines
of ducks detached themselves, shooting out in all directions, passing up
and across the river, or right and left out over the savanna. They were
Gray-necked Tree-ducks[45] with a plentiful scattering of the Rufous[44]
and a very few White-faced.[46] The great curving wave never ceased for
a moment as we approached, but widened and thickened and wheeled over
and behind us until the sky was pitted with their bodies. I took picture
after picture with my Graflex, the ground glass reflecting a myriad of
swiftly moving forms.
Then the Ducks which had first arisen, having flown in a great circle
over the savanna, returned, and intersecting the newly arisen host,
formed a crisscrossing maze which carpeted the heavens with a close
warp and woof of living birds. Even in Mexico, where we had watched the
vast flocks of Ducks and Geese on Lake Chapala, there was nothing to
equal this. The Ducks looked dark against the sunlight but whenever they
veered, the white wing-bands flashed like mirrors.
[Illustration: FIG. 145. GRAY-NECKED TREE-DUCKS RISING FROM THE SAVANNA.]
We counted the birds in one short line near us and found there were four
hundred and twenty individuals. No one could count those in even one of
the flocks but there must have been at least twenty thousand in the first
phalanx we encountered.
As we passed on, many hundreds settled again on their feeding grounds,
where nothing was visible of them save a myriad heads and necks,
stretched high and watching us curiously. As many others however flew
far away, the dense matted flocks fraying out into long single or double
lines, some of which must have been a half mile in length.
In this region these birds are Tree-ducks only in name, as later in the
year hundreds of eggs will be found scattered over the savanna, and
sooner or later the flocks will dissolve into pairs, each to nest on some
low hummock in the marsh.
These Ducks never settle on the open water of the river on account of the
many dangers swimming beneath, of which more anon. They sleep and feed
and nest among the thick growth of reeds and grass of the savanna itself.
After passing the second main body of Tree-ducks we now and then heard a
louder whistle of wings, and a family flock of four or five great black
Muscovy Ducks[43] would rush past; the leader, the drake, being almost
twice the size of the members of his harum.
Small birds were not much in evidence from the launch, although Anis[80]
were abundant, fluttering awkwardly among the bushes, and the big
Kiskadees[101] were nesting about every hundred yards. This was the first
time in the Colony that we had seen these latter birds nesting away from
human habitations, so this open savanna region would appear to be their
natural home, while the other yellow Tyrants frequent wooded river banks.
At one o’clock we came in sight of a barn-like shelter in which was
housed a huge steam traction plough, and radiating out across the savanna
were the lines of dykes which marked the great fields intended for rice
planting.
[Illustration: FIG. 146. OUR BUNGALOW ON ABARY ISLAND.]
A few minutes more of steaming brought us to a landing place on a small
island, with the bungalow in the centre. This islet and in fact this
whole region has an interesting history. All this savanna was once a
densely wooded jungle of mora trees, eta palms and other growth. In 1837
a drought occurred of such extent that all the vegetation—trees, palms
and underbrush—became dry as chips. The inevitable followed and a fire
started in some way which swept this whole region, reaching in places
even to the Demerara. Then floods came, broke through the loosened
barrier of tangled roots, and infiltrated through the soil. Grass and
reeds took the place of the great moras, and now, almost to the horizon,
stretches the flat, open expanse of marsh. Indeed it is only to the west
that trees are visible, where two miles away “eta bush” begins. In the
tops of these palms the black Muscovy Ducks make their homes, feeding out
on the marsh and bringing down their young—so it is reported—in their
beaks.
Sixty years ago or thereabouts, many runaway slaves fled into the
interior, most of them hiding in the recesses of the “bush” or high
woods. These lived either with the Indians, in many cases intermarrying
with them, or founded settlements by themselves. Some of these
unfortunate blacks, however, made their way up the Abary and when they
had come thus far—eighteen miles—finding no habitable land they set to
work to make an island.
In the midst of this then (as practically now) unexplored region, these
desperate men toiled at the black muck of the river edge, scooped it up
and packed it on the foundation of reeds until a more or less dry island
of about five acres had been formed. Here to-day we found a low mound of
rich black mould, with nine good-sized isolated trees, several cocoanut
palms and a few bananas. Corn planted here grows with wonderful rapidity.
The long occupancy and numerous inhabitants of the islet is attested by
the thousands of pieces of pottery with which the ground is covered. On
some I found a rude attempt at decoration, and the shape of the rims and
handles were much like the primitive African art of to-day. There was
probably a low hummock or mound as the nucleus for the island, and four
or five feet beneath the surface several Indian stone axes have been
unearthed—telling of still earlier human habitation—perhaps in the days
of the jungle.
Here we had planned to spend a week, but were prevented by an accident
from remaining more than three days, but even in the short space of
thirty-six hours of daylight we learned much of the life on and about
this islet.
Our two other trips had been to tiny islands of cleared ground in the
midst of a sea of the densest jungle; here we were marooned in the shade
of a little isolated group of trees on a diminutive hillock of earth,
bounded in all directions by an impenetrable marsh. If one so much as
took a single step from the island, it was into three feet or more of
water and tangled reeds, too dense to push a boat through. During the
rainy season boats can be poled through, and at the dry season firmer
footing is possible, but our visit was at a time betwixt and between. I
have made a small rough plan of our domain on the Abary, Fig. 147.
The river was at this point only about seventy-five feet in width,
flowing almost due south. As we ascended it, a narrow inlet became
visible in the right bank, which led into a good-sized lagoon about as
wide as the river, which had probably been formed by the excavation of
the marsh. This lagoon bounded the north and part of the east sides of
the island. The prevailing wind was from the east and this probably
accounted for the line of small trees and bushes being almost altogether
on the western bank.
We were welcomed at the bungalow by Mr. Harry, the young American
engineer in charge, who, without the ornate phrases of Spanish
hospitality, but in the simple American manner, put the bungalow and
everything at the plantation at our disposal.
[Illustration: FIG. 147. MAP OF ABARY ISLAND.]
Nothing more different from what we encountered in the bush can be
imagined. There, no sunlight save what sifts down through the tall trees;
here, a blaze of light from horizon to horizon: there, hosts of living
creatures, but as a rule single individuals of a species or in pairs;
here, unnumbered hosts in flocks of many thousands of the same species.
It was a wonderland guarded by stern guardians; teeming with life on
land, in the air and in the water. Not a moment of the day, or for that
matter, of the night was free from sight or sound of some of these
interesting creatures.
[Illustration: FIG. 148. ABARY RIVER, SHOWING HIGH GROWTH ON WEST BANK.]
First as to the guardians. The sun we found to be a most terrible menace
on the quiet open waters, and an exposure of an hour would have resulted
in most painful blisters, and these in the tropics are of more serious
moment than in the north. With broad-brimmed hats, however, there was no
danger.
[Illustration: FIG. 149. SPIDER LILY NEAR ABARY ISLAND.]
The day, even out on the marsh itself, was comparatively free from
insects, but at 5.30 a few mosquitoes appear. By 6 o’clock one would call
them numerous, and between 6.30 and 7.30 they are legion and ferocious.
One cannot sit still unprotected for a moment at a time. After 7.30
they all disappear, especially when there is a light wind, but at nine
o’clock they are present in full numbers again. We slept the first night,
or rather lay down, on cots with nets. The mosquitoes, or most of them,
could apparently easily make their way through the mesh, but when swollen
with blood failed to escape again. We slept but little, kept awake by the
biting and humming of the wretches.
From daybreak when we arose until about nine o’clock sand flies held
high revel, biting severely, after which all the insect pests vanished
and one could decide to postpone suicide until the coming night! After
this however we used close cloth nets, which defeated the efforts of the
mosquitoes.
We found so much to interest us on and in the immediate vicinity of the
islet that we made no extended trips either up or down the river. In
the three days we lived there we observed the following fifty species
of birds, nineteen of which (marked with asterisks) were nesting on the
islet or within a few yards of it:
Red-underwing Dove (_Leptoptila rufaxilla_).
* Hoatzin (_Opisthocomus hoazin_).
* Wood Rail (_Aramides cayana_).
Purple Gallinule (_Ionornis martinica_).
Great-billed Tern (_Phaëthusa magnirostris_).
Eye-browed Tern (_Sterna superciliaris_).
* Jacana (_Jacana jacana_).
Wood Ibis (_Tantalus loculator_).
Jabiru (_Mycteria americana_).
Cocoi Heron (_Ardea cocoi_).
American Egret (_Herodias egretta_).
* Guiana Green Heron (_Butorides striata_).
Horned Screamer (_Palamedea cornuta_).
Muscovy Duck (_Cairina moschata_).
Rufous Tree-duck (_Dendrocygna fulva_).
Gray-necked Tree-duck (_Dendrocygna discolor_).
Guiana Cormorant (_Phalacrocorax vigua_).
Snakebird (_Plotus anhinga_).
Black Vulture (_Catharista urubu_).
Yellow-headed Vulture (_Catharista urubitinga_).
Caracara (_Polyborus cheriway_).
South American Blue Hawk (_Geranospizias caerulescens_).
* South American Black Hawk (_Urubitinga urubitinga_).
* Rufous Kingfisher (_Ceryle torquata_).
Parauque (_Nyctidromus albicollis_).
Goatsucker (sp?).
Green Hummingbird (sp?).
Little Rufous Cuckoo (_Piaya rutila_).
Smooth-billed Ani (_Crotophaga ani_).
* Cinnamon Spine-tail (_Synallaxis cinnamomea_).
* Pied Ground Flycatcher (_Fluvicola pica_).
* White-headed Flycatcher (_Arundicola leucocephala_).
* Cinereus Tody-flycatcher (_Todirostrum cinereum_).
* Guiana Kiskadee Tyrant (_Pitangus sulphuratus_).
* Lesser Kiskadee Tyrant (_Pitangus lictor_).
* Large-billed Kiskadee Tyrant (_Megarhynchus pitangua_).
* White-throated Kingbird (_Tyrannus melancholicus_).
Tree Swallow (_Tachycineta bicolor_).
Variegated Swallow (_Tachycineta albiventris_).
Barn Swallow (_Hirundo erythrogaster_).
* Gray-breasted Martin (_Progne chalybea_).
Red-breasted Swallow (_Stelgidopteryx ruficollis_).
* Guiana House Wren (_Troglodytes musculus clarus_).
* Black-capped Mocking-thrush (_Donacobius atricapillus_).
* Pygmy Seedeater (_Sporophila minuta_).
Little Yellow-headed Blackbird (_Agelaius icterocephalus_).
Red-breasted Blackbird (_Leistes militaris_).
Meadow Lark (_Sturnella magna meridionalis_).
* Yellow Oriole (_Icterus xanthornus_).
Little Boat-tailed (_Guiana_) Grackle (_Quiscalus lugubris_).
The most interesting of all were the Hoatzins,[11] whose raucous squawks
brought vividly to our minds the mangrove swamps of Venezuela where we
had studied them last year.
[Illustration: FIG. 150. NEST OF A HOATZIN IN THE MUCKA-MUCKA ON WHICH
THESE BIRDS FEED.]
As I have said the east bank of the river is for the most part clear of
growth, save for the reeds and grasses of the savanna. Along the western
bank is a dense shrubby or bushy line of vegetation; occasionally rising
to a height of twenty or thirty feet or again appearing only two or three
yards above the reeds beyond. The brush grows altogether in the water
and consists chiefly of a species of tall Arum, or mucka-mucka, as the
natives call it, frequently bound together by a tangle of delicate vines.
Here and there is a low, light-barked tree-like growth. This narrow
ribbon of aquatic growth was the home of the Hoatzins, and from one
year’s end to another they may be found along the same reaches of the
river. In general, their habits did not differ from those of the birds
which we observed in Venezuela. Throughout the heat of midday no sight or
sound revealed the presence of the birds, but as the afternoon wore on
a single raucous squawk would be heard in the distance, and we knew the
Hoatzins were astir.
[Illustration: FIG. 151. THE AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPHING HOATZINS.]
Directly in front, between the bungalow and the river, as may be seen
from my diagram (Fig. 147), the brush had been cut away on either hand
for a distance of about sixty yards. Every evening from 4.30 to 5.30
P.M., the Hoatzins gathered on the extreme northern end of this wide
break in their line of thickets, until sometimes twenty-five or thirty
birds were in sight at once. Some would fly down to the low branches and
begin to tear off pieces of the young tender shoots of the mucka-mucka.
With much noise and flapping of wings, several made their way to a single
bare branch which projected out over the cleared marsh. The first bird
would make many false starts, crouching and then losing heart, but the
next on the branch, getting impatient, at last nudged him a bit, and
at last he launched out into the air. With rather slow wing beats, but
working apparently with all his power, he spanned the wide extent of
cleared brush, then the ten feet of water, then fifteen yards more of
stumps, and with a final effort he clutched a branch—and his goal was
reached! After several minutes of breathlessness he continued on his way
out of sight into the depth of the brush. The second Hoatzin would then
essay the feat, but fail ignominiously and fall midway, coming down all
of a heap among the stumps. Here a rest was taken, and for five or ten
minutes the bird would feed quietly. Then a second flight carried it back
to the starting point or to the end of the open space.
Sometimes when the birds alighted and clutched a twig, they would be so
exhausted that they toppled over and hung upside down for a moment.
Watching the Hoatzins carefully with stereos for several evenings in
succession we came to know and distinguish individual birds. Two, one of
which had a broken feather in the right wing, and the other a two-inch
short central tail feather, were excellent flyers and, taking their
leaping start from the high branch, never failed to make their goal,
going the whole distance and alighting easily. All of the others had to
rest and one which was moulting a feather in each wing could achieve only
about ten yards. This one fell one evening into the water at the second
relay flight, and half flopped, half swam ashore.
One evening a Hoatzin flew toward us and alighted near some hens on the
ground, but took wing almost instantly back to his brush-wood. A day or
two before we came one of the birds had used a beam of the porch as a
perch.
This general movement occurred at both sunrise and sunset and was always
as thorough and noisy as we found it the first evening of our stay. For
months, we were told, it had been kept up as regularly as clockwork.
[Illustration: FIG. 152. (A) FEMALE HOATZIN FLUSHED FROM HER NEST; THE
MALE BIRD APPROACHING.]
In the morning as the sun grew hotter the birds became quiet and finally
disappeared, not to be heard or seen again until afternoon. They spend
the heat of the day sitting on their nests or perched on branches in the
cooler, deeper recesses of their linear jungle.
[Illustration: FIG. 153. (B) FEMALE HOATZIN IN THE SAME POSITION, THE
MALE HAVING FLOWN NEARER.]
The last view of them in the morning, as the heat became intense, or late
in the evening, usually revealed them squatted on the branches in pairs
close together. On moonlight nights however they were active and noisy,
and came into the open to feed. The habit of crouching or settling down
on the perch is very common with the Hoatzins, and it may be due to the
weakness of the feet and toes. I am inclined however to consider it in
connection with the general awkwardness in alighting and climbing, as a
hint of the unadaptability of the large feet to the small size of the
twigs and branches among which they live. Inexplicable though it may
appear, the Hoatzin—although evidently unchanged in many respects through
long epochs—yet is far from being perfectly adapted to its present
environment. It has a severe struggle for existence, and the least
increase of any foe or obstacle would result in its extinction.
At the time of our arrival the Hoatzins had just begun to nest. They were
utilizing old nests which, although so apparently flimsy in construction,
yet were remarkably cohesive. The nests are almost indistinguishable
from those of the “Chows” or Guiana Green Herons which were built in the
same situations. The latter were usually low over the water, while the
Hoatzins’ were higher, from five to twelve feet above the surface of the
marsh. The twigs were longer and more tightly interlaced in the Hoatzin’s
nest, and while the nests of the Heron crumbled when lifted from the
crotch, the others remained intact. The Hoatzins placed their nests in
crotches of the tree-like growths, or more rarely supported by several
branched mucka-mucka stems. Both sexes aided in the building as we
observed two birds collecting and weaving the twigs. Three sets of eggs
which came under our observation numbered respectively 2, 3, and 4. From
what information I could gather, two seems to be the usual number.
The eggs are rather variable in shape. One which I have, from the
Orinoco, is elliptical, while my Abary specimens are oval. The ground
color is creamy white. The entire surface is marked with small
irregularly shaped dots and spots of reddish brown, inclining to be more
abundant at the large end. The brown pigment deposited early in the
oviduct is covered by a thin layer of lime and thereby given a lavender
hue. The size averages 1.8 by 1.3 inches.
Hoatzins seem to be very free from enemies, although from year to
year their numbers remain about the same. The waters beneath them are
inhabited by numbers of otters, crocodiles, anacondas and voracious fish,
so that death lies that way. They seem also to fear some predatory bird,
for whenever a harmless Caracara Hawk[53] skimmed low over the branches
on the lookout for lizards, the Hoatzins always tumbled pell mell into
the shelter of the thick foliage below.
[Illustration: FIG. 154. (C) MALE HOATZIN ALARMED AND ABOUT TO TAKE
FLIGHT.]
We found that the best time to approach and photograph the birds was
during their siesta. As we paddled along the bank they scrambled from
their perches or nests up to the bare branches overhead, calling hoarsely
to one another. Pushing aside the dense growth of Arums and vines, we
worked our canoe as far as possible into the heart of the bush, to the
foot of some good-sized tree perhaps a foot in diameter. Stepping from
the boat to the lowest limb, Milady would hand me the big Graflex with
the unwieldy but necessary 27-inch lens, and I began my painful ascent.
At first all was easy going, but as I ascended I broke off numerous dead
twigs and from the broken stub of each issued a horde of black stinging
ants. These hastened my ascent and at last I made my way out on the
swaying upper branches. (Fig. 151.) From here I had a fairly clear view
of the surrounding bush and if I worked rapidly I could secure three or
four pictures before the Hoatzins took flight and hid amid the foliage.
[Illustration: FIG. 155. (D) FEMALE HOATZIN CROUCHING TO AVOID
OBSERVATION.]
Of all my pictures that of Fig. 157 is the prize. We came upon a flock
of Hoatzins late in the afternoon and were fortunate enough to get into
a clear space and to photograph eleven on the same plate; the confused
mass near the centre of the picture containing four individuals. Fig. 148
shows the character of the country where we found the Hoatzins on Abary
River, with the line of dense growth on one side and the level savanna on
the other.
A study of an individual pair of birds is given in Figs. 152 to 156,
and the actions of these two birds were so typical of Hoatzins that
an account of them will apply to the species in general. I made these
photographs from a boat, standing on the thwarts while Milady guided it
through the brush.
We flushed the female from her nest (marked by a circle in Fig. 150) and
she flew to a branch some eight feet higher (Fig. 152). The male then
appeared from a tree beyond (centre of Fig. 152). We remained perfectly
quiet, and the next photograph shows her tail-on, looking about, while
the male, who has flown nearer, is watching us suspiciously. Fig. 154
shows the male on another perch, still more alarmed, and a moment later
he thrashed his way out of sight. Meanwhile the female had rediscovered
us and crouched down (Fig. 155) hoping to avoid observation, but as we
pushed closer to the nest, she rose on her perch, spread tail and wings
to the widest (Fig. 156), her scarlet eyes flashing, and uttering a last
despairing hiss, launched out for a few yards. At this moment, as may be
seen in the same picture, a second pair of birds left their nest in the
next clump of undergrowth and raised their discordant notes in protest at
our intrusion.
The assertion which we made last year—Milady having been the first to
observe it—that Hoatzins use their primaries as fingers, in the same way
that the chicks and partly grown young use their wing claws, has been
received with some doubt, and I am glad to offer a photograph (Fig. 156)
as evidence. In the right wing of the Hoatzin, the thumb feathers are
plainly visible, with their inner edges fretted away, while the first six
primaries also show signs of severe wear, such as would be expected from
the rough usage to which they are put.
Attention is called to the apparent immobility of the crest, which is as
fully erect in the crouching Hoatzin (Fig. 155) as in the same bird a
minute or two later, alert and about to fly (Fig. 156).
Thus it was that we took the first photographs ever made of these most
interesting birds.
[Illustration: FIG. 156. (E) FEMALE HOATZIN TAKING FLIGHT, WITH WINGS
FULLY SPREAD; A SECOND PAIR OF BIRDS LEAVING THEIR NEST, IN THE
BACKGROUND.]
Insects were abundant on the island and if we had taken time we could
have made an interesting collection. Three species of bright Orange
butterflies were numerous (_Euptoieta hegesia_, _Colaenis phaerusa_
and the familiar Red Silver-wing, _Agraulis vanillae_, of our northern
fields), and with these were also a White (_Pieris monuste_) and a
Yellow (_Callidryas statira_). The three commonest dragon-flies were
_Diastatops tincta_, _Erythrodiplax umbrata_ and _E. peruviana_.
There were two pairs of Black-capped Mocking-thrushes[126] on the island
and they afforded us much amusement. They are true cousins of the Catbird
and Mockingbird, and from their actions would almost seem to have a
strain of Chat blood! A pair lived in each of the brush clumps _a_ and
_b_ (Fig. 147) and hour after hour would sit calling and answering each
other. One pair (the two birds sitting close to each other) would shout
in unison _powie! powie! powie!_ rapidly a dozen times in succession. The
other pair responded _week! week! week! week!_ as often and as rapidly.
At each enunciation the half-spread tails of the respective pair of birds
wagged violently from side to side, exactly as if pulled with a string.
As the utterances of each of the two birds were synchronous, the wagging
was always in perfect time, but sometimes the “strings” got crossed with
this effect (a); or this (b); but almost every time the movement was in
unison thus (c); or thus (d). These active, interesting birds have in
addition an elaborate song, uttered singly, which these individuals were
practising but which we had heard fully developed at La Brea in Venezuela.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: FIG. 157. FLOCK OF ELEVEN HOATZINS.]
Purple Gallinules[13] and Cayenne Wood Rails[12] were seen every day but
were not abundant. A pair of the latter were nesting near the island and
well merited their native name of Killicow, screaming a confused chorus
of syllables resembling these for five minutes at a stretch every morning.
Among the smaller marsh birds, Jacanas[23] easily held first place, both
in numbers and in action and voice, day and night. About every half hour
through the day a group of these birds would set up a wild and frantic
clacking, sounding as if a dozen hens were being pursued and had about
given up all hope of escape. This was usually caused by the appearance
of a crocodile, large or small, from beneath the lily pads. All the
Jacanas within sight would gather at once and dance excitedly about on
the surrounding pads until the pestered reptile sank again into the muddy
waters. Several times we saw trios of these birds in play or combat, each
holding the wings spread low and in front, ready to strike with the sharp
spurs or to protect their own body by the buttress of feathers. They are
very graceful in all their motions, holding the wings straight upward for
a few seconds after alighting.
This being practically a treeless region, the birds were of necessity
either terrestrial, aquatic or aërial, and the latter formed a not
inconsiderable percentage. Terns were one of the most picturesque
features of the savanna, flying over and around the island in small
flocks, the large Great-billed fellows[14] with black caps and wings, and
the tiny Eye-browed species[15] reminding one of our Least Tern. Both
beat back and forth, or hung fluttering over the lagoon, and now and then
dropped plummet-like after a small fish.
The Swallows were legion—six species in all, forever swooping over the
marsh or snatching sips of river water as they flew. The Variegated[119]
were the most beautiful, and we welcomed as old friends Barn[121] and
Tree Swallows,[120] whose twittering forms brought our northern autumn
marshes vividly to mind. Many Flycatchers and Seed-eaters were nesting
close by, while the beautiful Orioles[159] clung to their pendent nests
over the water, and a House Wren[124] divided his time between inspecting
his brood in a hollow stub at the foot of the bungalow steps, and
singing his heart out, from the roof. The little “Rooties” or Cinnamon
Spine-tails[94]—absurdly Wren-like but in reality Woodhewers which have
deserted tree-trunks for reeds—showed us their homes, concealed in great
untidy balls of twigs. As they flit here and there through the bushes and
grasses, they let off a sound like a miniature rattle.
The mornings and evenings, here as elsewhere in the tropics, are the
periods of greatest activity among birds and other creatures. In the
afternoon, before the Hoatzins began to gather, great tarpon would play
in the river, the shower of drops scattered by their leaps sparkling
like silver in the slanting rays of the sun. The few in the lagoon are
of small size, but tarpon in the Abary reach a weight of 185 pounds.
A swirling in the shallows near the landing shows where an anaconda
(_Eunectes murinus_) is stirring after his day’s rest. His mate, ten feet
long, has just been shot after having helped herself to the bungalow
chickens—one each night for a week, and serpent number two (whose size
our Arrawak Indian squaw cook places at a fabulous thirty feet or more!)
must soon pay the same penalty unless he changes his diet.
[Illustration: FIG. 158. CROCODILES ON A SOUTH AMERICAN RIVER BANK.
(Photo by Bingham.)]
Toward dusk all the Swallows of the world—or so it appears—fly past in
loose bands or singly, northward toward the eta bush to roost, hundreds
and thousands of them—Red-breasted,[123] Banded,[118] Barn,[121]
Variegated[119] and Tree[120] Swallows with scores of the Gray-breasted
Martins.[122] Then the fishers of the savanna appear, looking whiter
and more ghostly than ever, against the dark clouds; flock after
flock flapping silently over: a score of Egrets[32] in an irregular
line, then a dozen more smaller troops; Wood Ibises[28] higher up
and beating heavily, then—and our pulses quicken—a half dozen great
Jabirus[30]—slowly throbbing toward the sunset. The Ducks prefer the
river, and above the fluid tide a living river of birds sets upstream,
hosts passing until long after dark. We paddle in the early dusk to
mid-stream and the whistling stream of Ducks curves gracefully upward,
descending again when beyond us. As we go up or down river, we find the
bend always overhead; when we leave the river, the host resumes its
horizontal flow again. Faintly from behind the house, from the edge of
the distant eta bush itself, comes in the evenings a low sound, gaining
in volume until the syllables may be framed to human speech—_Mo-hóo-ca!
Mo-hóo-ca!_ and we are listening to the evening call of the Horned
Screamer,[41] a bird known to us only from books.
The night sounds from the lagoon are full of mystery. Sea-cows souse
and roll in the river and apparently at the very landing. Otters play
and cough and utter gasping sighs which make one’s flesh creep until we
learn what they are. The legend of the Warracabra Tigers, which Waterton
and all after him recount, may well have had its origin in these great
river mammals, who are noisy, fearless and sometimes reach a length of
six feet. A beautiful skin which I brought home measures five and a
half feet from nose to tip of tail. Water-haas, or capybaras, probably
add their share to the confusion, but the major part of the medley is
due to crocodiles, who wait until night before beginning their active,
noisy business of life, which, be it concerned with food, mate or play,
requires a vast deal of splashing and bellowing. This latter is a deep
abrupt roaring like the final roars of a lion’s cadence. An eight-foot
crocodile was shot in the lagoon a few days before, or rather shot at, as
the beast seemed to be none the worse.
[Illustration: FIG. 159. LAGOON BETWEEN ABARY ISLAND AND RIVER.]
Small wonder that, when we consider snakes, crocodiles, otters
and voracious fishes, that the gentle Vicissi Ducks prefer the
safer vegetation of the marsh itself! The real birds of night were
few—but with voices weird and awesome, in perfect harmony with this
unpeopled waste. A pair of Parauque-like beings who in uttering liquid
accents reiterated their names, mingled with the ever tragic toned
questioning of another Goatsucker, pleading with us to end his agonized
uncertainty—_Whó-are-yoú? Whó-are-yoú?_
Early on the morning of our last day, April 15th, I awoke and peered out
through the dimness of my muslin hammock net to catch the first hint of
dawn. The east soon became lighter and the warp and woof of the cloth
softened and disguised the scene which stretched before me from the edge
of the veranda. As I lay there half awake, I seemed to see great towering
moras, with their masses of dependent parasites, stretching high into the
air. This passed, and the savanna became more distinct—the whistle of
Ducks’ wings overhead was almost incessant, with now and then the note of
a Hoatzin. Dull thuds indicating some one at labor behind the bungalow
and the sound of low negro voices added to the imagery and I seemed to be
with the black men three score years before, laboring at their island,
fighting disease and starvation—harassed by heat, insects and reptiles;
ever on the watch for their pursuing masters while the orange headed
Vultures soared overhead, waiting for their turn which sooner or later
would come.
A bit of comedy broke in upon my dream—the voices of the negroes from
their hammocks at the other end of the porch became audible for a moment.
“Wont you tak’ a drink of sompfin to interact de cold?”
“No tanks, ah doesn’t stimulate.”
[Illustration: FIG. 160. YOUNG SPUR-WINGED JACANA.]
Parting my hammock net, I found my vision of jungle growth had been
prompted by a great bank of black cloud, out of which the sun leaped at
that instant and lighted up the beautiful green and blue of savanna and
river. Little Green Herons[38] were fishing at the water’s edge and a
Jacana[23] was leading her brood of three small chicks within a few feet
of my hammock, down to a causeway of trembling lily pads. The youngsters
were very tiny, clad in gray with a large black mark on the nape. Even
in comparison with their mother their toes were of enormous length. They
kept at her very heels and when she stopped for a moment crept beneath
her wings. But at this concentration of weight the water would begin to
trickle over the rim of the fragile pads and the mother would hurry on,
flashing out the yellow of her wings every few steps, perhaps as a signal
to her brood.
Why every chick is not snapped up by hungry crocodiles or other aquatic
ogres is a mystery. Every morning this and several other bands, all of
three, would thread their way across the lagoon to the reeds beyond.
After breakfast about 8 o’clock, while I was reconnoitering for the best
place to begin trapping the Hoatzins, as we wished to take some home
alive, tragedy came, sudden and unexpected. A single pitiful cry brought
me back to the house in an instant, and there was Milady, who but a
moment before had been happily planning with Crandall about preparations
for trapping, lying with a broken wrist. A hammock in which she had
seated herself for an instant had come untied and given way and it was
a miracle that the seven foot drop backward to the ground had resulted
in only one broken bone. Game little lady, her first words were, “Oh! we
can’t get the Hoatzins”!
The remainder of that 15th of April will ever be a misty dream in my
mind. We bandied no words as to the value of Hoatzins in particular, or
the whole world of science in general, versus Milady’s hurt, but without
confusion quickly organized our plan of action. I had the best corps of
helpers one could want; Mr. and Mrs. Vinton, Crandall and Harry. One of
us constantly dropped cold water on the injury, another threw together
all our belongings; others worked like Trojans to assemble the launch
engines, which had been taken apart for cleaning. In two hours we were on
the throbbing little boat, passing the Hoatzins and hosts of Ducks with
unseeing eyes.
Then two hours later at the railroad bridge came a quick run to the
nearest telegraph office, where a sympathetic, 300 pound negro “mammy”
presided over the instrument and wept copiously for the “po’ lil’ lady,”
while she clicked out an urgent message for a special train. She said “Ah
am too sorry for to heah dat bad news,” and when our procession drew
up at her little house to wait for the train she called out to Milady
the comforting information that “In der midst of life we are in death!”
This greatly amused the sufferer, and we settled ourselves for the long
wait. As long as one has something to do, any helpful work, to keep
one’s hands or mind busy, it is an easy matter to control one’s feelings
in a critical emergency. But when one must wait quietly for hours, the
long period of inaction is maddening. We tramped up and down the track,
telephoning every few minutes to locate the progress of the special along
the line. Then Crandall spied a big yellow-tailed snake (_Herpetodryas
carinatus_) crossing the track. Here was an excuse for working off
surplus steam, and we both made a dash for it. Crandall caught it by
the tail as it was disappearing into the brush and we had an exciting
ten minutes getting it unharmed into a snake bag, the active creature
succeeding in biting us twice before we muffled it. Visitors to the
Reptile House of our Zoölogical Park little imagine, when gazing at this
handsome creature, what a relief to our tense nerves its capture meant.
At last the special came in sight and we set out on the wildest of rides
to Georgetown. Having seen Milady in a doze on a sofa in the train,
Crandall and I climbed up to the railed-in roof of the car and, with
the wind beating down our very eyelids, watched the narrow escapes of
dogs, cows, donkeys and coolies, from the track at the approach of this
unlooked for train. The yellow and scarlet Blackbirds blew up like chaff
on either hand. Egrets, Ibises and Jabirus watched in amazement from
afar, or flew hurriedly off at the long drawn-out siren whistle, which
hardly ceased across the whole country.
We met the single afternoon train, side-tracked to let us pass, and then
had an open road to Georgetown. Slowing down, we passed through the
station, on through the streets, to within a half block of Mr. Vinton’s
house.
Here good Dr. Law took charge and, ten hours after the accident, fitted
the shattered bone so skilfully that hardly a trace remains of the bad
colleus fracture. The patient had no temperature at the time of the
operation, the only ill effect being a short, sharp attack of malaria.
I cite all these details chiefly to show the falsity of most of the
universal slanders on a tropical climate.
Nine days afterward on April 24th, we sailed from Georgetown, homesick
with desire to remain longer in this wonderland. The three short
expeditions we had made, served only to whet our eagerness to search
deeper beneath the surface, and glean some of the more fundamental
secrets which Nature still hides from us. But we had fulfilled the
bush-proverb; we had “eaten of labba meat and drunk of river water” and
we know in our hearts that some day we shall return.
Meanwhile the thought of that vast continent, as yet almost untouched by
real scientific research; the supreme joy of learning, of discovering,
of adding our tiny facts to the foundation of the everlasting _why_ of
the universe; all this makes life for us—Milady and me—one never-ending
delight.
FOOTNOTES
[A] The superior figures following the names of birds throughout the
volume refer to a list of their scientific names given for identification
in Appendix A.
[B] Actual temperatures (Fahrenheit) taken in the mangrove forest on
board the sloop are as follows:
March 30th—
5.30 A.M. 66°
9.30 86°
11.30 86°
1.30 P.M. 86°
7.00 78°
March 31st—
5.30 A.M. 71°
6.30 72°
April 1st—
6.00 A.M. 73°
10.00 80°
2.00 P.M. 85°
6.00 80°
April 2nd—
5.30 A.M. 69°
7.30 77°
[C] In looking over the laws of the colony I found the following Wild
Birds’ Protection Ordinance. I have added the explanatory names in
parentheses. (C. W. B.)
List of Wild Birds absolutely protected.
Black Witch (Ani)
Campanero (Bell Bird)
Carrion Crow (Vulture)
Cassique
Cock-of-the-Rock
Cotinga
Crane (Heron)
Creeper (Woodhewer)
Egret
Flycatcher
Gauldin (Heron)
Goatsucker
Grass Bird
Ground Dove
Jacamar
Hawk
Heron
Hummingbird
Hutu (Motmot)
Kingfisher
Kite
Macaw
Manakin
Martin
Owl
Parroquet
Qu’est-ce qu’il dit (Kiskadee)
Shrike
Sun Bird (Sun Bittern)
Sparrow
Swallow
Tanager
Thrush
Toucan
Trogan
Troupial
Woodpecker
Wren
Vulture
List of Wild Birds protected from April 1st to Sept. 1st.
Bittern
Curlew
Curri-curri (Scarlet Ibis)
Douraquara (Partridge)
Dove (other than Ground Dove)
Ibis
Hanaqua (Chachalaca)
Maam (Tinamou)
Maroudi (Guan)
Negro-cop (Jabiru)
Parrot
Pigeon
Plover
Powis (Curassow)
Quail
Snipe
Spur-wing (Jacana)
Trumpet-bird
Wild Duck
[D] The average daily temperature during our stay was as follows:
6.30 A.M. 68°
7.30 71°
8.00 72°
10.00 76°
12.00 77°
2.00 P.M. 81°
5.00 74°
7.00 73°
9.30 71°
[E] Zoölogica, Vol. 1, No. 4, page 123.
[F] Both of these moths proved to be new to science, both as to species
and genus and have been named respectively _Hositea gynaecia_ and
_Zaevius calocore_. Zoölogica, Vol. 1, No. 4.
[G] Two Bird lovers in Mexico, pp. 239-241.
[H] Zoölogica, Vol. I, No. 4.
[I] The color of the back and sides was a light gold, shading into dark
maroon or red on the head, tail and limbs. The skin of the face, ears,
palms and scantily haired under parts was dark slate. The eyes were
hazel brown. The total length was 50½ inches, 25 of which consisted of
the tail. The bare prehensile portion along the lower side of the tail
extended 11½ inches backward from the tip. The forearm and hand was 16
inches long; the hind leg 18 inches. The hair of the beard was 1¾ inches
long. The Monkey had been feeding on leaves and some kind of fruit with
stones like cherry pits.
[J] There were several intervening branches, and two or three links in
the performance were not clear until I returned north.
Col. Anthony R. Kuser has most kindly put his splendid aviaries at
Bernardsville, New Jersey, at my disposal for scientific investigation,
and here, for a month or more after our return, a male Curassow would
go through this whole performance for the benefit of anyone who would
watch him. After the various “stunts” had been performed, he would fly
at the feet of the observer and, wrapping his wings about one’s shoes,
would peck savagely at the shoestrings. From this and other indications I
decided that the performance is more in the nature of a challenge than a
courtship display.
APPENDIX A.
CLASSIFIED LIST OF BIRDS MENTIONED IN THIS VOLUME.
TINAMIFORMES.
[1]. Great Blue Tinamou—_Tinamus tao_ Temm.
[2]. Guiana Crested Tinamou—_Tinamus subcristatus_ (Cab.).
[3]. Little Tinamou—_Crypturus variegatus_ (Gmel.).
GALLIFORMES.
[4]. Crested Curassow—_Crax alector_ Linn.
[5]. Jacupeba Guan—_Penelope jacupeba_ Spix.
[6]. Marail Guan—_Penelope marail_ (Gmel.).
[7]. Red-tailed Chachalaca—_Ortalis ruficauda_ Jard.
[8]. Guiana Quail—_Odontophorus guianensis_ (Gmel.).
COLUMBIFORMES.
[9]. Red-winged Ground Dove—_Columbigallina rufipennis_ (Bonap.).
[10]. Red-underwing Dove—_Leptoptila rufaxilla_ (Rich.).
OPISTHOCOMIFORMES.
[11]. Hoatzin—_Opisthocomus hoazin_ (Müll.).
RALLIFORMES.
[12]. Cayenne Wood Rail—_Aramides cayanea_ (Müll.).
[13]. Purple Gallinule—_Ionornis martinica_ (Linn.).
LARIFORMES.
[14]. Great-billed Tern—_Phaëthusa magnirostris_ (Licht.).
[15]. Eye-browed Tern—_Sterna superciliaris_ Vieill.
[16]. Laughing Gull—_Larus atricilla_ Linn.
[17]. Black-tailed Skimmer—_Rhynchops nigra cinerascens_ Spix.
CHARADRIIFORMES.
[18]. Semipalmated Plover—_Aegialeus semipalmatus_ (Bonap.).
[19]. South American Collared Plover—_Aegialitis collaris_ (Vieill.).
[20]. Hudsonian Curlew—_Numenius hudsonicus_ Lath.
[21]. Solitary Sandpiper—_Helodromas solitarius_ (Wils.).
[22]. Spotted Sandpiper—_Tringoides macularia_ (Linn.).
[23]. Spur-winged Jacana—_Jacana jacana_ (Linn.).
GRUIFORMES.
[24]. Sun-bittern—_Eurypyga helias_ (Pall.).
[25]. Common Trumpeter—_Psophia crepitans_ Linn.
ARDEIFORMES.
[26]. Green River Ibis—_Phimosus infuscatus_ (Licht.).
[27]. Scarlet Ibis—_Eudocimus ruber_ (Linn.).
[28]. Wood Ibis—_Tantalus loculator_ Linn.
[29]. Maguari Stork—_Euxenura maguari_ (Gmel.).
[30]. Jabiru—_Mycteria americana_ Linn.
[31]. Cocoi Heron—_Ardea cocoi_ Linn.
[32]. American Egret—_Herodias egretta_ (Gmel.).
[33]. Snowy Egret—_Egretta candidissima_ (Gmel.).
[34]. Little Blue Heron—_Florida caerulea_ (Linn.).
[35]. Louisiana Heron—_Hydranassa tricolor ruficollis_ (Gosse).
[36]. Yellow-crowned Night Heron—_Nyctanassa violacea_ (Linn.).
[37]. Boat-billed Heron—_Canchroma cochlearia_ (Linn.).
[38]. Guiana Green Heron—_Butorides striata_ (Linn.).
[39]. Agami Heron—_Agamia agami_ (Gmel.).
[40]. Amazonian Tiger Bittern—_Tigrisoma lineatum_ (Bodd.).
PALAMEDEIFORMES.
[41]. Horned Screamer—_Palamedea cornuta_ Linn.
PHOENICOPTERIFORMES.
[42]. American Flamingo—_Phoenicopterus ruber_ Linn.
ANSERIFORMES.
[43]. Muscovy Duck—_Cairina moschata_ (Linn.).
[44]. Rufous Tree Duck—_Dendrocygna fulva_ (Gmel.).
[45]. Gray-necked Tree Duck—_Dendrocygna discolor_ Scl. and Sal.
[46]. White-faced Tree Duck—_Dendrocygna viduata_ (Linn.).
PELECANIFORMES.
[47]. Guiana Cormorant—_Phalacrocorax vigua_ (Vieill.).
[48]. Snake-bird—_Anhinga anhinga_ (Linn.).
[49]. Frigate Bird—_Fregata aquila_ (Linn.).
CATHARTIDIFORMES.
[50]. King Vulture—_Gypagus papa_ (Linn.).
[51]. Black Vulture—_Catharista urubu_ (Vieill.).
[52]. Orange-headed Vulture—_Cathartes urubitinga_ Pelz.
ACCIPITRIFORMES.
[53]. Caracara—_Polyborus cheriway_ (Jacq.).
[53a]. South American Blue Hawk—_Geranospizias caerulescens_ (Vieill.).
[54]. Cream-headed Hawk—_Busarellus nigricollis_ (Lath.).
[55]. South American Black Hawk—_Urubitinga urubitinga_ (Gmel.).
[56]. White-headed Chimachima Hawk—_Leucopternis albicollis_ (Lath.).
[57]. Guiana Crested Eagle—_Morphnus guiananensis_ (Daud.).
[58]. Swallow-tailed Kite—_Elanoides forficatus_ (Linn.).
[59]. American Osprey—_Pandion haliaetus carolinensis_ (Gmel.).
STRIGIFORMES.
[60]. Southern Pygmy Owl—_Glaucidium brazilianum phalaenoides_ (Daud.).
PSITTACIFORMES.
[61]. Blue and Yellow Macaw—_Ara ararauna_ (Linn.).
[62]. Red and Blue Macaw—_Ara macao_ (Linn.).
[63]. Mealy Amazon Parrot—_Amazona farinosa_ (Bodd.).
[64]. Yellow-fronted Amazon Parrot—_Amazona ochrocephala_ (Gmel.).
[65]. Blue-headed Parrot—_Pionus menstruus_ (Linn.).
[66]. Dusky Parrot—_Pionus fuscus_ (Müll.).
CORACIIFORMES.
[67]. Great Rufous Kingfisher—_Ceryle torquata_ (Linn.).
[68]. Red-bellied Kingfisher—_Ceryle americana_ (Gmel.).
[69]. Pygmy Kingfisher—_Ceryle superciliosa_ (Linn.).
[70]. White-necked Parauque—_Nyctidromus albicollis_ (Gmel.).
[71]. Feather-toed Palm Swift—_Panyptila cayanensis_ (Gmel.).
[72]. Guiana Gray-rumped Swift—_Chaetura spinicauda_ (Temm.).
[73]. Eye-browed Hummingbird—_Phaëthornis guianensis_ Bouc.
[74]. Guiana Rufous-breasted Hummingbird—_Phaëthornis episcopus_
(Gould).
[75]. Guiana Long-tailed Hummingbird—_Topaza pella_ (Linn.).
TROGONIFORMES.
[76]. Greater Yellow-bellied Trogon—_Trogon viridis_ Linn.
CUCULIFORMES.
[77]. Great Rufous Cuckoo—_Piaya cayana_ (Linn.).
[78]. Little Rufous Cuckoo—_Piaya rutila_ (Illig.).
[79]. Greater Ani—_Crotophaga major_ Gmel.
[80]. Smooth-billed Ani—_Crotophaga ani_ Linn.
SCANSORES.
[81]. Red-billed Toucan—_Rhamphastos erythrorhynchus_ Gmel.
[82]. Sulphur and White-breasted Toucan—_Rhamphastos vitellinus_ Licht.
[83]. Red-breasted Toucan—_Rhamphastos_ Sp.
[84]. Black-banded Aracari Toucan—_Pteroglossus torquatus_ (Gmel.).
PICIFORMES.
[85]. Paradise Jacamar—_Urogalba paradisea_ (Linn.).
[86]. Yellow-billed Jacamar—_Galbula albirostris_ Lath.
[87]. Rufous-tailed Jacamar—_Galbula ruficauda_ Cuv.
[88]. Great Red-crested Woodpecker—_Campephilus melanoleucus_ (Gmel.).
[89]. Great Ivory-billed Woodpecker—_Ceophloeus lineatus_ (Linn.).
[90]. Yellow Woodpecker—_Crocomorphus semicinnamomeus_ (Reichenb.).
PASSERIFORMES.
FORMICARIIDAE.
[91]. White-shouldered Pygmy Antbird—_Myrmotherula axillaris_ Viell.
[92]. Scaly-backed Antbird—_Hypocnemis poecilonota_ (Pucher.).
[93]. Woodcock Antbird—_Rhopoterpe torquata_ (Bodd.).
DENDROCOLAPTIDAE.
[94]. Cinnamon Spine-tail—_Synallaxis cinnamomea_ (Gmel.).
[95]. Whistling Woodhewer—_Dendrornis susuranus susuranus_ (Jard.).
[96]. Wedge-billed Woodhewer—_Glyphorhynchus cuneatus_ (Licht.).
TYRANNIDAE.
[97]. White-shouldered Ground Flycatcher—_Fluvicola pica_ (Bodd.).
[98]. White-headed Marsh Flycatcher—_Arundinicoal leucocephala_ (Linn.).
[99]. Gray Tody-flycatcher—_Todirostrum cinereum cinereum_ (Linn.).
[100]. Yellow-breasted Elania Flycatcher—_Elaenea pagana_ (Licht.).
[101]. Guiana Kiskadee Tyrant—_Pitangus sulphuratus sulphuratus_ (Linn.).
[102]. Venezuela Kiskadee Tyrant—_Pitangus sulphuratus trinitatus_ Hellm.
[103]. Lesser Kiskadee—_Pitangus lictor_ (Cab.).
[104]. Great-billed Kiskadee Tyrant—_Megarhynchus pitangua pitangua_
(Linn.).
[105]. Streaked Flycatcher—_Myiodynastes maculatus maculatus_ (Müll).
[106]. White-throated Kingbird—_Tyrannus melancholicus_ (Vieill.).
[107]. Buff-tailed Tyrantlet—_Terenotricus erythrurus erythrurus_ (Cab.).
PIPRIDAE.
[108]. Golden-headed Manakin—_Pipra erythrocephala_ (Linn.).
[109]. White capped Manakin—_Pipra leucocilla_ Linn.
[110]. Golden crowned Pygmy Manakin—_Pipra brachyura_ (Scl. and Sal.).
[111]. White-breasted Manakin—_Manacus manacus manacus_ (Linn.).
[112]. Wallace’s Olive Manakin—_Scotothorus wallacii_ (Scl. and Sal.).
COTINGIDAE.
[113]. Black-tailed Tityra—_Tityra cayana_ (Linn.).
[114]. Cinereus Becard—_Pachyrhamphus atricapillus_ (Gmel.).
[115]. Goldbird—_Lathria cinerea_ (Vieill.).
[116]. Pompadour Cotinga—_Xipholena pompadora_ (Linn.).
[117]. Bare-headed Cotinga—_Calvifrons calvus_ (Gmel.).
HIRUNDINIDAE.
[118]. Banded Swallow—_Atticora fasciata_ (Gmel.).
[119]. Variegated Swallow—_Tachycineta albiventris_ (Bodd.).
[120]. Tree Swallow—_Tachycineta bicolor_ (Vieill.).
[121]. Barn Swallow—_Hirundo erythrogaster_ Bodd.
[122]. Gray-breasted Martin—_Progne chalybea chalybea_ (Gmel.).
[123]. Red-breasted Swallow—_Stelgidopteryx ruficollis_ Baird.
TROGLODYTIDAE.
[124]. Guiana House Wren—_Troglodytes musculus clarus_ Berlp. and Hart.
[125]. Necklaced Jungle Wren—_Leucolepia musica_ (Bodd.).
MIMIDAE.
[126]. Black-capped Mocking-thrush—_Donacobius atricapillus_ (Linn.).
TURDIDAE.
[127]. White-throated Robin—_Planesticus phaeopygus_ (Cab.).
[128]. White-breasted Robin—_Planesticus albiventer_ Spix.
VIREONIDAE.
[128a]. Brown-fronted Jungle Vireo—_Pachysylvia ferrugineifrons_ Scl.
MNIOTILTIDAE
[128b]. American Redstart—_Setophaga ruticilla_ (Linn.).
FRINGILLIDAE.
[129]. Brown-breasted Pygmy Grosbeak—_Oryzoborus torridus_ (Gmel.).
[130]. Thick-billed Pygmy Grosbeak—_Oryzoborus crassirostris_ (Gmel.).
[131]. Blue-backed Seedeater—_Sporophila castaneiventris_ (Cab.).
[132]. Pygmy Seedeater—_Sporophila minuta minuta_ (Linn.).
[133]. Yellow-bellied Seedeater—_Sporophila gutturalis_ (Licht.).
[134]. Black-headed Scarlet Grosbeak—_Pitylus erythromelas_ (Gmel.).
[135]. Black-faced Green Grosbeak—_Pitylus viridis_ (Vieill.).
COEREBIDAE.
[136]. Yellow-winged Honey-creeper—_Cyanerpes cyancus_ (Linn.).
[136a]. Blue Honey-creeper—_Cyanerpes caeruleus_ (Linn.).
[137]. Venezuela Bananaquit—_Coereba luteola_ Cab.
TANGARIDAE.
[138]. Purple-throated Euphonia—_Euphonia chlorotica_ (Linn.).
[139]. Black-tailed Euphonia—_Euphonia melanura_ Scl.
[140]. Violet Euphonia—_Euphonia violacea_ (Linn.).
[141]. Black-faced Calliste—_Calospiza cayana_ (Linn.).
[142]. Yellow-bellied Calliste—_Calospiza mexicana mexicana_ Linn.
[143]. White-shouldered Blue Tanager—_Tangara episcopus episcopus_ Linn.
[144]. Northern Palm Tanager—_Tangara palmarum melanoptera_ Scl.
[145]. Northern Silver-beak Tanager—_Ramphocelus jacapa magnirostris_
(Lafr.).
[146]. Southern Silver-beak Tanager—_Ramphocelus jacapa japaca_ (Linn.).
[147]. Magpie Tanager—_Cissopis leveriana_ (Gmel.).
ICTERIDAE.
[148]. Black Parasitic Cassique—_Cassidix oryzivora oryzivora_ (Gmel.).
[149]. Great Black Cassique—_Ostinops decumanus_ (Pall.).
[150]. Green Cassique—_Ostinops viridis_ (Müll.).
[151]. Yellow-backed Cassique—_Cacicus persicus_ (Linn.).
[152]. Red-backed Cassique—_Cacicus affinis_ Swains.
[153]. Guiana Cowbird—_Molothrus atronitens_ (Cab.).
[154]. Little Yellow-headed Blackbird—_Agelaius icterocephalus_ (Linn.).
[155]. Red-breasted Blackbird—_Leistes militaris_ (Linn.).
[156]. Meadowlark—_Sturnella magna_ (Linn.).
[157]. Guiana Meadowlark—_Sturnella magna meridionalis_ (Scl.).
[158]. Moriche Oriole—_Icterus chrysocephalus_ (Linn.).
[159]. Yellow Oriole—_Icterus xanthornus xanthornus_ (Gmel.).
[160]. Little Boat-tailed Grackle—_Quiscalus lugubris_ Swains.
CORVIDAE.
[161]. Lavender Jay—_Cyanocorax cayanus_ (Linn.).
APPENDIX B.
NATIVE GUIANAN NAMES OF BIRDS.
Great Blue Tinamou—Maam.
Little Tinamou—Little Maam.
Curassow—Powis.
Guan—Maroodi.
Guiana Quail—Duraquara.
Chachalaca—Hanaqua.
Hoatzin—Canje Pheasant.
Purple Gallinule—Coot.
Guiana Wood Rail—Killicow.
Spur-winged Jacana—Spur-wing.
Skimmer—Scissor-bill.
Sun Bittern—Sun-bird.
Trumpeter—Warracabra.
Scarlet Ibis—Curri-curri.
Jabiru—Negrocop.
Wood Ibis—Nigger Head.
Tiger Bittern—Tiger-bird.
Herons—Chow or Shypook.
Cocoi Heron—Crane.
Horned Screamer—Mohuca.
Gray-necked Tree-duck—Vicissi.
Snake-bird—Ducklar.
Black Vulture—Carrion Crow.
Orange-headed Vulture—Governor Carrion Crow.
Caracara—Hen Hawk.
Owls—Night Owl.
Spectrum Parrakeet—Kissi-kissi.
Motmot—Hutu.
Hummingbirds—Doctor-birds.
Four-winged Cuckoo—Wife-sick.
Great Ani—Jumby-bird.
Smooth-billed Ani—Old Witch.
Toucan—Bill-bird.
Checked Ant-thrush—Dominique or Check-bird.
Cinnamon Spinetail—Rootie.
Bell-bird—Campanero.
Gold-bird—Greenheart-bird—Pĭ-pī-yŏ.
Cinereus Becard—Woodpecker.
White-shouldered Ground Flycatcher—Cotton-bird.
Southern Scissor-tailed Flycatcher—Scissor-tail.
Guiana Kiskadee Tyrant—Kiskadee.
White-throated King-bird—Madeira or Gray Kiskadee.
White-headed Marsh Flycatcher—Parson-bird.
Cinereus Tody-flycatcher—Pipitoorie.
Yellow-breasted Elanea Flycatcher—Muff-bird or Muffin.
Guiana House Wren—God- or Guard-bird.
Necklaced Jungle Wren—Quadrille Bird.
White-throated Robin—Thrush.
Yellow Warbler—Bastard Canary.
Brown-breasted Pygmy Grosbeak—Toua-toua.
Thick-billed Pygmy Grosbeak—Twa-twa.
Blue-backed Seedeater—Blue-back.
Pygmy Seedeater—Fire-red.
Crown-headed Seedeater—Crown-head.
Plain-headed Seedeater—Plain-head.
Lineated Seedeater—Ring-neck.
Pee-zing Grassquit—Pee-zing.
Honey Creepers—Hummingbirds.
Yellow-bellied Calliste—Goldfinch.
Black-faced Calliste—Bucktown Sackie.
Violet Euphonia—Bucktown Canary.
Blue Tanager—Blue Sackie.
Palm Tanager—Cocoanut Sackie.
Silver-beak Tanager—Cashew Sackie.
White-lined Tanager—Black-sage Sackie.
Olive Saltator—Tom-pitcher.
Little Boat-tail Grackle—Black-bird.
Guiana Cowbird—Corn-bird.
Black Parasitic Cassique—Rice-bird.
Yellow-backed Cassique—Yellow Bunyah or Mockingbird.
Red-backed Cassique—Red Bunyah.
Red-breasted Blackbird—Robin Red-breast.
Little Yellow-headed Blackbird—Yellow-head.
Moriche Oriole—Cadoorie.
Yellow Oriole—Yellow Plantain Bird.
Guiana Meadowlark—Savannah Starling.
APPENDIX C.
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF HOORIE ORTHOPTERA.
Acontista perspicua
Anaulecomara furcata
Colpolopha obsoluta
Creoxylus spinosus
Enopterna surinamensis
Gryllotalpa hexadactyla
Moncheca nigricauda
Posidippus degeeri
Prisopus flabelliformis
Pseudophasma phthisicus
Pterochroza ocellata
Schistocerca flavofasciata
Vates lobata
NEW SPECIES OF MANTIS.
Stagmomantis hoorie Caudell
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF HOORIE MOTHS.
Anacraga citrina
Anthocroca cuneifera
Apatelodes pandarioides
Apela divisa
Argeus labruscae
Argyrostoma nitidisquama
Attacus erycina
Automeris cinctistriga
Automolis semirosea
Azelina gammaria
Ballantiophona gibbiferata
Baeotarcha coemaroalis
Berberodes simplex
Capnodes subrutilans
Carthara ennomoides
Chrysocestis fimbriaria
Claphe braganza
Claphe mediana
Claphe morens
Claphe namora
Coenipeta bibitrix
Colla gaudialis
Dasygnia meterythra
Desmia funeralis
Dichromapteryx dimidiata
Dirphia tarquinia
Drepanodes agrionaria
Dyasia viviana
Eudioptis hyalinata
Epicepsis gnoma
Euagra collestina
Euclea cippus
Gonodonta pyrgo
Gonopinea albilunalis
Hadena regressa
Hylesia inficita
Hyperchiria liberia
Hyperchiria nausica
Ingura circularia
Iza rufigrisea
Lepasta conspicua
Letis occidua
Leucinodes elegantalis
Lysana plexa
Maerodes columbalis
Malocanpa Eugenia
Melese castrena
Neritos coccinea
Neritos phaeoplaza
Olceclostera mira
Olceclostera satellitia
Orthogramma rufotibia
Pamea notata
Peosina helima
Phyllodonta cajanuma
Prepiella radicans
Pronola fraterna
Prumala ilus
Racheolopha confluaria
Racheolopha nivetacta
Racheolopha pallida
Racheolopha sarptaria
Racheospila intensa
Rifargia apella
Rolepa cuprea
Rosema zelica
Samea ebulealis
Samea gealis
Scolecocampa liburna
Stericta abrupta
Stericta multicolor
Stictoptera
Tachyphyle acuta
Tanasphysa adornatalis
Thysania agrippina
Tosale velutina
Trosea ignicornis
Urga parallela
Vipsophobetron marinna
NEW SPECIES OF HOORIE MOTHS.
Acropteryx opulenta Dyar
Capnodes albicosta ”
Claphe laudissima ”
Emarginea empyra ”
Eois costalis ”
Hadena niphetodes ”
Hemipecten cleptes ”
Hylesia indurata ”
Illice biota ”
Ischnurges bicoloralis ”
Macalla pallidomedia ”
Neophaenis aedemon ”
Paracraga amianta ”
Rifargia phanerostigma ”
Saccopleura lycealis ”
Thermesia dorsilinea ”
Trosia nigripes ”
Zatrephes cardytera ”
NEW GENERA AND NEW SPECIES OF HOORIE MOTHS.
_Dichocrocopsis_—Dichocrocopsis maculiferalis Dyar
_Hositea_—Hositea gynaecia Dyar
_Incarcha_—Incarcha aporalis Dyar
_Minacragides_—Minacragides arnacis Dyar
_Thyonoea_—Thyonaea dremma Dyar
_Zaevius_—Zaevius calocore Dyar
The Photographs and descriptions of these new genera and species have
been published in Zoölogica, Vol. 1, No. 4.
INDEX.
Illustrations are indicated by page numbers in Italic.
A.
Abary, Birds of, 364, 365.
Bungalow, _358_.
Island, _358_, 359.
River, 350, 360, _362_.
_Admetus pumilio_, 189, _190_.
_Aequidens_, 68, _69_.
Agouti, 160, _312_, 315, 318.
_Agraulis vanillae_, 375.
Amazon Parrot. _See_ Parrots.
American Redstarts, accompanying army of hunting ants, 50.
_Anableps anableps._ _See_ Four-eyed Fish.
Anaconda, 26, _27_, 240, 379.
André, Eugene, x, 86, 89.
Anis, 121, 131, 133, 358.
Accompanying army of hunting ants, 49, 50.
Greater, flock of, 156, 157.
Smooth-billed, 254.
Anna Regina, 242, 243.
_Anopheles_, 76.
Antbirds, 194, 302, 303, 304.
Accompanying army of hunting ants, 49.
Scaly-backed, 324.
White-shouldered Pigmy, 194.
Anteater, 170.
Great, 256, _257_.
Lesser, 305, _306_.
Ants, Black, (_Neoponera commutata_), 49.
Battle with hunting ants, 52.
Houses of, 48, 49, 138.
Hunting Ants (_Eciton_), 49-54.
Battle with Black Ants, 52, 53.
Warfare in nests of other species, 54.
Parasol, 49, 217, 218, 345.
Fungi gardens of, 49.
Aremu, Camp on, _274_, 275.
Gold Mine, 285-288, _287_, _289_.
Landing, 268.
Little, 244-284, _276_, 297.
River, Big, 244, 268.
_Argeus labruscae_, 211.
Armadillo, 170, 324.
_Atta cephalotes_, 138.
_Attacus (Hesperia) erycina_, 211.
_Automeria cinctistriga_, 213.
B.
Baboons. _See_ Monkey, Red Howling.
Bananaquits, 40.
Barama River, 158, _216_.
Entrance of, 160, 161.
Our tent boat on the, _159_.
Barima River, 137.
Barrabarra River, _219_, 222-225.
Barrimani Police Station, 158, 160.
Bartica, 244, 245, 246.
Bashew, 165.
Bats, Fruit-eating, 121, 122.
Manner of alighting, 43.
Number of species of, 122.
Scarab, 270.
Vampires. _See_ Vampires.
Bee, Giant, 343, 344.
Beetles, Bark, 201.
Brazilian, 268.
Buprestid, 291, 348.
Elater, Brown, 54, 55, 192.
Larva of small species of, 55.
Longicorn, 288.
Tiger, 291.
Bête rouge, 144, 146.
Biara River, 220-222, _226_.
Bingham, Dr. Hiram, xi, 255, 354.
Birds brought alive from British Guiana to New York Zoölogical Park,
116.
Bird Protection Ordinance of British Guiana, 115.
_Blaberus trapezoideus._ _See_ Cockroach.
Blackbird, Red-breasted, 351, 353.
Yellow-headed, 125, 351, 353.
Blacks. _See_ Negro.
Bois Immortelle trees, 42.
Botanical Gardens, experimental botanical work, 131.
Fauna of, 129-131, 133.
_Brassias_, 218.
British Guiana, climatic condition of coast of, 131.
_Bufo agua_, 122, _123_.
Buffalo, Water, 129.
Bunyahs. _See_ Cassique, Red-backed _and_ Yellow-backed.
Bushmaster, _182_, _183_, 184, 277.
Bush-rope, aërial roots of, _296_.
Butterflies, black and white, 193.
Ghost, 343.
Heliconias, 40, 343.
Milkweed, 58.
Morphos, 14, 187, 193, 250, 343.
Orange shaded, 313, 314.
Two species of, 163, 271.
Orchid, 250, _251_.
Orange, 163, 187, 375.
Owl, 40, 41, _42_.
Papilio, 193.
Red Silver-wing, 375.
Swallow-tailed, 132.
Transparent, _196_.
Yellow, 163.
C.
Calf-bird. _See_ Cotinga, Bare-headed.
_Caligo ilioneus_, 40.
Calliste, Black-faced, 127.
Yellow-bellied, 127, 135, 243.
_Callidryas statira_, 375.
_Calomesus psittacus_, 14.
Camaria Landing, 248, 250.
Falls at Lower, _249_.
Upper, 250, 251.
Caño San Juan, 75.
Caños, exploring in dug-out, _21_.
_Canthon semiopacus_, 270.
_Capnodes albicosta_, 288, 289.
Captain Truxillo, 22, 30, 74, 75, _78_, 82, 83, 90, 91, 104, 108.
Capuchin Monkey, 6, 20, 24.
Capybara, 22, _233_, 254, _255_, 282, 381.
Caracara, 131.
Carey-Elwis, Father, Mission of, 163.
Carib, Fish. _See_ Perai.
Indian hunter and children, _178_.
Indian huts at Hoorie, 179, 181.
Indians, three generations of, _180_.
_Carnegiella strigatus_, 252.
Cassiques, 125, 129.
Big Green, Courtship of, 202.
Flocking of, 214.
Nests of, 36, 37, _236_.
Notes of, 37, 56, 201, 338.
Red-backed, 137, 139, 142, 174, 215.
Colony of at Hoorie, 202-209.
Eggs of, 205.
Embryo, 205.
Food of, 206, 207, 208.
Nests of, _204_, 205, 206, 208.
Young birds, 205, 206, 207, 208.
Yellow-backed, 32, 137, 139, 142.
Nesting of, _33_, _34_, 35, 36, 251, 253.
_Castina licus_, 250, _251_.
_Castus_ sp., 192, _193_.
Caterpillar, black, 328, _329_, 347.
Catfish, Crucifix, _13_, 14.
Armored, 68.
Of Guiana, 164.
_Centis americana_, 344.
_Centrurus margaritatus_, 39.
_Cercoleptes caudivolvulus_, 37.
Chachalaca, Abundance near Guanoco, _38_.
Voice of, 23, 24.
Chameleon caterpillar, 191, 192.
_Chrysocestis fimbriaria_, 212.
_Choloepus_, 279.
Cicadas, Chant of, 24.
Chinese music of giant species, 25.
_Cicada grossa_, 301, 302.
Six-o’clock bee, 235, 338.
Cinereus Becard, 131.
_Clavillina_, 219.
Cockroach, 45.
_Coelogenys paca_, 305.
_Colaenis phaerusa_, 375.
Congo Pump, 191, 273.
Coolie, of British Guiana, _117_, 118, 150.
Indenture system, 148-149.
Coolies and their wives fishing in Essequibo, _247_.
Cormorant, Guiana, 218, 275, 354.
Cotinga, 304.
Bare-headed, 332.
Pompadour, 176, 179.
Cotton Bird. _See_ Flycatcher, White-shouldered Ground.
Couchi-couchi. _See_ Kinkajou.
Cowbird, Guiana, 125, 202.
Crab Oil. _See_ Bête rouge.
Crabs, 144.
Dancing, 16, 17.
Enemies of, 19.
Inhabiting roots of mangroves, 17.
Inhabiting trunks and branches of mangroves, 17, 18.
Method of catching, 19.
Mimicry among, 17, 18.
Crab wood, 191.
Crandall, Lee S., ix, 125, 160, 171, _182_, 207, 209, 215, 385.
Creepers, Blue Honey, 201, 298.
Honey, 135, 160.
Yellow-winged Honey, 158, 340.
Crew. _See_ Sloop.
Crocodiles, 14, 15, 57.
Canal of, _130_, _380_, 381, 382.
Of the Aremu, 271.
Cuckoos, Chestnut, 131.
Cumaca trees, 269.
Curassow, 255, 282.
Crested, courtship of, 332, _333_, 334, 335, 336, _337_, 338.
Curlews, 8.
Cuyuni River, 244, 248, _254_, _259_, 269.
Flowers of, 263.
Rapids of, 258, _260_, _261_, _262_, 263, _264_, _266_, 267, _270_.
D.
Deer, 160, 170, 246, 310, 311, 319.
Savanna, 320.
_Dendrobates trivittatus_, 293, 294.
_Desmodus rufus._ _See_ Vampire.
_Dicotyles labiatus._ _See_ Peccary, White-lipped.
_Dicotyles tajacu._ _See_ Peccary, Common.
_Dirphia tarquinia_, 211.
Dolphins, 30.
Douraquara. _See_ Quail, Guiana.
Dove, Red-winged Ground, 131, 139.
Dragon Fly, 270, 271.
_Diastatops tincta_, 376.
_Erythrodiplax umbrata_, 376.
_Erythrodiplax peruviana_, 376.
Dress suitable for woman on jungle trips, 195, 196.
Drowned Forest of Hoorie, 198-202.
Ducks, Gray-necked Tree, 355, _356_, 357.
Muscovy, 30, 135, 357, 359.
Rufous Tree, 355.
Vicissi, 383.
E.
Eagle, Guiana Crested, 137.
_Eciton_, 49, 50.
Egrets, American, 137, 234, _352_, 353, 381.
Snowy, 8, 64, 154, 158.
_Elainia._ _See_ Flycatchers.
Electric eels, 170.
Encounter with curiara in the Guarapiche, 22.
_Epidendrum fragrans_, 22, 23.
_Epidendrum nocturnum_, 241.
_Epidendrum odoratum_, 269.
Essequibo River, 134, 244, 245.
_Euchroma goliath_, 291.
_Eudioptis hyalinata_, 212.
_Eunectes murinus._ _See_ Anaconda.
Euphonia, 139.
Black-tailed, 40.
Purple-throated, 319.
Violet, 240.
_Euptoieta hegesia_, 375.
F.
Farnum’s, 158, 214, 215.
_Felis concolor_, 60, 61.
Ferns, tree, on Little Aremu, _278_.
Filo, 77, 84.
Flamingo, 234.
Flycatchers, Elania, 131, _132_.
Gray Tody, 131.
Kiskadee, 37, 112, _114_, 120, 121, 131, 135, 142, 148, 239, 247,
357.
Streaked, accompanying army of hunting ants, 50, _51_.
Tyrant, 116,
accompanying army of hunting ants, 50.
White-shouldered Ground, 65, 66, 131.
White-headed Marsh, 65.
Flying Fish, Fresh Water, _252_, 265, 269.
Salt Water, _253_.
Forest, drowned, _199_.
Four-eyed Fish, 14, _16_, 19, 57, 237, 239.
Devoured by Crocodile, 15.
Eyes of, 19.
Fowler, Mr., 275, 277.
Francis, Jungle craft of, 316, 317, 318, 320, 321, 322, 326, 332,
333, 338.
Frederick, 147-148, 151, _152_.
French, Mr., 248.
Frigate-bird, 234.
Frog, Bleating Calf, 277.
Castanet, 242.
Freight engine, 214, 277.
Roaring, 277.
Wing-beat, 238, 277.
G.
_Galictis barbara_, 321.
Gallinules, 129.
Purple, 378.
Georgetown, 112.
Beauty of, 116.
Botanical Gardens of, 123.
Chief points of attraction of, 121.
Inhabitants of, 112, 114.
Museum of, 123.
Sea Wall of, _119_.
Street life of, 116-118.
Street of, _113_.
Typical day of, 120, 121.
Gillett, Father, 226, 227, _228_, 230.
Gold Bird, 187, 188, 189, 193, 220, 246, 275, 307, 315, 342.
Gold, Long Tom process, 185, 186, 187.
Mines. _See_ Aremu, Hoorie.
Panning, 185, _186_.
Golden Shower Orchid, 220.
_Gonodonta pyrgo_, 342.
Grackle, Little Boat-tailed, 128.
Grassfinches, 48.
Grell, Ellis, x, 86, 87, 90.
Greenheart Bird. _See_ Gold Bird.
Green River Ibis, 253.
Grosbeaks, Black-faced Green, 176.
Black-headed Scarlet, 315.
Brown-breasted Pigmy, 121, 127.
Thick-billed Pigmy, 142.
_Gryllus argentinus_, 348.
Guanoco, Children of, _100_, 104.
Dances at, 97-103, 104.
Fever at, 106.
First night at, 90-93.
“Headquarters” at, 87, 88, 97.
Inhabitants of, _97_.
Priestless chapel at, _105_.
Quarrel with United States of America, 98, 99.
Revolutionary reports at, 98, 99.
River of, 86.
Suffering that came to, 106, 107.
Village of, 32, 86.
Women of, 106.
Guan, 144, 235, 255, 313.
Jacupeba, 321.
Marail, 179.
Guarapiche River, 20, 80, 81, 82.
Guarauno Indians, 29.
At Caño Colorado, _83_.
Papoose, _107_.
Squaws, _85_.
Wandering tribes of, 103.
Guard Ship, 75, 76.
Venezuelan soldiers on board of, _76_.
Guava, Water, 263.
Gulls, Laughing, 134.
H.
Haasnoot, Captain, 111.
_Haetera piera._ _See_ Butterfly, Transparent.
Harrison, Prof. J. B., 123, 125.
Harry, Mr., 385.
Hawk, Caracara, 371, 372.
Chimachima, White-breasted, _62_, 64.
Cream-headed, 354, 355.
South American Black, 164.
Heliconia butterfly. _See_ Butterflies.
Heliconias, Scarlet, 58, 60.
_Hemiptycha (Umbonia) spinosa_, 213.
Herons, Agami, 219.
Boat-billed, 234.
Cocoi, 8, 234, 245, 268, 355.
Guiana Green, 129, 355, 371.
Immature Blue, 64.
Little Blue, 15, 154, 158.
Louisiana, 154.
Yellow-crowned Night, 154.
_Herpetodryas carinatus_, 386.
Hoatzins, Eggs of, 371.
Enemies of, 371, 372.
Flight of, 28, 29.
Flock of, _377_.
Food of, 29, 219.
Habits of, at Abary, 366, 367, 368, _369_, _370_, _372_, _373_,
_375_.
Nesting of, 29, _366_, 371.
Number at Abary, 350.
On the Guarapiche, _28_.
Photographing, _367_, 372, 373, 374.
Sedentary life of, _28_, 29.
Use of wings, 374.
Voice of, 26, 28, 365.
Young of, 28.
Hodgson, Sir Frederick, x, 125.
_Homalocranium melanocephalum_, 45, 46.
Hoorie mine, Average daily temperature at, 170.
Bungalow, 170, 209.
Creek, 164.
Crossing stream on road to, _167_.
Drowned forest of, 198-202.
Fauna around, 170, 171, 209.
Flora of, 192, 194, 195.
Indian life near, 179-184, 189, 190, 191.
Insects of, 209-213.
“Little Giant” at, _175_.
Mine, 167-169, _172_.
Wilderness trail to, 165-167, _168_.
_Hoplias malabaricus_, 68, _69_.
Hornaday, Dr. William T., xi.
_Hositea gynaecia_, 212.
Hummingbird, Long-tailed, 325.
Rufous breasted, 307.
White eye-browed, 307.
_Hydrochoerus capybara._ _See_ Capybara.
_Hyperchiria Liberia_, 213.
_Hyperchiria nausica_, 213.
I.
Ibis. _See_ Green River. _See_ Scarlet.
im Thurn, Sir Everard, house of, 142, _143_.
Indian and the Law, 151, 152, 153.
Boys in dug-out, _162_.
Three-year-olds at home in wood-skin, _138_.
Insects. _See_ Hoorie.
Mounting of, 211, 212.
J.
Jabiru, 353, _354_, 381.
Jacamar, home of, 26.
Paradise, 171, 173.
Jacana, Spur-wing, 63, 64, 129, 354, 378, _384_, 385.
“Josefa Jacinta.” _See_ Sloop.
Jaguar, 63, 160, 293.
Jays, Lavender, 173, 174, 345.
Jelly-fish, 4.
Jones, Mr. B. Howell, x.
Jumbie Birds. _See_ Anis.
K.
Killicow. _See_ Rail, Cayenne Wood.
King, Howie, 129, 148.
As magistrate of Morawhanna, 149-151.
Garden of, 146.
House of, 142.
Kingbirds, White-throated, 137.
Kingfishers, Feeding on insects, 16.
Red-breasted, 163.
Rufous, 199, 282.
Kinkajou, 37.
Kiskadee. _See_ Flycatchers.
Kites, Swallow-tailed, 154, 250.
L.
Labba. _See_ Paca.
La Brea, x, 30, _59_. _See_ also Pitch Lake.
La Ceiba, 20.
Our floating home at, _18_.
Lilies, Spider, _57_, 58, 225, _363_.
Lizards, At Morawhanna, 146.
Protective coloration of, 43, _44_, _45_.
Tegu, 24, 146.
Loricates. _See_ Catfish, Armored.
Lotus, _126_.
M.
Macaws, 8.
Blue and Yellow, 137, 338.
Maestro, 14, 77, 80, 84, 85, 87.
Manakin, Golden-crowned, 342, _343_, 348.
Gold-headed, 44.
Wallace Olive, 322.
White-breasted, 44, 45.
White-capped, 311.
Manatee, 125, 170, _221_, _222_, _224_, 381.
Mangrove, Flowers of, 15.
Jungle, description of, 9-12.
Manner of preparation of, 10.
Map of trip through, 2.
Red, 135, 153.
Sunset in Mangrove wilderness, _80_.
White, 135, 153.
Wilderness, _95_.
Young plants, _11_, 58.
Mantis, 213, 289.
_Stagmomantis hoorie_, 210.
Map, of Abary Island, _361_.
Of three expeditions into British Guiana, _110_.
Of trip through Mangrove Wilderness, _2_.
Marciano, 215, 222, 223, 234, 237, 238, 240, 242, 243.
Marlborough Police Station, 237.
Maroodie. _See_ Guan.
Martins, Gray Breasted, 112, 244, _245_, 247, 379.
Matope, 253, 256, 258.
Mazaruni River, 244, 246, 248.
Steamer, 134, 141, 142.
Maximiliano Romero, 101-102, 106.
_Mecistogaster_ sp., 270, 271.
_Mesomphalia discors_, 268.
Mission, on Morooka River, 225.
Warramuri, 231, 233.
Monkeys, Capuchin, 6, 20.
Marmoset, 300.
No fear of railroad, 56, 57.
Red Howling, Description of, 325-326.
As food, 329.
Voice of, 20, 56, 142, 170, 197, 277, 293, 325.
_Monstera_, 279.
Mora Passage, 135, 146, 153, 174, 175, 301.
Mora Tree, 135, 137, 138, 269, _296_.
Morawhanna, 135.
Typical Indian House of, _136_.
Home of Mr. Howie King at, 142.
Morooka River, 225, 231.
Agriculture on, 233.
Morpho butterfly. _See_ Butterflies.
_Morpho metellus_, 314.
Mosquitoes, 12, 30, 39, 76, 86, 112-114, 120, 141, 144, 214, 235,
362, 364.
Moths, Hawk, 210.
Moon, 210.
Owl, 213.
Waltzing, 46, 47.
Mountains of Venezuela, 30, _31_.
Mount Everard, 135, 137, 139, _140_, 141.
Bête rouge of, 144-146.
Mucka-mucka, 219, 238, 251, 366.
Muricot, 198.
_Mycetes seniculus._ _See_ Monkey, Red Howling.
_Myrmecophaga jubata_, 256, 257.
N.
Negro of British Guiana, _117_, 119.
_Neoponera commutata_, 49.
Nicholson, Mr., 253, 254, 256, 332.
_Notogonia_ sp. _See_ Wasps.
_Nyctobates giganteus._ _See_ Beetles, Bark.
O.
_Odocoileus savannarum._ _See_ Deer, Savanna.
_Odontochila cayennensis._ _See_ Beetles, Tiger.
_Odontochila confusa._ _See_ Beetles, Tiger.
_Odontochila lacordairei._ _See_ Beetles, Tiger.
Opossum, 144, 308, 309.
Orchids, fragrant white, 22, _23_.
Orinoco River, 4.
Orioles, Moriche, 142.
Yellow, 121, 127, 129.
Ospreys, 156.
Otter, 163, 281.
P.
Paca, 160, 305.
Paddle-wood, 191, 301, _325_.
Palm sheath, rocking toy, _100_.
Covering flower of palm, _102_.
_Papilio polydamus_, 132.
Parauque, 148, 263.
Paria, Gulf of, 5, 75.
Parrakeets, 30.
Parrots, Amazon, Mealy, 174, 201, 233, 234, 235.
Blue-headed, flocking of, 157-158.
Dusky, 344.
Young of, _344_, 345.
Yellow fronted, _66_, 135, 146.
Eggs of, _67_, 68.
Home of, _64_.
Island of in Pitch Lake, 62, _63_.
Nest of, _65_, 66.
Young of, _67_, 68.
_Passiflora laurifolia._ _See_ Passion Flower.
Passion Flower, _272_, 273.
_Paxillus leachii_, 201.
Peccary, common, 160, 170, 233, 255, 256, _347_.
White-lipped, 256.
Pe-pe-yo. _See_ Gold Bird.
Perai, 160, 170, 198.
_Peridromia feronia_, 43.
Peripatus, discovery of and description of, 46.
Perseverance Landing, 258.
_Petræa arborea_, 187.
Phosphorescence off coast of British Guiana, 111.
Pickersgill Police Station, 239, 240.
_Pieris monuste_, 375.
Pigmy Owl, 40.
Pipe-fish, 160.
Pipitoori. _See_ Flycatcher, Gray Tody.
_Pistia stratiodes._ _See_ Shell Flower.
Pitch Lake, of Venezuela, 30, _59_, _88_.
Daily life at, 94-96.
Digging pitch, _90_.
Early morning trips to, 55-61.
Flora of, 63, 64.
History of, 91-92.
Jungle railroad to, 55, _56_, 57.
Loading cars at, _93_.
“Mother” of, _61_, 62, 63.
Plover, 8.
Poc-a-poo, 235.
_Poeciloptera phalaenoides_, 132, 133.
_Polybia_ sp., 299, 300.
Pomeroon River, 234-240.
Pontón. _See_ Guard Ship.
Porcupine Tree, _36_, 37.
Pork-knocker, 187, 188, 256, 258, 287, 288.
Port of Spain, 3, 4.
Street life of, 119.
Protective resemblances, 41, 42, 43, 44.
_Pseudaucheniplerus nodosus_, 13.
_Psidium fluviatile_, 263.
_Pterochroya ocellata_, 213.
Puff-fishes, 14, _15_.
Puma, South America, 60, 61.
Purple heart trees, 163.
_Pyrophorus_ sp., 54, 55.
Q.
Quadrille-bird, 188, 309, 310, 321, 330.
Quail, Guiana, 340, 341.
R.
_Racheolopha nivetacta_, 211.
Rail, Cayenne Wood, 378.
Robins, White-breasted, 116.
White-throated, 322, _323_, 324, 340.
_Rhyncophorus palmatum._ _See_ Weevil.
Rodway, James, 123, 132.
S.
Salapenta, 146.
Saman Trees, 132, 142.
Sandpipers, 8.
Solitary, 263.
Spotted, 58, 156.
Sapadillo, 121, 127.
Scarlet Ibis, 7, 8, 81, 153, 154, 155.
Scorpion, _39_, 46.
Battle with Caterpillar, 291, _292_.
Whip, 189, 190.
Screamer, Horned, 381.
Sea-cows. _See_ Manatee.
Seedeaters, 60, 142.
Blue-backed, 171.
_Semiotus ligneus_, 192.
Serenades, by negroes from Pitch Lake, 100, 101.
_Serrasalmo scapularis_, 160.
Shell Flower, 218.
Shypook. _See_ Heron, Guiana Green.
Silk Cotton Trees, 163.
Sigh heard in the Mangrove forest and explanation of, 26.
Simitú, _272_, 273.
Skimmers, 8, 135, 148.
Sloop, Anchored in Guanoco River, _72_.
At La Ceiba, _18_.
Description of, 3, 71.
Description of crew of, 77.
Entering Mangroves, _5_.
First night on board, 72-75.
Loss of, 108.
Saying good-by to, 93.
Sloths, 37, 61, 170, 246.
Three-toed, 279, _280_, _281_.
Snake-birds, 30, 137, 251, 252, 354.
_Sphingurus prehensilis_, _36_, 37.
Spider lilies. _See_ Lilies.
Spider, Pedipalp. _See_ Scorpion.
Sproston, 248.
Squirrels, Orange and gray, 24.
_Stagmomantis hoorie._ _See_ Mantis.
_Stomolophus meleagris_, 4.
Stork, Maguari, 155, 156.
Sugarcane, experimented on in Botanical Gardens, 131.
Sun-bittern, _25_, 60, 86.
Suddie, _243_.
Swallows, Banded, 162, 175, 176, 200, 265, 379.
Barn, 247, 379.
Emerald and white, 24.
Red-breasted, 379.
Tree, 379.
Variegated, 247, 265, 378, 379, 381.
Swift, Feather-toed, 144.
Nest of, 143, 176.
Gray-rumped, 289, 292.
Palm, 56.
T.
Tacuba, 269, 279.
Taliput palm, 125, _128_.
_Tamandua tetradactyla._ _See_ Anteater, Lesser.
Tanager, Black-faced, 131.
Blue, 127, 139, 142, 171.
Magpie, 138, 139.
Palm, 37, 116, 139, 142, 144, _147_, 171.
Silver-beak, 116, 139, 171, 240, 292.
Tapakuma, Lake, 241.
River, 240, 241.
Tarantulas, 100, 101, 199, 215, 218, 219, 265.
Tapir, 144, 255.
Tarpon, 379.
Tayras, 321.
Tegu Lizard, 24, 146.
_Teius nigropunctatus._ _See_ Tegu Lizard.
Temperature, of Hoorie, 170.
Of Mangrove Forest of Venezuela, 12.
Tern, Great-billed, 154, 378.
Least, 378.
Yellow-billed, 8.
_Testudo tabulata._ _See_ Tortoise, South American.
Thrush, Black-capped Mocking, 40, 376.
_Thysania agrippina._ _See_ Moth, Moon.
Thurn, Everard F. im. _See_ im Thurn.
Tiger Bittern, 282.
Tiger, Warracabra, 381.
Tinamou, Great Blue, Description of, 48.
Discovery of nest and eggs of, _47_, 48.
Guiana Crested, 318, 319.
Little, 330.
Tityra, Black-tailed, 177, 179.
Toads, of Georgetown, 122, _123_.
Telegraph, 238.
Tree, music of, 161.
Tortoise, South American, 297, 298.
Toua-toua. _See_ Grosbeak, Brown-breasted Pigmy.
Toucans, 30, 158.
As food, 328.
Black-banded Aracari, 174.
Feeding of, 327, 328.
Red-billed, 174, 268, 326, 327.
Red-breasted, 175.
Sulphur- and White-breasted, 174.
Trapping birds, 125-129.
Tree-hopper, 213.
Trinidad, 3, 4.
Trogon, Yellow-bellied, 250, 269.
Trumpeters, 60, _117_, 179, 255, 256, 330-332, 338.
Twa-twa. _See_ Grosbeak, Thick-billed Pigmy.
Tyrantlet, Buff-tailed, 313.
V.
Vampires, 227, 258, 263, 269, 277.
_Victoria regia_, 116, 123, _124_, 129.
Vinton, Mr. and Mrs. Lindley, 350, 385.
Vireo, Brown-throated, 322.
Vulture, Black, 112, 121.
King, 137.
Orange-headed, 292, 321, 383.
W.
Waini River, 153, 154, 158, 160.
Walking Sticks, 289, _290_.
Warracabra. _See_ Trumpeter.
Wasps, 24, 25, 40.
Nests of, 131.
_Notogonia_, 347.
Protection of Cassiques by, 34, 35.
Water-haas. _See_ Capybara.
Water Hyacinth, 218.
Water Lemon. _See_ Simitú.
Weevils, Palm, 45.
Welcome of Wilderness, 88-90.
“Whó-are-yoú?”, 383.
Wilderness, early morning in, _346_.
Wilshire, Mr. Gaylord, x, 134, _182_, 227, 305.
Mrs. Gaylord, x, 134, 215, 275.
Witch Birds. _See_ Anis.
Withers, Mr., house of at Bartica, 246-248.
Wood Ibis, 353, 381.
Woodhewers, 131, 194, 220, 246, 284, 303, 304, 322, 348.
Accompanying hunting ants, 49.
Cinnamon spine-tail, 304, 379.
Clinging to trunk of tree, _50_.
Music of, 161, 193.
Wedge-billed Pigmy, 339, 340.
Woodpeckers, 30.
Guiana Ivory-bill, 200, 201.
Red-crested, 48, 292, 311, 312, 313.
Yellow, 40, _41_.
Wren, Guiana House, 112, 120, 142, 247, 307, 308, 379.
Jungle, 340.
Marsh, 324.
Necklaced Jungle. _See_ Quadrille-bird.
Z.
_Zaevius calocore_, 212.
Transcriber’s Note: The music files are the music transcriber’s
interpretation of the printed notation and are placed in the public
domain.
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