A swampy maze -- The Amazon ants -- An invincible army -- Jaguars -- A portage -- Macas -- A traveled man -- Spate -- A rough passage.
FOR about ninety days we paddled and poled. The first sixty were spent on the Morona, at the end of which we arrived at the point where the parent streams of the Morona, the Cangaimi and the Cusulina join their waters. The Cangaimi, as is seen from the colour of the water, drains the low lands to the east of the foot-hills of the Andes, while the Cusulina rises in the hills themselves, and its waters are clear, having flowed through a sand and gravel country, as against the clay and silt over which the former makes its way.
The River Morona, from its eastern watershed, itself drains low lying country, a great portion of which is inundated off and on for half the year. The floods, however, do not take place with the clockwork regularity of the Amazon itself, and its larger tributaries. Whereas in regions through which the latter flow the difference of level between the wet and dry seasons is from twenty-five to fifty feet, according to locality, and the seasons are strictly divided, the Morona overflows its banks intermittently throughout the first six months of each year. Its depths varies very rapidly and strictly in accordance with the local rainfall, a fact which is evident from the lowness of the banks, the appearance of the flora, and the sluggish swampy streams which feed the main river from the east, and drain the vast morasses which extend over many hundreds of square miles. As a consequence, the
Emerging from the last one of these "
This interesting range of mountains is in reality a continuation of a bifurcation of the main range of the Andean cordillera, with Sangay volcano at the apex of the fork and locally known as the Logronia Mountains. It sweeps to the east and south, enclosing the watersheds of the Santiago and Marañon rivers, which pierce it near their junction, through the Pongo Menseriche and again links up with the main Andean ranges in the mountains between Chachapoyas and Moyabamba; making it undoubtedly the longest "Nudo" in the Andean system.
It has no local name nor have I ever seen it distinctly designated on a map or described or mentioned in an atlas. I have therefore presumed to baptize it "Rouse's Range," in memory of Jack, the only member of the Expedition who perished in the Amazon.
This range was our constant neighbor on the west, as it always was in the Santiago on the east; a glad relief to the same eternal maze of pathless forest stretching away to the Pastaza and beyond. Farther on, the
Game is as plentiful throughout this zone as in any other of the whole basin. Birds similar to our pheasant, quail, and partridge abound, as well as the inevitable
Were we to leave the birds of the Morona without mentioning the
tiny wren-like bird chants a sweet soft tune like the notes of the instrument from which he takes his name.
Among the most graceful of the water-fowl of the world is the flamingo, which is to be seen on every bend of the Morona, strutting gracefully in the shallows of the semi-stagnant arms of the river which drains the marshes.
Through the great swampy maze we struggled on. The long succession of days passed without much worth recording befalling us. They were marked for the most part by good shooting or bad, hard paddling or easy, cold rain or hot sun. At times, as we neared the upper reaches of the Morona, we passed through periods of high water and consequently difficult canoeing. At such times, the islets and sand-bars being flooded, we were compelled to pitch our camp for the night on the mainland.
Here we had no savages to guard against, but we were overrun by a worse enemy, ants. A couple of stout volumes could be written on the subject of the Amazon ants, but as this record is not designed to be a treatise on natural history, I do not propose to give the enormous amount of detail which would be required to convey an adequate impression of the great number of varieties of this insect to be found in the forests of which I write.
I must preface my few remarks by mentioning that one cannot sit down in the woods, nor even remain standing in one place for any length of time, without being found out by a score of species, ranging from the almost invisible red dwarfs to the giant Alligator Ant, the biggest ant in the world, which measures an inch and a quarter in length.
Of all the ants in the Amazon woods, the black ants are the most troublesome, the
one is awakened to find the blankets, and indeed the whole camp, alive with them. There is nothing to do but beat a hasty retreat to the canoes, the only place that is free from them. When morning comes, one makes a small clearing through which the sun's cleansing rays can reach the ground. With a pole one begins to move one's blankets and the rest of the kit, until everything is spread about in the small patch of sunlight in which no ants will stay, a habit common to most other creatures of the damp, gloomy woods. Even the canoes, however, are not quite safe from this pest, for if the mooring rope is not passed under water, they will often board and take possession of the craft. If once they are established, the best way of ejecting them is to tie up the dugouts in the sun, near enough to the bank to allow of sticks to be laid from their sides to the land to serve as gangways. Across these bridges the ants will come streaming back to shore as soon as they feel the heat of their enemy. To be discovered by one of their number is to be discovered by millions, for they pass the word immediately. I have proved this many a time by experiments with a drop of molasses or a lump of sugar.
The
hours or more. One cannot endure it sitting still. The fact that the
Most interesting of all the ant family is the carnivorous soldier-ant. Woe betide the wounded animal or the sick man, should the soldier-ant discover him!
All foraging ants are of three types or sexes -- males, females, and workers. The workers of this particular species are again divided into two quite distinct types -- the common soldier and the officer. The latter is just half an inch long, the former varying from a fifth to a third of an inch. Apart from the difference in size, the two classes are identical. The body and legs of this ant are red, and covered with a harder shell than the ordinary "pack ant," which he resembles in colour and size. The head is perfectly round, ivory coloured, smooth, hard and shiny. It is out of all proportion to the body, being in the case of the officer the size of a green pea. Projecting from this ivory dome is a pair of formidable pincer-like cutters, red like the insect's limbs. With these instruments the ant seizes and tears its prey. If one should fasten itself to your leg and you attempt to pull him off, he will leave his pincers in your flesh rather than loose his hold.
The soldier-ant well deserves his name, for he is the most courageous and the most disciplined of all living creatures. He moves through the woods in vast armies, whose power of destruction is incredibly great. No obstacle will stop the steady forward movement of the solid columns which march about twenty abreast with about five files to the foot, the officers marching alongside at a constant distance of four or five inches. Thus
Grubs, worms, caterpillars, toads, frogs, lizards, and even rats which get in the way of a column of soldier-ants meet their fate as surely as if crushed under a "tank." One of the larger animals, if wounded and unable to move, will leave no trace but a pile of clean white bones, a transformation which takes but twenty-four hours.
I have said that they are the bravest of the brave. When a column is on the march, nothing will stay their progress; they will even throw themselves on to a lighted brand and extinguish the flame with their own carcasses that those which follow on may walk over them. Even though the heat be sufficient to warn them of their danger, these insects will never turn aside.... They are instilled with a more invincible spirit of battle than any soldiers in the world. I have seen them hurl themselves at a lighted cigar which lay in their way and, the leading ants biting right into the lighted end, tear it to bits in half a minute. A dozen ants had to die that the fire might be put out, but there were a million more behind.
In the rubber-camps an occasional visit from these insects was ever welcomed. It was the surest way of ridding the premises of all kinds of vermin, mice, worms, crickets and all the other creeping, running, and hopping thing with which such places are overrun. Not a
At the end of sixty days' paddling then, during which we had recovered approximately three hundred miles, we passed into the Cusulina, en route for Macas. Here we met a swifter current still, but were able to use the poles by reason of the shallowness of the river. Jaguars were numerous and were seen swimming across the river. In the shallows, they splashed about after fish, a favourite food of theirs. In contrast to most other members of the same family, water has no terrors for these cats. Their skins are worthless, commercially speaking, for a close examination shows them to be very thin-haired.
After some twenty-five or thirty days on the Cusulina -- we had by that time completely lost track of the days -- we arrived at a portage trail, which leads from the right bank of that river on to the Santiago. We had passed right through a very big unexplored zone and reached the outer fringe of civilization on the far side. We had seen very little of the country through which the Morona and its parent streams flow, for we had not had the time nor the wish to penetrate far from the main waterway with the prospect of wading through endless swamps. Such a procedure is, indeed, extremely dangerous, for, on account of the rapid rise and fall of the water in obedience to the rainfall, heavy canoes may be stuck high and dry for weeks, a long distance from the main channel. The only way then is to wait for high water again or build a corduroy road and cover it with the slippery bark of a species of the balsa wood which abounds and is used for this purpose, and slide the canoe back to the stream.
The sole representative of civilization to be found where the trail left the river was an old Ecuadorian half-breed who enjoyed luxurious ease dressed only in a pair of cotton under-drawers, and surrounded by his immediate family. He had a well-kept
chickens. He had collected round him the implements and accessories with which both Christians and Jívaros could furnish him. As far as I could see he craved nothing which he did not have, and so lived in perfect contentment. His case was only one of many hundreds of such isolated posts on the fringe of the Jívaro country where life presented no difficulties. How hard we strive to make a living in a great city, while there in the woods Nature hands it to a man on a silver platter!
We struck a bargain with the old man by which he was to find the labour to transport our stores across country to the point of embarkation on the Santiago, a distance of about fifteen or twenty miles, in exchange for the Exploradora. He provided us with a gang of the lightest-fingered gentlemen I have met, an accomplishment common to all Amazon Indians but only developed to such a high state of proficiency among a few of the half-civilized individuals whose habits are influenced by their Christian brothers, both clerical and lay, with whom they come in contact in the outlying posts. The
The collection of thatch huts known as Macas is an ancient mission station and the frontier post of Governmental authority not very far from the nearest loop of the Santiago. When we passed through, the population was composed of only one priest -- the rest being absent on errands of mercy, administering the sacraments of the Church, and collecting for same -- and a few renegade Jívaros who had been chased out of their tribes for some offence committed against the strict moral code of their people which they found they could repeat with impunity in their new home. The latter
The priest, who was lord and master of Macas, was not too pleased to see us. Finding, however, that we had not come to stay but wished to embark on the Santiago his manner changed to one of extreme affability. There was nothing he would not do to help us on our way. The influence which he exerted on our behalf had a definite result in the shape of the immediate arrival of our stores in the settlement, their speedy transportation to the Santiago, and our being able to purchase a canoe with the utmost ease. He assured us that the climate was "poisonous," that if we stayed there we should soon contract smallpox and berri-berri, and that we had struck the worst season of the year as well. In fact, during the short twenty-four hours that we enjoyed his hospitality we were treated to a very complete picture of the horrors of life in Macas. Possibly that may have had some connection with the pots full of gold which rumour, in the mouths of his native servants, had it were buried under the floor of his house. In any event, certain it is that our presence for a longer period was not desired. Doubtless we might have diverted some of the golden stream from our host's coffers into our own. There was an amusing side to his conversation, too. He displayed an ignorance of geography only equalled by that of his Indian companions. His reading seemed to have begun and ended with the Catechism. However, to display his knowledge of a world which must have been for him a complete mystery, upon learning that most of us were Americans he remarked with conscious pride in his grasp of mundane affairs:
"So George Washington is your president, eh?"
I am proud to say that I answered him without a smile that Washington was dead. I hoped that this
At this point we all began to suffer from an acute attack of internal combustion, which found an outlet within a few seconds. The priest, I must say, took his disillusionment in good part.
Up to that time we had considered ourselves to be fairly well-travelled men. Between us we had covered the whole of the Western Hemisphere, from Puntarenas to Dawson City. But after we had listened to the story of a part of the travels of our host, we were compelled to tender him the palm. Let me tell it as it was told to us.
"I was living in a monastery in Quito, completing my studies so that I might become a cura. One day, I was taken ill and died. My death was a gift from God to enable me to learn the secrets of the souls of the damned. My body was sealed in the catacomb of the monastery for sixteen days, while I undertook a journey through Hell. There I beheld the torments of those of my friends and brother-friars who had sinned in this world and were suffering eternal torments. (Here he improved at great length, on the Divine Comedy.) When I awoke in my earthly body, I found myself entombed, but by the use of my feet I fought my way to liberty and started life afresh, steadfastly determined to lead a righteous life."
"Steadfastly determined to lead a righteous life!" The words have rung in my ears ever since.
Talking with the Indians about the prospect of finding gold in the Santiago, we elucidated the fact that there was plenty of the precious metal to be found near Macas, but the sample that we saw showed it to be light and flaky, indicating that it had travelled some distance.
Thus the heavy gold which we had found must have come into the Santiago from some of its western tributaries. We decided that it was not worth while going up the Santiago as, although with more modern equipment (cradles and sluice-boxes) we might have panned out considerable quantities, we preferred to go downstream and try for the coarser metal. The going would have been very bad above Macas, as it would have meant climbing the foothills of the Andes, and leaving most of our stores behind. The indications given us by the Indians, however, were of little or no value, for we knew from personal experience that they were content to scrape up the surface gravel in the river-beds with their naked hands, instead of working down to bed-rock.
Thus it happened that a few days after our arrival in Macas, we shipped our equipment in the new canoe on the Santiago, accompanied by a young Indian boy, who had been left in our charge by the missionary priest, with an injunction to find him some chance of learning a trade in "one of the big cities on the banks of the Amazon such as Pennsylvania, London, Paris or California"! (His idea of geography was typical of all the ranchers and
As things turned out, owing to the great amount of water in the rivers at that time, it being the height of the rainy season, we had no opportunity on that trip of carrying out regular prospecting. All we could do was to locate and mark down the mouths of the creeks and
All this time we were living in a constant drenching downpour, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, but always there. A grey sky hid the glorious sun, the crystal water had given place to a muddy torrent, and where before we had shunned the mid-day heat, now we paddled to keep the blood flowing in our streaming bodies. We lived for the most part during the day in cotton under-drawers keeping a set of woolens in our "war-bags" for use at night after we had put the tent up. The mean temperature was about 80o Fahrenheit, but the rain was some degrees colder. However, it was better to be naked than clothed, so long as we were on the move. At two or three o'clock in the afternoon we would commence to look for a camping ground. Then, when a clearing had been made and the tent pitched, we started out to collect dry wood. The only way was to scale the trunk of a dead tree, or knock off some of its limbs.
So rapid was our progress that we arrived near the Pongo Menseriche within a fortnight of leaving Macas. Fifty miles a day needed no great effort. The last night before we emerged into the Marañon was spent in the canoe itself, no place for a camp having been found. At the junction of the two rivers we fished up the seven or eight dugouts which had belonged to the ill-fated Jívaros under Tuhuimpui. We had concealed them in a small inlet secure from the floods. We made a raft of the six best canoes, strengthened and protected by balsa logs and strapped together with
At a point on the right bank of the Marañon within sight of the mouth of the Santiago, we built a permanent camp, erecting a good dry cook-house, a large storehouse for our kit, and a third shack for living-quarters.
During the eight or ten days of waiting, we spent our time hunting and playing cards, enjoying the luxury of being dry and of being able to sit down without striking a puddle. We were, however, all keen to try the Pongo as soon as an opportunity presented itself. On a day when it seemed to be raining harder than ever the water fell away. The rain had evidently eased up higher up-stream. There was really not much to be feared on that raft of ours.
That was the roughest passage of the cañon that I ever made. We went through from end to end as if in one headlong dive, for there is no stopping in the Pongo Menseriche, once you have started. The outer canoes of the raft were half-filled with water by the time we were nearing the great whirlpool. At the moment when we were actually sweeping round the edge of the basin, I, who was in the stern of the near-side canoe, was hanging out in mid-air over the vortex, shouting to the others to "paddle like the devil, or we should fall into the hole." We managed to manoeuvre the craft by paddling and fending off the rocks with poles until she swung clear. The rest was easy. We shot through the eastern gate into the big eddy facing it, and landed again at Borja.
We stayed the night to get an early morning start, as we were very uncertain of finding a resting-place between there and Barranca, which we hoped to be able to make in one day's run. Next day we started off at dawn, and completed our program, covering about ten miles an hour for twelve hours by keeping in the swift current and paddling hard.
Don Juan Ramírez was in residence at Barranca, having returned in the Onza with all his Indians from the rubber forests, from whence they had been driven by the annual floods.
It was the middle of April, 1900, when we arrived. We intended (if we can be said to have intended anything in those days) to carry on down-stream at least as far as Iquitos.
But Don Juan changed our plans.