CHAPTER III
THE ANDES SOUTHWEST OF POPAYÁN; CRUISE OF THE _CALDAS_
After our return to Popayán we spent a few days wrapping and packing the large collection of birds and mammals that had been secured on the Cerro Munchique; and, during the odd moments when this work became arduous, we sought information about the mountains south of the place we had just visited. Eventually our quest took us to the governor’s palace, where we had the good fortune to meet the executive of the province of Cauca, Doctor Alfredo Garcés.
The first thing that attracted our attention was a framed poem hanging above his desk; the title of it was “Death to Foreigners”; but the kindly and sympathetic governor soon dispelled any doubts we may have harbored as to his feelings. He was a man of great refinement and education, and had travelled extensively in the United States. Our mission interested him greatly. He brought out maps and charts, and then, with the aid of a pair of powerful field-glasses, showed us the places he had pointed out on the drawings.
Doctor Garcés proved to be one of our best and most highly valued friends, despite the rather alarming notice on his office wall. He called on us at the inn several times each day, and admired the birds and mammals we had collected. Our rooms were always in the state of greatest upheaval with packing-cases, equipment, provisions, and a hundred other things occupying each available place; but the governor took it all as a matter of course, enjoyed delving among our possessions in search of things unknown to him, and probably considered himself fortunate if he could find his silk hat and cane in the place they had been left when he was ready to leave.
June 24 found us again upon the trail, heading south-westward. Both the Central and Coast Ranges were visible for many miles, the snow-covered Purace and Sotará dominating the former, with Munchique standing unequalled in the latter. Barren, rolling hills stretched away in the distance like the waves of a storm-tossed sea; this undulating country is the first indication of a connecting-link between the two ranges.
For two days there was no perceptible change in the country; but on the morning of the third day, shortly after leaving the settlement of Monos, we entered virgin forest at an altitude of seven thousand five hundred feet. A shelter-house, known as San José, is just a thousand feet higher up, and at ten o’clock we were up ten thousand one hundred and forty feet. From here one has an unrivalled view of thousands of square miles of country. The magnificent valley, appearing greener and more level from our height than was really the case, lay below, and stretched far to the north. The paramos and volcanoes flanking the far side were abreast of our station. Frequently, while in similar positions, there recurred to me the sentiment so aptly expressed by Hudson: “Viewed from the top of a lofty mountain, the world assumes a vastness and varied beauty that revive the flagging spirit and refresh the soul.” And quite as certainly there is forced upon our recognition the infinitesimal smallness of man when compared to the immensity of nature--a mere atom existing by virtue of a benevolent force that has so ordained, but that reserves the power to crush the whole fabric of life at a breath.
The top of the ridge is ten thousand three hundred and forty feet high, and the vegetation is typical of the temperate zone; low, dense bushes, mingled with the gnarled branches of stunted evergreen trees and shrubs, burdened with clumps of red and lavender flowers. Numbers of low grass shacks had been built along the trail; some of them were very long and housed the peons working on the road to Micai. Although these structures were of comparatively recent origin, many small rodents had been attracted to them by the corn that formed the principal article of food of the _peons_. A large brown rat (_Oryzomys pectoralis_) was very abundant; apparently this rodent had formerly existed in small numbers only, for it was rare out in the open; but the artificial conditions created by the settlement of the region had proved so congenial that it increased rapidly. The same is true of several other species of rats that almost overran the houses.
In riding or walking along the trail, I frequently encountered a species of snake resembling in coloration a coral snake; however, it was not unusual to find an individual five feet or even more in length, and two or three inches through in the thickest part. They appeared exceeding sluggish and even refused to move although almost trodden upon. We never molested them, as they appeared to be harmless, and were really of striking beauty. Unfortunately, we had no way of preserving any. A species recently discovered in Nicaragua by Mr. Clarence R. Halter, which is similar to the one we saw almost daily, belongs to the genus _Coronella_.
The birds belonged to a typical temperate-zone fauna. Among them was a new species of beautiful honey-creeper (_Diglossa gloriosissima_); it is black with blue shoulders and a deep-rufous abdomen. They clambered about over the clusters of gorgeous flowers, feasting on the nectar they contained. Another common bird was a tanager (_Iridosornis_) the size of our redbird, but of a bright-violet color that merges into greenish blue on the wings. The head is black excepting the crown, which is deep orange. It is a vivacious creature, travels in small flocks that frequent the taller shrubbery, but possesses limited singing powers only.
During our stay we had occasion to witness a christening ceremony performed by a priest who was travelling through the region for the purpose of ministering to the people’s spiritual needs. The fact had been widely advertised, so early on the appointed day many natives appeared, bringing small children to be baptized. About thirty had been brought by noon, when the priest commanded the god-parents to line up, each holding his gaudily dressed and probably fretful little charge. The priest began at one end of the row, dispensing one part of the sacrament to each child as he passed; then he went back and began all over again, giving the second part to each of them, and so on until the rite was completed.
It so happened that there was a small child in the hut we had chosen for our several days’ sojourn. To honor the _gringos_ who were stopping under her roof, the señora asked Richardson to be the little one’s godfather, while I was permitted to suggest the name. We naturally felt as if we should give the baby a present, but a thorough ransacking through my effects revealed only a can of talcum powder, which I promptly presented to the mother. A few days later she came to me in distress: “The baby has a slight fever,” she said. “I gave it some of the white powder you made me a present of, but it did no good. How much is it necessary to take at one time?”
The western slope of the range is very abrupt. Large forces of men were engaged in cutting a narrow ledge for a footpath into the face of the steep mountainside. The trail wound back and forth continuously; looking over the rim of the narrow shelf one could count six or eight loops underneath, one below the other.
The work of cutting such a way is hazardous for the men engaged in it. The soil is loose and saturated with water, so landslides were of frequent occurrence; and whenever the irresistible avalanche swept the precipitous terrain, it usually carried one or more of the laborers with it and buried them under tons of rock and débris. It was invariably hopeless to try to find the body, so the survivors simply erected a cross on the spot. Frequently there were several crosses together, and in one place I counted seventeen standing side by side.
Late in the afternoon we reached a lone hut in a small clearing--the hastily erected shelter of a group of _peons_. The men invited us to stop, and as the locality looked interesting we accepted the invitation; but we erected our tent and lived in it in preference to the hut.
All the surrounding country was covered with virgin forest. It had never been trodden by man, at least not within many years; there were no side trails of any kind, so that it was impossible to penetrate very far.
Among our first mammals were a doe and fawn of a little forest-deer (_Mazama setta_). They are commonly known as brockets or spike-bucks, as each horn consists of a single prong. I believe that these deer are not so rare as generally supposed, but they are seldom collected on account of the difficulty of hunting them in the thick jungle. The _peons_ shot the ones we secured. They had discovered a path leading to a small stream, and concealing themselves on the opposite side, waited until the animals came down to drink; then they shot them. The men also brought in a huge bushmaster that they unearthed while clearing away underbrush. The deadly reptile is known as _equis_ to the natives on account of the black X-shaped marks on its back.
The mountainsides were scarred with deep fissures and ravines filled with the darkest and most impenetrable of forests. It was possible to look across from one side to the other, but crossing them was impracticable. Each morning I could see a flock of some thirty-odd swallow-tailed kites soaring just above the trees on the far side of one of the ravines. The magnificent birds resembled huge white-bellied swallows, or swifts, as they circled majestically over the dark forest; they uttered shrill screams all the while. Apparently they fed on the wing, and specimens collected by us later had eaten quantities of large beetles and flying ants. At about nine o’clock the band always resorted to the top of a tall tree that towered far above its contemporaries for a short rest; this was rather unusual, as the birds are rarely seen perched, and the natives said they never alight during the daytime. Live birds, or specimens freshly killed, have the glistening black back covered with a beautiful grayish “bloom” or powder that gives it a soft, velvety appearance. However, this disappears soon after death.
A species of pigmy squirrel (_Microsciurus_) lived in the forest, but we seldom saw any of the little creatures scarcely bigger than one of the larger kinds of mice. I have always found these animals much rarer than the ordinary squirrels; usually they live in pairs. They seem to prefer forests abounding in palms and to feed on the various kinds of palm-fruits and nuts. They frequently evince a great deal of curiosity and can be approached to within a short distance before taking fright and scampering out of sight among the leaves.
The minute creatures move rapidly and gracefully and make long, daring leaps. In running over the leaves and branches they follow the lateral stems, and on reaching the ends ascend through the tree-top or thick foliage by leaping crossways from twig to twig, as if ascending the rungs of a ladder.
I kept one that was given to me by the natives as a pet for some time. It made its home in the pocket of my flannel hunting-shirt, where it was always sure to find a bit of cracker or sugar, and to which it could retreat when frightened. Whenever anything of an unusual nature occurred, the bright, inquisitive little eyes always appeared suddenly so as not to miss a single thing that might be of interest. It never attempted to bite or run away, and seemed perfectly contented with the company of the friends that fed and protected it.
Eventually we started back toward Popayán. We crossed the high brush-covered divide July 4; a violent electrical storm had been staged on the wild mountain-top as if in noisy celebration of the day. It began with a dark mist that covered everything. Then rain and hail fell uninterruptedly for more than an hour, while lightning flashed and blue-green flames seemed to leap toward the blackened rock. Sometimes the bolts came from above, and again they were below us so that we were enveloped in a weird, ghastly light. The thunder was terrific and kept up a continuous crash and rumble. It was impossible to see any other member of the expedition on account of the thick haze--there was no shelter of any kind--only the narrow shelf-like trail that snaked its way along the steep slope. After the storm we made camp; the men and mules kept straggling in until a late hour; they were very wet and much bedraggled, but apparently none the worse for the nerve-racking experience.
Popayán was reached without further incident. Richardson’s contract having expired, he determined to leave the country, so we returned to Cali to rearrange the equipment and pack the collections; then he left for Buenaventura to take a north-bound steamer.
In the meantime Doctor Chapman, who had reached New York, arranged to send down a man to fill the vacancy left by Richardson. Doctor Arthur A. Allen, of Cornell University, was selected for the place. He reached Cali about the middle of August and accompanied me during the succeeding eight months.
In compliance with instructions received from Doctor Chapman, I immediately planned an expedition northward, then toward the east to make a zoological exploration of the forests bordering the Quindio Pass and of the high paramo of Santa Isabel. The first stage of the journey was down the Cauca River.
Regular steamboat service is maintained between Guanchito and Cartago during the rainy season. The _Sucre_, a boat of small size, makes frequent voyages, requiring about three days’ time each way. On this vessel one may travel in comparative comfort--if one is not too squeamish. We had to be content with a smaller craft, however, as there was not sufficient water to float the _Sucre_ over the numerous sand-bars.
The _Caldas_ is a little steel launch of not over fifty feet from stem to stern, with a beam of fifteen feet and drawing eighteen inches of water. When the river is full the _Caldas_ is used to carry freight only, for which purpose she doubtless serves admirably; but at other times she assumes the double responsibility of carrying both cargo and passengers. Of course there is the alternative of going overland; but the trip takes twice as long, and after having spent some time on the muddy trails, the novelty of a river trip is likely to make a strong appeal, whatever the odds.
On the announced date of sailing thirty-seven individuals of all sizes, ages, and shades of color gathered on the river’s bank, each impatient to be the first to cross the narrow plank and board the small craft. There also waited a huge mound of boxes, bags, bales of hides, and other freight; this was loaded first and piled in the front and rear. The engine occupied the centre of the boat, as did the kitchen. When the people were finally permitted to go aboard, there was a wild scramble to the top of the heap of boxes and bundles. To sit up straight under the sheet-iron roof was impossible; fortunately the sun shone intermittently only or we should have been suffocated.
From the very beginning there was enough of interest to keep one’s nerves tensed to a high pitch. The crumbling banks, great chunks of which settled gently into the water as the waves, caused by the launch’s propeller, washed away the last bit of restraining sand; the numbers of bamboo rafts laden with bananas, plantains, and other tropical fruits on their way to the port of Guanchito; the dark-skinned fishermen who cast their nets into eddies and quiet pools, and the washwomen, each smoking an enormous black cigar and beating the clothes upon stones until one expected to see them fly into shreds, were very interesting. There were also hundreds of cormorants and anhingas that swam and dived or flew up into the trees; some of them sat on snags drying their wide-spread wings.
The banks of the river are very high and abrupt in most places, and the stream runs through a tortuous channel. At each bend the current dashes with great force against the bank, and then rebounds on down-stream. The little _Caldas_ could not hope to battle against the rushing torrent, so she would head straight for the bank; frequently her nose struck the soft sand and held fast; then the current swung her around and back into midstream, where after spinning around a few times she regained her poise and was swept along. As wood was burned exclusively, stops had to be made every few hours for a new supply. The launch, in her crowded condition, had little room for fuel, but the brief pauses gave those on board an opportunity to go ashore--a welcome respite from the cramped position made necessary by the limited space available on the boat. At one of these spots an extensive cacao-plantation lined the bank, the tall _madres de cacao_ reaching high up into the heavens above their lowly but precious protégés. The “mother of cacao,” it might be said, is a species of _Erithmas_ planted to protect the delicate cacao-trees from the sun. A colony of snake-birds or anhingas had selected this grove for a rookery. Thousands of the birds sat on the topmost branches while other countless numbers were flying back and forth in endless streams, each bird a component part of a whirling, living mass. The slender body, long thin neck, small head, and sharp bill give the bird a peculiar appearance; when swimming under water with only the neck protruding it greatly resembles a snake--hence the name snake-bird. Each tree within an area of several acres contained a number of nests; they were clumsy structures made of sticks. The eggs, three or four in number, are white and as long as a hen’s egg but only half as wide. Later in the day a flock of scarlet ibises approached from down-stream, flew past, and then disappeared like twinkling bits of flame.
In the early afternoon the _Caldas_ struck a sand-bar with full force. The greater number of the passengers had eaten their luncheon--brought by themselves in small parcels neatly done up in banana leaves--and were quietly dozing. There was a harsh, grating sound, a shock, and the water swirled around and past the boat, which moved not an inch. The engines were reversed and the crew sprang into the river and pushed, but it availed nothing, so after repeated efforts these attempts were abandoned. Luckily, the craft carried a small dugout canoe, into which the passengers were unloaded, three or four at a time, and taken ashore by two husky negroes who waded to the bank, one pulling and the other pushing the canoe. There was no break in the abrupt banks for perhaps a quarter of a mile, so it was some time before all on board had been landed. The crew then began to dig away the sand that held the launch fast.
The spot where the passengers had been landed was an open, treeless plain with not a shelter in sight. At first the heat of the sun was insufferable; then it began to rain as we had never seen it rain before. No one had a poncho, so there was nothing to do but stand quietly and endure the drenching downpour.
When the sand had been dug away the launch, suddenly freed, shot down-stream a half mile before a landing could be effected. This of course necessitated a long tramp through deep mud and tall, wet grass, which added to the cheerlessness of the luckless, half-drowned victims of backward methods of transportation. The banks were as steep as ever, but a capybara runway, resembling a giant muskrat slide, had been discovered, and down this we slid, one at a time, into the arms of two negroes who acted as a back-stop below.
The delay prevented the launch from reaching Buga, so as soon as darkness settled, she was tied up for the night. A great tree-trunk, embedded in the sand with huge branches swaying high above the water, lay near by. We swung our hammocks between the sturdy limbs, covered them with mosquito-nets, and spent a miserable night; those who attempted to sleep aboard had a harder time of it by far.
We were off with the first streak of dawn, startling flocks of muscovy ducks and herons from near the banks. A faint blue mist was rising slowly from the water, and the air was chill and damp. The mantle of silence that falls over tropical South America at nightfall had not yet been lifted. For some little time we glided on, farther and farther, it seemed, into a great vacuity that led to some vaguely defined sanctuary of everlasting peace and oblivion. Then, without warning, a sound so terrible rent the vast solitude that it seemed as if some demon of the wilds were taking a belated revenge for the few hours of quiet in which the earth had rejoiced.
At first there was a series of low, gruff roars that would have done credit to the most savage of lions, and made the very air tremble; but this was not all. Added to the majestic frightfulness of the jungle king’s voice was a quality of hate and treachery, of unfathomed rage and malicious bitterness. Then followed in quick succession a number of high-pitched, long-drawn wails or howls of tremulous quality that gradually died, ending with a few guttural barks. This uncanny performance lasted a number of minutes; but having perpetrated this outrage upon a heretofore peaceful world, the weird chorus suddenly stopped.
The mists of night had lifted, revealing clumps of tall bamboo and the beginning of heavy forest. In the top of the very first trees sat a group of large monkeys, red, with golden backs, properly called howling monkeys; they were the authors of the terrific chorus we had just heard. How an animal that rarely attains a weight of thirty pounds can produce such loud sounds is most remarkable; the hyoid bone is developed into a huge cup which gives resonance to the voice. The howlers are rather sluggish and seldom descend from the trees. Their roaring, which can be heard several miles, resounds through the forest morning and night; whether it is merely a form of amusement with them, or is used to intimidate enemies, seems to be unknown.
Very little is known about the habits of howling monkeys, despite their abundance and wide distribution. They are usually found in small family parties, including young of various sizes; but I have noticed, on various occasions, that the females desert from the troop when their babies are males and do not rejoin it until the young are half-grown, perhaps fearing that the old males will kill them; but I do not know if this is always the case.
C. William Beebe, in the course of a lecture at the American Museum, stated that he had on several occasions watched troops of these animals feed, in British Guiana. The older ones sent their small young to the tip of the slender branches that they, themselves, could not venture upon on account of their weight, to pick fruits; then they pulled the little ones back and robbed them of their food. This was repeated a number of times.
The second night we tied up near a heavy growth of forest, at a place called Riofrio. This is one of the few sections of the Cauca Valley still retaining its original stand of virgin jungle. We slung our hammocks between the trees. The nets furnished ample protection from the mosquitoes, but not from an army of foraging ants that chanced our way. From across the river came the whine of an ocelot, and the sharp snort of deer, while more than once we were awakened by the pattering and shuffle of cautious feet close at hand, some light, some heavy as if belonging to a large animal.
Contrary to her custom, the _Caldas_ steamed on after dark on the third night of her voyage. A train of bright sparks trailed far behind, and when the wind blew it carried them into the boat where they set fire to clothing and baggage alike. Within a short time we had reached the port of Cartago, found the _arriero_ who was awaiting us with the animals, and were off for Cartago a league away. The town was enveloped in inky blackness, and fast asleep, notwithstanding the early hour. A stray dog barked and a mule whinnied, but there were no other signs of life.