Late in the afternoon nine of the Indians returned with a note from Mr. Menzies which informed us that Arnik village had been shifted to a considerable distance from its former site, but that he was going thither with one man, leaving two to guard the loads, and sending the others back to us. He suggested that we should move to Akrabanna next day, with as much of the baggage as the nine men could carry, and meet him there. This not very cheery epistle still comforted us much, because it accounted for Amik’s delay, and our spirits also rose at the prospect of moving on. After an early supper we had gone to bed with a bright camp-fire to cheer us, when we heard a shout, and then beheld the joyful sight of Mr. Menzies with a lamp, followed by Robert and Hubbard and a line of seven men and three women. As they filed past our tarpaulin, the firelight gleaming upon their naked brown bodies, I could have cried for joy. Mr. Menzies had met the men of Arnik on the trail before he reached the site of their new village; and it appeared that Robert and Hubbard had got there on the night of the day they left us, but had found all the men away hunting. A day had been spent in palaver and in making cassava for the journey, and therefore not until the morning of the third day did such hunters as had returned set out with our messengers for Holmia. With anxiety much relieved, we calmed our emotions and went to sleep. Heavy rain fell all night.
We struck camp early in the morning of the 31st December, 1915, and a walk of twenty minutes up the left bank of the Chenapowu creek brought us to the point where the Tumong trail branches off to the west. All previous travellers to Mount Roraima, via the Potaro, had gone by the Tumong trail; and, according to their accounts, it is by no means a good one. But we continued along the Chenapowu, and after another fifteen minutes forded the Wong creek, its tributary, while a further quarter of an hour brought us to the point where the Chenapowu creek itself is spanned by two tacoubas, for crossing at low water and at high water respectively. The silver-sand bottoms of these creeks contrast prettily with the deep amber bush water. Thence an ascent over a couple of low hillocks brought us after a walk of one hour and seventeen minutes from Holmia to a clearing on a bracken-covered sand-hill above the right bank of the Akrabanna creek, where there had once been a Patamona village, and where now the line to Arnik branches off eastwards from our trail. The Akrabanna falls into the Chenapowu, which latter creek, though invisible in the dense forest, continued on our right hand, until we saw it again five hours’ march farther on at its watersmeet with the Sirani-baru creek.
It was delightful to be up and doing, and we enjoyed our walk to Akrabanna very much. On Mr. Menzies’ recommendation, we had equipped ourselves with rubber sole canvas boots, and we found them most comfortable and practicable. Our feet were always getting wet, since we had constantly to wade across streams, but canvas dries quickly without getting stiff, and the rubber sole is a great safeguard against slipping. Moreover, it is possible to feel through it the nature of the ground underfoot, and whether it is likely to bear one or not. Forest trails are a mass of tangled roots covered by deceptive layers of fallen leaves, and one must, therefore, concentrate one’s attention upon one’s feet. To glance up even for half a minute, without first standing still, invariably results in a stumble or in goring the feet upon some spiky stump; but the path is springy underfoot, and it is possible to walk long hours without fatigue. Nevertheless, the monotony of forest trek is extreme. Generally you cannot see twenty yards in front of you. Indians walk so silently that sometimes the long file of carriers appears noiselessly and suddenly at one’s side, when one had perhaps believed them to be some distance behind. They do not speak on the line of march, and they move their feet very carefully, seldom cutting them. We soon became quite adept ourselves at walking quickly without stumbling, and at clambering over the fallen trees that barred our progress every few yards. It would not, I think, be possible for a woman to negotiate these trails in a skirt, for not only would it hamper her greatly in surmounting the continual obstacles, but it would at once become sodden with water from the dripping trees and bushes, and from the perpetual fording of streams, when water often rises nearly to the knees. I wore knickerbockers and puttees, and found myself able to move very quickly and easily.
We lunched at Akrabanna and considered the situation, which was not particularly reassuring. We could reckon on but seven carriers from Arnik, for the three women had only come sightseeing and were about to return to their homes, each one having an infant with her. They were neat, squat little people, attired only in the bead queyu, or apron, and carrying their children on the hip. We had, therefore, only twenty-one carriers all told, and of these the nine Demerara River men were totally inefficient. Not a cheerful outlook! So we reluctantly resolved that it would not be advisable to travel that day beyond the Akrabanna camping-ground, some thirty minutes farther on, where we would open all the boxes containing stores and pack the contents in quakes, thus appreciably lightening the loads. Having come to this decision, we descended to the Akrabanna creek, which is wide and crossed by a primitive bridge in the shape of an enormous tree lying athwart the stream. This tacouba was rather slippery, but rubber soles steadied our feet, and we crossed it and many others without mishap. After that, we ascended some distance up a sharp incline and chose a very nice camping-ground. We found a level floor for our tarpaulin, while the steep slope below promised good drainage. The trees around were magnificent, and the rare sunshine made all look charming. Bell-birds, giving thanks for the fine weather, sounded their musical “ding-dong” everywhere.
After establishing ourselves with all our comforts about us and a good fire burning, we wandered downhill to look at the rest of the camp, which was made some distance below us. We saw the seven men of Arnik busily engaged on making quakes out of split palm-stalks, having already thatched themselves a little palm-leaf banaboo. They were fine, strongly-built fellows, destitute of clothing save a loin-cloth, but their skins are so nice and red that their whole effect is eminently in keeping with their surroundings. They have also a fine native dignity about them. On they went with their quake-making, cooking, etc., without troubling themselves at all about us as we stood watching their extraordinarily dexterous fingers, and they talked, cracked jokes, and told stories among themselves like a gay dinner-party at some club. No word of English could they speak, save their names, which were Samuel, George, Austin, William, etc. Our “civilized” Indians were mostly lounging in hammocks. This sort of droghing was not what they liked at all. After surveying the loads, we realized that some stuff must be left behind, and we decided to leave to their fate our two side-tarpaulins, in future using our carpet as a wind-break or screen when needed, and also to desert a couple of tins of salt which we carried as barter. Money was no more use once the Potaro-Konawaruk Road was behind us. Then we dined under our tarpaulin, that good fellow Haywood making nothing of running up and down the hill between us and his “kitchen” with the viands. We had for supper soup, rice, and potatoes, with fried sausage, tea, bread and jam. Our bread lasted very well in a tin till we were on the savannahs and could obtain cassava. We went to sleep with a bright fire burning, and very snug in our blankets. There was tremendous rainfall as usual all night.
New Year’s Day also began with rain; and, after some delay in redistributing loads, we set off, following two of our men, appropriately named Moses and Aaron, through the wilderness, whilst Mr. Menzies came behind with the rest. From the Akrabanna to the Sirani-baru our trail crossed no water at all, save two small brooks, both of which are within half an hour’s walk of the watersmeet of the Chenapowu and Sirani-baru. The path runs for two and a quarter hours’ march dead level along a plateau, sometimes narrowing to a ridge, which, we assumed, must divide the valley of the Chenapowu on the west from that of the Akrabanna on the east. At the northern end of this plateau there is a stiff climb of 1,200 feet by terraced ascents from the Akrabanna, taking one hour and forty-six minutes, while at the southern end there is an easy descent of 800 feet, which lasts sixty-five minutes. The trail was very indistinct, and once or twice we lost it for a few minutes; for Indians are content to mark trails by merely breaking an occasional twig, and it is extremely easy to stray from the right line—in fact, one is bound to do so, unless an Indian guide is immediately ahead. We marched, of course, always in single file, one behind the other, looking warily at our feet and requiring all our energies for laborious scrambles over huge fallen trees and their ramification of branches. It was but rarely that anyone spoke, and our party of twenty-five souls scarcely broke the oppressive weight of silence that broods over the sombre forest depths, though sometimes birds, alarmed by the sight of us, sent shrill cries of warning through the tree-tops. In one place we crossed a deep fissure in the ground, resembling that of which I have spoken near the Kaietuk rest-house. No rain fell in the afternoon, but the dripping forest kept us very wet.
Our progress was slow on account of our lagging droghers, and we had to halt at the first of the two brooks between Akrabanna and Sirani-baru. The place looked an unpromising camping-ground; but it is wonderful how quickly the most desolate glade of rain-soaked forest assumes a snug and comfortable air when man has pitched his bivouac there. On this occasion, the ground being utterly sodden, we placed our spare tarpaulin on the ground, and caused the Indians to build us a side-screen of palm-leaves. Our excellent roof tarpaulin (twenty feet by fourteen feet) was soon spread; then our two camp-beds with their equipment of blankets, blue pillows, and mosquito-nets, our table and three chairs, lunch-basket with cups, spoons, plates, knives, etc., and my husband’s prismatic compass, boiling-point thermometer, and aneroid barometer, all combined to make the place look quite civilized and home-like. Mr. Menzies had a smaller tarpaulin, under which he slung his hammock and sheltered the baggage, whilst the Indians speedily rigged themselves up leaf-thatched benabs. Then, with a dozen fires burning all around, the whole aspect of the place changed in a twinkling.
Soon after we had made camp a few cheery sunbeams found their way down to us. In the forest sunlight falls like a most precious but sparingly-scattered largesse. Haywood provided us for supper with an excellent creole soup, piping hot, made of onions, potatoes, and salt pork. It was very welcome in the chilly damp, and we did it ample justice. Of course, there was a downpour all night.
There was also rain at dawn of the following morning, and showers alternated with sunshine during the whole day. We soon found ourselves at the edge of the Sirani-baru, within a few yards of its confluence with the Chenapowu creek. This is halfway-house between Holmia and the highland savannahs. We crossed the creek by means of a huge tacouba, and the trail ascended sharply on the other side. Ten minutes later Thomas shot a marm, and announced triumphantly, “Marmu for Mamma.” The Indians always called me “Mamma” and my husband “Pappa.” We plucked the bird on the spot, and then continued our march. When the Sirani-baru has been crossed, a very short ascent of 200 feet again takes the trail on to a level plateau, which continues until the path drops slightly to recross the Sirani-baru near its head after close upon three hours’ march, and that was all we achieved during the day owing to our laggard droghers. We were, in effect, making our way round the spur of Mount Kowatipu, which stood at our right hand; but nothing could be seen of the mountain, and the only object of interest during the day’s march was a deep excavation at the side of the trail. It may possibly have been made for gold, but it might equally well be natural.
Our Demerara River men were now very sulky, but the Arnik boys were as good as gold, and appeared to enjoy life. We took much interest in watching them. Primitive man is wonderfully neat and dexterous. He seems to be able to fashion a leaf or a twig to his will, be it spoon or basket or house that he wants; and it is touching to see him hold a palm-leaf carefully over his head to serve as an umbrella, or pick a large leaf to squat upon; for his primitive mamma has evidently taught him not to sit on damp ground. When missionaries or traders introduce clothes, the Indians soon suffer in health; for it never occurs to them to take their garments off, and they wear their sodden raiment day and night till they die of pneumonia. You cannot keep dry in the bush; and, as an American once observed to Mr. Menzies, while prospecting for gold with him in the forest: “In this place your shirt is sopping wet in two seconds, and three months won’t dry it.” Rain fell heavily all the time while camp was being made, and also most of the evening and night.
Next day we started in a downpour, and were instantly soaked to the skin. A climb of twenty-four minutes brought us on to the crest of the divide which, sloping down from Mount Kowatipu, forms at this point the water-parting between the Essequebo and the Amazon, 2,520 feet above sea-level. Here on a hill-saddle is a little swamp, out of which two tiny streams trickle in opposite directions, thus marking the divide. Thereafter the trail runs almost level for one hour twelve minutes to the point where the path over Nose Mountain from Arnik comes in from the east. After that you descend for twenty-six minutes and cross on stepping-stones the Huri creek (2,090 feet above sea-level), a tributary of the Yawong, which falls into the Kowa, and so feeds the Ireng and the Amazon. Next follows a steady and at times a steep ascent along undulating hill-ridges, narrowing in places to a knife-edge, until after one and three-quarter hours’ march from Huri creek the trail emerges from the forest into the Baramaku savannah at a height of 2,680 feet above sea-level. The character of the forest towards the end was quite different, and we had to push our way through tall bamboo grass and among thickets of small trees before we at last came out into the sunshine of lovely Baramaku-toy. “Toy” means “savannah” or open country in the language of the local Indians. I wonder if anyone can imagine the ecstasy it was to us rain-sodden, half-drowned rats who had not seen clear sky for seven long days to find ourselves out of the dark, gloomy twilight of the forest, standing in the scented flower-starred grass, able to look over long views of distant tiers of hills into the fading blue distance, whilst glowing sunshine warmed us through, and the most delicious, cool and fragrant breezes blew in our faces. Welcome seemed to smile from every blade of grass in that enchanting little place.
Baramaku Savannah.
The whole march through the forest between Holmia and Baramaku-toy can be done, and was done by us on our return journey, in fourteen hours and twenty-six minutes. My husband estimated our average rate of progress at two and a half miles an hour; and the length of the trail in all its windings would therefore be some thirty-six miles. On the outward journey this march through the forest occupied sixteen and a half hours, and was spread over four tedious days, because of the inefficiency of our Demerara River droghers. The gradients of the route are shown in the diagram (p. 237), drawn by my husband.
At Baramaku-toy our forest trek ended, and we never again spent a whole day in the forest during the remainder of our journey to Roraima, although frequently we passed through belts of woodland fringing a river course between one savannah and the next. The British Guiana jungle is certainly a place where you cannot see the wood for the trees. The effort of getting along quickly without catching your feet absorbs the attention, and I am afraid that I have laid much emphasis on the damp and gloom. Nevertheless, the magnificence of some of the forest giants induced us often to stand still and marvel. The mora-trees, in particular, grew to a great height, and their trunks, when a few feet from the ground, spread out ribs of twisted wood like bastions all round them. When they lie fallen, you are astonished to see how short a depth the foundations of the monster penetrated into the soil. We saw no orchids in flower in the forest, but orchidaceous parasites grow everywhere on bush and stone, and send out fibres to suck moisture from the earth. Even those perched on the tops of mighty trees, more than a hundred feet above the ground, drop down these little, thirsty, fibrous mouths. Occasionally we noticed brilliant blossoms lying at our feet, fallen from some creeper, stretching itself in light and air over the tree-tops; and at one point we picked up and enjoyed some delicious suwarri nuts. But, taken as a whole, primeval tropical forest is a hostile thing. It can harbour no fairies, though there might be demons and goblins. To be alone even for a minute in the jungle is alarming, for such is the profound silence all around that one has a terrifying sense of being inimically watched by unseen things, and I can imagine nothing worse than to be lost in the bush.
By contrast with the forest, the Baramaku savannah seemed fairyland. It looks like an English park: smiling slopes of grass with here and there a clump of bracken or a cluster of trees; undulating knolls and dells, and a delicious little brook at its far end. Its area is between three and four square miles, and it is situated about 2,700 feet above sea-level. We walked right across it and pitched camp near the brook. A tarpaulin shelter was quickly made, and we changed luxuriously into dry clothes, after which Haywood produced excellent tea almost at once. In spite of all the drenchings of the last week, my husband and I were in better health and spirits than at our departure from Georgetown. The cool of the forest had been invigorating, and the sole evil result of the ceaseless damp was rheumatism in my shoulder, which disappeared after two days of the savannah sunshine and dry air.
But the setting of Baramaku-toy is far from English, for all around this little Eden looms the dark tropical forest, while to the north cliff-faced, forest-crowned Kowatipu glowered at us from among his rain-clouds some ten miles away. He rises a thousand feet or more above the sea of forest, a rectangular plateau edged by precipices, true to the Roraima leit-motif. He is the magnet for all the rain of the neighbourhood, and is generally wrapped in forbidding cloud. But as we gazed at him for a few minutes from Baramaku-toy, he stood out clear and grand, until once more he wreathed his head in mist, while rain fell about his feet. We watched, rejoicing in our escape, when, as it were, he shook his fist at us by sending an ugly black cloud straight for us. I ran to the shelter of the tarpaulin, having no mind to get my nice dry clothes soaked again. But it was only an impotent threat. He could not touch us in Baramaku’s charmed keeping, and the cloud drifted off on to the forest-clad hills near by, whilst the thrushes sang on undisturbedly and we basked in the sunshine, lying in the lush grass with no bête rouge to annoy us and fanned by cool breezes. The air had a delicious mountain nip in it, the thermometer at 5 p.m. being only 69° F. The night was quite cold, and I was glad of three blankets. Here we slept without mosquito nets, untroubled by insects. No one at present inhabits this savannah, but there are the remains of a deserted banaboo; and the spot, when made less difficult of access, would be a charming little country property. It has pasturage suitable for horses and cattle, with plenty of room available for pleasure-grounds and park-land, as well as for a kitchen-garden and poultry-farm. Within a short time a family established here would make itself almost independent of supplies from the coast.
After our usual breakfast of porridge and coffee, we set off next morning, having first been taken by Mr. Menzies to look at a little meadow sprinkled underneath its grass with water-worn pebbles. He said that he had once prospected this place for diamonds, and thought it showed good promise, but could not go on with the work for lack of dynamite. He had found some ancient beads in the ground, of a kind not now used by the aborigines, and concluded that the place had been an Indian settlement in bygone days.
Crossing the brook which bounds the Baramaku savannah, our trail plunged again into forest, and ran uphill and down-dale over a number of small rills that drain northwards into the Kowa River, until, after a hot, dull walk of about five and a half miles, we reached the Quaibaru savannah. Ten minutes before emerging from the forest we came upon a stream with provision-fields on its banks, where cassava, yams, bananas, and plantains grew plentifully; and here our droghers washed themselves, brushed their hair, and titivated generally, preparatory to a state entry into Quaibaru village, whilst one of their number sounded a cow-horn to announce our approach. We could see that we were expected by the fact that the path had been carefully and recently cleaned for us.
The savannah of Quaibaru is not nearly so picturesque as that of Baramaku, but it occupies a commanding position high above the left bank of the Kowa valley. As the forest veil falls, you step out on to the ridge of a grassy hill, whereon are perched three banaboos, one on the hill-top (2,550 feet above sea-level), the two others in échelon lower down the ridge. Then come in succession two narrow savannah valleys, divided by two more savannah ridges, on which also are banaboos. The houses of the savannah Indians are, as a rule, circular, about thirty feet in diameter, and they accommodate a large number of people and dogs. The walls are of mud, about four feet high, and the thatch slopes up sharply to a high pointed top, so that inside there is a sort of upper story, where provisions can be stored out of the way of the starving curs who abound in every village. The houses are only lighted by the doorway, and are, therefore, very gloomy within, the reason for this being that the pest of the savannahs, the biting kabouru-fly, never enters a dark place. The doorways generally face north-east, so as to get all the breeze possible, the wind blowing almost as steadily from that quarter over the savannah as it does on the coast.
We had anticipated much delay at Quaibaru, for we feared that our droghers, after short rations in the forest, would insist on celebrating their arrival in inhabited country by a feast. Luckily for us, the Quaibaru folk, who are Patamonas, were not in a hospitable frame of mind towards our convoy, though friendly enough to us. They declared that they had no cassiri and scarcely any cassava, so that our men were soon anxious to leave. Accordingly we made and ate our breakfast beside a stream in the first Quaibaru valley, a shadeless and uncomfortable place, where the Quaibaruvians brought us some excellent bananas, a limited supply of hard cassava—“wood-bread,” Mr. Menzies called it—and a bucketful of limes. Mr. Menzies had given the villagers some limes to plant a few years ago, and the trees had done extremely well. The limes were welcome, as the stock we had brought up from Potaro Landing was nearly exhausted. The villagers also undertook to fetch up for us the salt which we had left behind at Akrabanna, and to bring it after us to Puwa.
After a short midday halt we pushed on, winding in and out of the little Quaibaru valleys under a blazing sun; but a fresh breeze saved the situation. From a hill-ridge before descending a very steep forest slope to the Kowa River, we caught our first view of the big savannah, rising as a shining tableland high up behind smaller tree-clad hills on the other side of the river. It was a sight for sore eyes, and looked a veritable “Land of Promise.” An Indian trail always goes bang up the side of a hill in a straight line, and bang down the other side, with no thought of gradient or of avoiding unnecessary exertion, so down we had to go, sliding perpendicularly to the Kowa, hanging on to handy trees as we passed, and more than once taking an involuntary seat. We crossed the Kowa on a tacouba, just awash with the stream; and after a short rest and cool down, the process assisted by a limade, we went on through a forest of luxuriant wild papaw and banana for some distance. Our path then turned sharply out of the Kowa valley and proceeded to ascend a hill very nearly as steep as a house in a bee-line upwards. It was a bit of a scramble, and the stiffest climb we had had since the ascent to Kaietuk, the last part being a dry watercourse. Once on top, the forest dropped away. We had a superb view back over the Kowa to Quaibaru-toy, and we could just see a savannah hill with a tuft of trees on it away behind the Quaibaru forest. It was Baramaku-toy standing a-tiptoe to see the last of us. Kowatipu would have been in sight had he not been characteristically concealed in a rain-cloud. We sat down to admire the glorious breadth of landscape, hoping also to see our carriers emerge from the bush, for we were somewhat anxious to know how the Demerara River men would negotiate the hill. Haywood, who always kept up well, arrived almost as soon as we did, and inquired exultingly whether “Madam don’t think this country worth the walk.” I said, “Indeed I did.”
Haywood always carried his possessions in a bag upon his head, and managed most skilfully to look after his feet without upsetting his balance. Indians carry their loads on their backs, with a strap over each shoulder and a third strap across the forehead. Their hands are thus free, though Haywood always gave each drogher of our party some additional etcetera, such as a saucepan, lamp, or a teapot. I used often to wish I could sketch the oddness of a pair of extremely stalwart, naked, red legs, surmounted by a mighty bundle, trotting along in front of me, naught else of the man being visible save a pair of hands carefully conveying some absurdly civilized object, like a teapot or a kerosene lamp!
In days to come it is to be hoped that one of the main roads of British Guiana may lead up to this plateau; and, when the time is at hand for building such a road, its trace will probably be carried from the watershed of the Sirani-baru into the Kowa valley by easy gradients, and thence round hill contours, without ascending the Baramaku or Quaibaru savannahs up to the high-level tableland. But the existing trail could with a few détours at small expense be made into a bridle track suitable for pack animals and for cattle; and if this were done the savannah highlands, which are to-day within nineteen hours’ march from the Potaro at Chenapowu, would be made economically and speedily accessible. A launch would place Chenapowu within two hours of Kaietuk, and a motor road would bring Kaietuk within a day’s journey of Bartika. It would then be a matter of no difficulty and small expense to travel up or down between the highland savannahs and the coast in three or four days.
We got tired of waiting for our laggard carriers, took tea, and started off again. The trail now went once more into the bush for a few minutes, up and down one more hill, and then emerged into savannah for good. The sun was very hot and shone straight in our eyes; but the glorious air prevented fatigue, for every breath of it was like a draught of strength. Our path ran fairly level through high grass; but, like all Indian trails, it was uncomfortably narrow, as the Indians put their feet down one immediately in front of the other. The hills above the right bank of the Kowa, below the point where we crossed it, form a grassy tableland with high savannah crests; and, passing through a col between two such crests, we debouched after two and three-quarter hours’ actual marching from Quaibaru-toy on the magnificent plateau which forms part of Mr. Menzies’ ranch. The path dipped down to the deep pool of a stream, near a waving fringe of high bamboo. To the right rose a low tree-clad hill, and at its foot we camped in a banaboo built by Mr. Menzies near the northern boundary of his grazing land close to Karto village.
Mount Kowatipu from the Karto Tableland.
Towards sunset my husband and I went up a neighbouring knoll to take observations. The view over the lovely rolling plain, with its smiling valleys, was entrancing, and old Kowatipu actually put his head, rather crossly, out of his cloud for a few seconds. The Karto tableland is a flat, grassy plateau some 2,400 feet above sea-level. It is bounded on the east by the Kowa River; on the north-west and south-west by the Chiung River, both flowing in rifts far below the plateau level; on the south-east and north by hills which divide the Kowa from the Chiung valley. Its extreme length from north to south is about seven miles, and its extreme width from east to west is some eight miles. Its area is roughly fifty square miles; and the distance across the plateau by our trail, which ran in a tolerably straight line, my husband estimated at five miles. The whole tableland forms an excellent grazing-ground; and, although there was at the time of our visit no water on the central part of the plateau, there were many streams at its edges, falling into the Kowa and the Chiung, while across it ran a few dry channels, which are, no doubt, full of water in the rainy season. The Indian village, named Karto, stands at the north-west corner of the plateau, not far from Mr. Menzies’ banaboo. Its provision-fields are partly in the tree-clad hills, fringing the plateau to the north, and partly down in the fertile Kowa valley near the point of our crossing. We saw no cattle on the tableland; but the Karto villagers told us that there was a herd on some very attractive-looking pasture-grounds near the head of the Chiung River. For it must be understood that the highlands suitable for grazing are by no means confined to the tableland which we crossed, and from which we could see the savannahs round the upper reaches of the Chiung only a little below our level, while across the valley of the Chiung, lower in its course, we looked up to a yet higher, and apparently not less extensive, savannah plateau. These attractive and spacious highlands deserve to be developed, and would support a considerable population. They would, as it is, make an admirable hill-station. The scenery is beautiful. The climate at the season of our visit was delightful. The locality could be made easily and cheaply accessible from Georgetown, and would, I venture to think, prove much superior as a health resort to the West India Islands.
We did not see Mount Roraima from the Karto tableland; but I do not doubt that from one or other of the savannah hills which surround that plateau it would be possible to see Roraima, if by fortunate coincidence one reached the proper point of observation at a time when the mountain was free from cloud; for on our way back we saw Roraima from many hill-tops, and even from valleys, which on the way out vouchsafed us no such view. We did, however, from Karto get our first sight of Mount Chakbang, standing out conspicuously far away to the west, a rugged finger pointing to the sky, and the mountains of Mataruka were plainly visible.
We awoke next morning to find a slight drizzle falling, but it soon cleared off into a brilliantly sunny day. All the Karto people came to see us—men, women and children, dogs and waracabra. Indians are very fond of tame birds, but do not keep them in cages. They fly about as they like. These villagers were Makusis, and appeared very friendly. Our droghers were revived and gay, having had overnight a feast of cassava and cassiri. Cassiri, which is a drink made from cassava, has a magical effect on these people. It seems to cheer without inebriating—in fact, it has rather the effect which a cup of good tea or coffee has on a tired European.
Our road for a couple of hours now lay over the glorious grass plateau which forms part of Mr. Menzies’ ranch. Walking was perfectly delightful in that exhilarating highland air. We had enchanting views of blue distance in all directions. Far on our left the tableland was bounded by the rift of the Kowa River, beyond which rolling forest-clad hills faded into the horizon, whilst nearer to the right the head-waters of the Chiung River wound away among green savannah mountains, in the knees of which lay little rounded terraces and small gulleys, studded with eta-palm. These hills form another tableland about five hundred feet higher than the one which we traversed, and would probably be a good country for sheep. None of these smiling, healthy highlands are marked on the Colony’s maps, and their very existence has, in the past, been steadfastly denied.
Mount Mataruka lay south-west of us, almost in a straight line with our path; but, although we ultimately climbed over its shoulder, our route first made a wide détour, taking us to Puwa village. From the south-west end of Mr. Menzies’ tableland we descended some seven hundred feet in half an hour to a narrow gorge, where four streams, falling in picturesque cascades from the plateau, converge to form the Kowyann, a tributary of the Chiung. From this point the Makusis had opened a bridle track for us through the small forest belts which separate the wide stretches of savannah; and we could have ridden on horseback the rest of the way to the Ireng but for the fact that, owing to a misunderstanding between the chief at Mataruka and a chief in the Kotinga valley, where the horses were, “shanks his mare” had still to be our mount. We breakfasted beside the Kowyann, and then took our way down its valley, steep grassy hills rising on either side of us. We travelled alternately through little savannahs, whose long waving grass and crooked trees, pretending to be apple-trees, had a queer resemblance to an English orchard, and through patches of woodland. The shade in these little forest belts was very grateful, as the sun was extremely hot. A march of one and a quarter hours down the Kowyann valley brought us to Chiung village, where we spent the night.
This village stands on the left bank of the Chiung River, and here a large gathering of Makusis had assembled. They seemed very pleased to see us, and explained that they had cut a broad trail all the way to Puwa. They also provided an abundance of cassava and cassiri for our droghers. The village consisted of two houses, with a third unfinished one, which was being erected for us. The frame was all in place, the wooden bars tied neatly together with bark-fibre, according to Indian fashion, for these people do not use any form of nail. The roof of our house was only partly thatched, and the sides were all open, a fortunate circumstance, as it was very hot in the enclosed valley. We used our tarpaulin to screen ourselves off from the rest of the village, which was about fifty yards away, and at night we enjoyed the brilliant stars, looking down upon us. We placed our beds immediately under the small portion of thatch which had been completed, for the excessively heavy dew of the savannahs makes it unpleasant to sleep entirely à la belle étoile. Until darkness fell we were much troubled by the biting kabouru-flies, which are slightly larger than the ordinary sand-flies. Their bite is much more irritating, and raises a red lump with a black spot in the centre. Though the lump soon dies down, the black speck remains for several days. I defended myself from the kabouru with a dark veil and gloves, but my husband and Mr. Menzies were soon sorry objects. The savannah Indians appear to suffer little, if any, irritation from the bites of kabouru, but the poor fellows from Arnik and from the Demerara River, being unaccustomed to this pest, which is not known in the forests, were very much afflicted. In the highland savannahs kabouru-flies are generally found near water, and the larger the stream the worse the kabouru; so we had to pay for our close proximity to the Chiung River, which flowed with a delicious gurgling noise close to our banaboo. During the night Mr. Menzies’ quarters were invaded by a raiding dog, who carried off our excellent ham. This would have been a serious business had we not been approaching Puwa, the “Land of Plenty” as far as food is concerned.
Next morning (6th January) we left Chiung village at dawn with a large convoy, for all the village, including women and babies, came with us. Ten minutes after our start we forded the Chiung River, an operation which took another ten minutes and was great fun. The water, deliciously cold, rose to my knees. But very little walking in that savannah air soon dries one again completely, a delightful contrast to the bush!
The path we followed from Chiung to Puwa was nothing more than a big circuit round a hill. We should have preferred a short-cut over the summit; but the Indians having prepared a level track for us with much care along the valleys, we felt that it would be ungrateful not to take their line. This track ran through a thick belt of forest, fringing the banks of the Chiung; and the Makusis had most carefully straightened and cleared the forest path to a width of six to ten feet, removing most of the tree-stumps, while in places they had actually swept the ground clean of fallen leaves. The job must have given them a great deal of trouble, for the trees, though small, were of hardwood varieties, such as purple-heart and letter-wood, and the road-makers were justly proud of their work. We were two hours in this forest, but I was walking slowly, being tired by the unaccustomed exposure to sun during the two preceding days. Then the trail again emerged into savannah, having left the river, which winds away to the left round some hills that we crossed over a low col (1,550 feet above sea-level).
We now found ourselves in the Ireng valley, though at some distance from the river, and we halted for breakfast in the little belt of forest beside a small brook. Here we discovered that we were an enormous party, for half Puwa village, including Johnny’s wife and sons, had come out to meet us. The Makusis, as young men, are extremely handsome and well-made, full of life and movement. Johnny’s sons it was a treat to see, the eldest especially, a lad of about fifteen. He wore only a loin-cloth and necklace, with bracelets of beads, carried a bow and arrows, and simply flew about the place—never walked, but he ran, and every movement was as graceful as a cat’s. Then there was a dear little fellow about six, Edward by name, who greeted Haywood most affectionately, and became a zealous little cook’s mate. I remember we gave him and some small companions a few of the dried prunes we were eating, and they tied up each one most carefully in a separate leaf, and said they would take them to their mothers. I also remember in connection with that meal that Mr. Menzies and I incautiously partook of red peppers, supplied us by some hospitable friend, and cried in consequence many bitter and involuntary tears.
Our path next lay through a succession of little valleys with graceful eta-palms growing in all the creeks, and occasionally patches of bush, through which the Makusis had cut us a royal road. The trail, which had hitherto run east-south-east, now turned back on itself, the direction being west-north-west to the Puwa creek, which we forded after another two hours’ march; and from the ford it took us twenty minutes more to reach Puwa village. Our path was practically level and very good going all the way from Chiung to Puwa. The distance, as the crow flies, between those villages over the hill-tops is only some six miles, but we had come at least twice that distance. The provision-fields of Puwa village are in forest, close by the ford, and are very fertile. One yam brought from these fields and given to us was as much as a man could carry. The village itself stands on the right bank of the stream from which it takes its name, and is situated in a ring of hills, two of which we climbed, being rewarded by a very good view of the Ireng valley and of the river itself, flowing in a deep-cut trench. Everyone in Puwa was drawn up in festal array to meet us, very anxious to shake hands, and all who could boast clothes of any sort had them on. The ladies mostly had their skirts hung round them, immediately below their arm-pits, whilst the correct Puwa wear for trousers is to hang them round the shoulders, the seat forming a sort of mantle behind and the trouser legs quite handy to flap away flies or wipe a perspiring forehead, as need may arise. One boy there was who had, I should imagine, been away to work on some Brazilian ranch, for he was most magnificently got up in a white coat, blue trousers on his legs, and three necklaces; and he had a larger number of pins stuck through his lower lip than anyone else. He evidently fancied himself no end, so we christened him the “Nut.” Both Patamonas and Makusis have a habit of sticking pins, or, failing these, pieces of stick, through their lower lips. The Makusi women are very much shorter than the men, but their figures, save in girlhood, are not pretty. They carry splendidly, and I should think are as strong as the men. They are very squat and have immense legs, being beasts of burden from childhood, whereas the men only carry loads on state occasions. Indians generally live at a considerable distance from their provision-fields, and often at some height above water, so that the women are perpetually engaged in droghing. The Indian children seem to abound everywhere and to enjoy life. Indeed, I think they live in a children’s Paradise—no lessons, no clothes, no bed-time!
Puwa village consisted of three houses, and another, in process of building for us, was in much the same state as that we occupied in Chiung. The villagers made me a nice little dressing-room in one corner of our benab with tarpaulins and a cowhide; and on arrival I subsided into my hammock to enjoy a glorious cool breeze blowing up the valley, whilst my husband climbed the steep rocky hill just above the village to take observations. Meantime all sorts of offerings came in. Piles of cassava, plantains and bananas, enormous yams, pumpkins, eggs, and a couple of fowls, one of which Haywood had in the soup in a jiffy. The people seemed to have a great affection and respect for Mr. Menzies, and he usually got them to understand somehow what he wanted, although he does not speak more than six words of their language. “Walky” takes the place of “makey” in pidgin Makusi. “Um” represents “piecey” of pidgin Chinese. We went to bed early, the young moon and stars shining in beautifully upon us; but dogs marauding about amongst our baggage disturbed us a good deal, as did attendant fleas. Indian dogs are never fed, so that they may be keen hunters, and they are always mangy and horribly thin.
Next day we spent in Puwa, as there was so much to do. Everyone was very busy. Haywood did some satisfactory and much-needed laundry work. The Indians drove up a herd of fine short-horn cattle for our inspection, then a bullock was separated from the rest, driven down to the edge of the stream, and killed at a blow by a Makusi, after which all the village assisted at the cutting up and salting. The rest of the cattle smelt blood, and set up a fearsome bellowing. This herd had been purchased by Mr. Menzies from Indians in Brazil, and by him driven across the Ireng River. Another matter to be settled was the method of carrying me, when necessary, on the line of march. My husband insisted that from time to time in the heat of the day I should be carried in a hammock slung on a pole between two carriers. This, of course, was never possible when the trail ran at all steeply up or down hill. It was quite impossible in the forest, and my hammock did not come into use for this purpose until we left Puwa. The expedient was adopted principally to give me opportunities of rest without thereby delaying the progress of our caravan. Johnny and Jack, two stalwart Indians from Chiung village, undertook the carrying job. Then we selected from our stores what we thought we should ourselves consume during the next fortnight—jam, oatmeal, sausages, chocolate, dried fruit, cheese, biscuits, tea and coffee, enough to make a load for one man. The rest, together with a few of our personal belongings, we handed over to the headman of Puwa, to keep in his banaboo until we returned. We also settled that the whole of our droghers from Chenapowu, save two, should remain and be fed in Puwa during such time as we were on our way to and from Roraima. The two we took with us were Edward and Moses, both Makusis, who particularly requested to be allowed to come. The Amik boys went with us next day to Mataruka, and then returned to Puwa to rest, so that they might be fresh for the return journey through the Kowatipu forest.
When the chief part of cutting up the bullock had been accomplished and long strips of it had been salted and dried in the sun, Mr. Menzies worked a gramophone, to everyone’s great delight. This gramophone had been brought up in fulfilment of a request from Albert, the headman of Mataruka. He had asked for a church bell, a gramophone, and “high wines”—that is, rum—as a reward for the services which he would give us in connection with our farther journey. Mr. Menzies had undertaken on our behalf that the first two of his wishes should be fulfilled if he arranged to have his people ready to convey us from Mataruka to Roraima. With the gramophone we supplied half a dozen records; and as I listened to the hideous machine screaming out its ragtime, “Tipperary,” etc., sung with an appalling Yankee twang, I wished we could have done something better for the poor dears.
A nice breeze blew all day, and we were not troubled by kabouru save in the very early morning. After tea-time we strolled up a little hill close by and enjoyed the cool of the afternoon and a lovely view of the Puwa and Ireng valleys. We had excellent grilled steak for dinner; but the dogs were worse than ever at night, trying to get at the meat that had been hung up to dry. The Indians sat up eating the remains of the bullock nearly all night. They made remarkably little noise over their feast, and appeared perfectly fresh and gay next morning.
On the following morning there was great delay in getting off owing to the redistribution of loads; so my husband and I started off by ourselves, with my hammock-bearers ahead to show us the way. But more haste, less speed! Johnny and Jack, for reasons best known to themselves, saw fit to guide us down into a low stuffy valley, shut off by high hills from any breath of wind, and we struggled along for an hour and a half through bush and old yam and cassava cultivation by a path which at times did not admit of our standing upright. Finally we climbed out of the valley, up a steep col, where we joined our caravan of droghers and Mr. Menzies, who had come by a shorter and quicker route along a hill-ridge, affording a fine view of mountain scenery far and near. From the point where the two trails converge, an hour’s march over a charming and spacious savannah valley, in which there are some rice-fields, and up a low hill, leads to a banaboo, beautifully situated some six hundred feet above the Ireng, now in full view, and commanding a superb panorama. To the south lay the fertile, golden-looking Mataruka plain, crossed by the line of the Waikana creek; to the south-east was a tangle of big hills beyond the Ireng; to the east the Puwa hills and a glimpse of the Karto tableland; from north through west to south, beyond the winding Ireng, the most glorious stretch of open rolling grass hills and valleys that one could wish to see; and beyond all that, in the far, far distance, was Roraima’s great block, some sixty miles away in the direct line of vision. Of course, it was impossible at that distance to distinguish between Roraima, Kukenaam, and Weitipu. We merely saw a dim blue mass, obviously very much higher than anything near it.
The air on our hill-top was absolutely glorious, and a strong breeze blew steadily. The place is too high for the kabouru, and we spent a couple of hours enjoying ourselves, and ate a most excellent midday meal. Our menu consisted of beefsteak, potatoes, onions, yams, biscuits, cheese, prunes, lemonade and coffee; and we laughed at the idea of the starvation journey which an expedition to Roraima is always supposed to be. Haywood cooked inside the banaboo, to get out of the wind, and his grilled steak was first-class. The banaboo gave us pleasant shade during the meal, for we sat in the open immediately under the thatch-eaves. In the afternoon we descended sharply to the left bank of the Ireng, which is here the boundary of British Guiana. By the river-side the kabouru were one black cloud, and I was thankful for my dark blue veil, which appeared to scare them off me. The boat we wanted was on the Brazilian side of the river, so one of our men sprang into the water, swam across for it, and paddled gaily back to us, apparently not the least out of breath, although the Ireng here is wide and flows with a swirling current. We hastily got into the dug-out and crossed the river, landing at a point where the Waikana creek from the Mataruka plain flows into the Ireng. So we left British Guiana for Brazil.