Wanderings in South America

But the grand landscape this place affords makes you ample amends for the time you have spent in reaching it.  It would require great descriptive powers to give a proper idea of the situation these people have chosen for their dwelling.

The hill they are on is steep and high, and full of immense rocks.  The huts are not all in one place, but dispersed wherever they have found a place level enough for a lodgment.  Before you ascend the hill you see at intervals an acre or two of wood, then an open space, with a few huts on it, then wood again, and then an open space, and so on, till the intervening of the western hills, higher and steeper still, and crowded with trees of the loveliest shades, closes the enchanting scene.

At the base of this hill stretches an immense plain, which appears to the eye, on this elevated spot, as level as a bowling-green.  The mountains on the other side are piled one upon the other in romantic forms, and gradually retire, till they are indiscernible from the clouds in which they are involved.  To the south-south-west this far-extending plain is lost in the horizon.  The trees on it, which look like islands on the ocean, add greatly to the beauty of the landscape; while the rivulet’s course is marked out by the æta-trees which follow its meanders.

Not being able to pursue the direct course from hence to the next Indian habitation on account of the floods of water which fall at this time of the year, you take a circuit westerly along the mountain’s foot.

At last a large and deep creek stops your progress: it is wide and rapid, and its banks very steep.  There is neither curial nor canoe, nor purple-heart tree in the neighbourhood to make a wood-skin to carry you over, so that you are obliged to swim across; and by the time you have formed a kind of raft, composed of boughs of trees and coarse grass, to ferry over your luggage, the day will be too far spent to think of proceeding.  You must be very cautious before you venture to swim across this creek, for the alligators are numerous, and near twenty feet long.  On the present occasion the Indians took uncommon precautions lest they should be devoured by this cruel and voracious reptile.  They cut long sticks, and examined closely the side of the creek for half a mile above and below the place where it was to be crossed; and as soon as the boldest had swum over, he did the same on the other side, and then all followed.

After passing the night on the opposite bank, which is well wooded, it is a brisk walk of nine hours before you reach four Indian huts, on a rising ground a few hundred paces from a little brook, whose banks are covered over with coucourito and æta trees.

This is the place you ought to have come to two days ago had the water permitted you.  In crossing the plain at the most advantageous place you are above ankle-deep in water for three hours; the remainder of the way is dry, the ground gently rising.  As the lower parts of this spacious plain put on somewhat the appearance of a lake during the periodical rains, it is not improbable but that this is the place which hath given rise to the supposed existence of the famed Lake Parima, or El Dorado; but this is mere conjecture.

A few deer are feeding on the coarse rough grass of this far-extending plain; they keep at a distance from you, and are continually on the look-out.

The spur-winged plover, and a species of the curlew, black, with a white bar across the wings, nearly as large again as the scarlet curlew on the sea-coast, frequently rise before you.  Here, too, the Moscovy duck is numerous; and large flocks of two other kinds wheel round you as you pass on, but keep out of gun-shot.  The milk-white egrets, and jabirus, are distinguished at a great distance; and in the æta and coucourito trees you may observe flocks of scarlet and blue aras feeding on the seeds.

It is to these trees that the largest sort of toucan resorts.  He is remarkable by a large black spot on the point of his fine yellow bill.  He is very scarce in Demerara, and never seen except near the sea-coast.

The ants’ nests have a singular appearance on this plain.  They are in vast abundance on those parts of it free from water, and are formed of an exceeding hard yellow clay.  They rise eight or ten feet from the ground in a spiral form, impenetrable to the rain, and strong enough to defy the severest tornado.

The wourali-poison, procured in these last-mentioned huts, seemed very good, and proved afterwards to be very strong.

There are now no more Indian settlements betwixt you and the Portuguese frontiers.  If you wish to visit their fort, it would be advisable to send an Indian with a letter from hence, and wait his return.  On the present occasion a very fortunate circumstance occurred.  The Portuguese commander had sent some Indians and soldiers to build a canoe, not far from this settlement; they had just finished it, and those who did not stay with it had stopped here on their return.

The soldier who commanded the rest, said he durst not, upon any account, convoy a stranger to the fort; but he added, as there were two canoes, one of them might be despatched with a letter, and then we could proceed slowly on in the other.

About three hours from this settlement there is a river called Pirarara; and here the soldiers had left their canoes while they were making the new one.  From the Pirarara you get into the river Maou, and then into the Tacatou; and just where the Tacatou falls into the Rio Branco, there stands the Portuguese frontier fort, called Fort St. Joachim.  From the time of embarking in the river Pirarara, it takes you four days before you reach this fort.

There was nothing very remarkable in passing down these rivers.  It is an open country, producing a coarse grass, and interspersed with clumps of trees.  The banks have some wood on them, but it appears stunted and crooked, like that on the bleak hills in England.

The tapir frequently plunged into the river; he was by no means shy, and it was easy to get a shot at him on land.  The kessi-kessi paroquets were in great abundance; and the fine scarlet ara innumerable in the coucourito trees at a distance from the river’s bank.  In the Tacatou was seen the troupiale.  It was charming to hear the sweet and plaintive notes of this pretty songster of the wilds.  The Portuguese call it the nightingale of Guiana.

Towards the close of the fourth evening, the canoe, which had been sent on with a letter, met us with the commander’s answer.  During its absence, the nights had been cold and stormy, the rain had fallen in torrents, the days cloudy, and there was no sun to dry the wet hammocks.  Exposed thus, day and night, to the chilling blast and pelting shower, strength of constitution at last failed, and a severe fever came on.  The commander’s answer was very polite.  He remarked, he regretted much to say that he had received orders to allow no stranger to enter the frontier, and this being the case, he hoped I would not consider him as uncivil.  “However,” continued he, “I have ordered the soldier to land you at a certain distance from the fort, where we can consult together.”

We had now arrived at the place, and the canoe which brought the letter returned to the fort, to tell the commander I had fallen sick.

The sun had not risen above an hour the morning after when the Portuguese officer came to the spot where we had landed the preceding evening.  He was tall and spare, and appeared to be from fifty to fifty-five years old; and, though thirty years of service under an equatorial sun had burnt and shrivelled up his face, still there was something in it so inexpressibly affable and kind, that it set you immediately at your ease.  He came close up to the hammock, and taking hold of my wrist to feel the pulse, “I am sorry, sir,” said he, “to see that the fever has taken such hold of you.  You shall go directly with me,” continued he, “to the fort; and though we have no doctor there, I trust,” added he, “we shall soon bring you about again.  The orders I have received forbidding the admission of strangers were never intended to be put in force against a sick English gentleman.”

As the canoe was proceeding slowly down the river towards the fort, the commander asked, with much more interest than a question in ordinary conversation is asked, where was I on the night of the first of May?  On telling him that I was at an Indian settlement a little below the great fall in the Demerara, and that a strange and sudden noise had alarmed all the Indians, he said the same astonishing noise had roused every man in Fort St. Joachim, and that they remained under arms till morning.  He observed that he had been quite at a loss to form any idea what could have caused the noise; but now learning that the same noise had been heard at the same time far away from the Rio Branco, it struck him there must have been an earthquake somewhere or other.

Good nourishment and rest, and the unwearied attention and kindness of the Portuguese commander, stopped the progress of the fever, and enabled me to walk about in six days.

Fort St. Joachim was built about five-and-forty years ago, under the apprehension, it is said, that the Spaniards were coming from the Rio Negro to settle there.  It has been much neglected; the floods of water have carried away the gate, and destroyed the wall on each side of it; but the present commander is putting it into thorough repair.  When finished, it will mount six nine- and six twelve-pounders.

In a straight line with the fort, and within a few yards of the river, stand the commander’s house, the barracks, the chapel, the father confessor’s house, and two others, all at little intervals from each other; and these are the only buildings at Fort St. Joachim.  The neighbouring extensive plains afford good pasturage for a fine breed of cattle, and the Portuguese make enough of butter and cheese for their own consumption.

On asking the old officer if there were such a place as Lake Parima, or El Dorado, he replied, he looked upon it as imaginary altogether.  “I have been above forty years,” added he, “in Portuguese Guiana, but have never yet met with anybody who has seen the lake.”

So much for Lake Parima, or El Dorado, or the White Sea.  Its existence at best seems doubtful; some affirm that there is such a place, and others deny it.

“Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est.”

Having now reached the Portuguese inland frontier, and collected a sufficient quantity of the wourali-poison, nothing remains but to give a brief account of its composition, its effects, its uses, and its supposed antidotes.

It has been already remarked that in the extensive wilds of Demerara and Essequibo, far away from any European settlement, there is a tribe of Indians who are known by the name of Macoushi.

Though the wourali-poison is used by all the South American savages betwixt the Amazons and the Oroonoque, still this tribe makes it stronger than any of the rest.  The Indians in the vicinity of the Rio Negro are aware of this, and come to the Macoushi country to purchase it.

Much has been said concerning this fatal and extraordinary poison.  Some have affirmed that its effects are almost instantaneous, provided the minutest particle of it mixes with the blood; and others again have maintained that it is not strong enough to kill an animal of the size and strength of a man.  The first have erred by lending a too willing ear to the marvellous, and believing assertions without sufficient proof.  The following short story points out the necessity of a cautious examination:—

One day, on asking an Indian if he thought the poison would kill a man, he replied that they always go to battle with it; that he was standing by when an Indian was shot with a poisoned arrow, and that he expired almost immediately.  Not wishing to dispute this apparently satisfactory information, the subject was dropped.  However, about an hour after, having purposely asked him in what part of the body the said Indian was wounded, he answered without hesitation that the arrow entered betwixt his shoulders, and passed quite through his heart.  Was it the weapon, or the strength of the poison, that brought on immediate dissolution in this case?  Of course the weapon.

The second have been misled by disappointment, caused by neglect in keeping the poisoned arrows, or by not knowing how to use them, or by trying inferior poison.  If the arrows are not kept dry, the poison loses its strength; and in wet or damp weather it turns mouldy, and becomes quite soft.  In shooting an arrow in this state, upon examining the place where it has entered, it will be observed that, though the arrow has penetrated deep into the flesh, still by far the greatest part of the poison has shrunk back, and thus, instead of entering with the arrow, it has remained collected at the mouth of the wound.  In this case the arrow might as well not have been poisoned.  Probably, it was to this that a gentleman, some time ago, owed his disappointment, when he tried the poison on a horse in the town of Stabroek, the capital of Demerara; the horse never betrayed the least symptom of being affected by it.

Wishful to obtain the best information concerning this poison, and as repeated inquiries, in lieu of dissipating the surrounding shade, did but tend more and more to darken the little light that existed, I determined to penetrate into the country where the poisonous ingredients grow, where this pernicious composition is prepared, and where it is constantly used.  Success attended the adventure; and the information acquired made amends for one hundred and twenty days passed in the solitudes of Guiana, and afforded a balm to the wounds and bruises which every traveller must expect to receive who wanders through a thorny and obstructed path.

Thou must not, courteous reader, expect a dissertation on the manner in which the wourali-poison operates on the system; a treatise has been already written on the subject; and, after all, there is probably still reason to doubt.  It is supposed to affect the nervous system, and thus destroy the vital functions; it is also said to be perfectly harmless, provided it does not touch the blood.  However, this is certain, when a sufficient quantity of it enters the blood, death is the inevitable consequence; but there is no alteration in the colour of the blood, and both the blood and flesh may be eaten with safety.

All that thou wilt find here is a concise, unadorned account of the wourali-poison.  It may be of service to thee some time or other, shouldst thou ever travel through the wilds where it is used.  Neither attribute to cruelty, nor to a want of feeling for the sufferings of the inferior animals, the ensuing experiments.  The larger animals were destroyed in order to have proof positive of the strength of a poison which hath hitherto been doubted: and the smaller ones were killed with the hope of substantiating that which has commonly been supposed to be an antidote.

It makes a pitying heart ache to see a poor creature in distress and pain; and too often has the compassionate traveller occasion to heave a sigh as he journeys on.  However, here, though the kind-hearted will be sorry to read of an unoffending animal doomed to death in order to satisfy a doubt, still it will be a relief to know that the victim was not tortured.  The wourali-poison destroys life’s action so gently, that the victim appears to be in no pain whatever; and probably, were the truth known, it feels none, saving the momentary smart at the time the arrow enters.

A day or two before the Macoushi Indian prepares his poison, he goes into the forest in quest of the ingredients.  A vine grows in these wilds, which is called wourali.  It is from this that the poison takes its name, and it is the principal ingredient.  When he has procured enough of this, he digs up a root of a very bitter taste, ties them together, and then looks about for two kinds of bulbous plants, which contain a green and glutinous juice.  He fills a little quake, which he carries on his back, with the stalks of these; and, lastly, ranges up and down till he finds two species of ants.  One of them is very large and black, and so venomous that its sting produces a fever; it is most commonly to be met with on the ground.  The other is a little red ant, which stings like a nettle, and generally has its nest under the leaf of a shrub.  After obtaining these, he has no more need to range the forest.

A quantity of the strongest Indian pepper is used; but this he has already planted round his hut.  The pounded fangs of the labarri snake, and those of the counacouchi, are likewise added.  These he commonly has in store; for when he kills a snake, he generally extracts the fangs, and keeps them by him.

Having thus found the necessary ingredients, he scrapes the wourali vine and bitter root into thin shavings, and puts them into a kind of colander made of leaves; this he holds over an earthen pot, and pours water on the shavings: the liquor which comes through has the appearance of coffee.  When a sufficient quantity has been procured, the shavings are thrown aside.  He then bruises the bulbous stalks and squeezes a proportionate quantity of their juice through his hands into the pot.  Lastly, the snakes’ fangs, ants, and pepper are bruised, and thrown into it.  It is then placed on a slow fire, and as it boils more of the juice of the wourali is added, according as it may be found necessary, and the scum is taken off with a leaf: it remains on the fire till reduced to a thick syrup of a deep brown colour.  As soon as it has arrived at this state, a few arrows are poisoned with it to try its strength.  If it answers the expectations, it is poured out into a calabash, or little pot of Indian manufacture, which is carefully covered with a couple of leaves, and over them a piece of deer’s skin, tied round with a cord.  They keep it in the most dry part of the hut; and from time to time suspend it over the fire, to counteract the effects of dampness.

The act of preparing this poison is not considered as a common one: the savage may shape his bow, fasten the barb on the point of his arrow, and make his other implements of destruction, either lying in his hammock, or in the midst of his family; but if he has to prepare the wourali-poison, many precautions are supposed to be necessary.

The women and young girls are not allowed to be present, lest the yabahou, or evil spirit, should do them harm.  The shed under which it has been boiled has been pronounced polluted and abandoned ever after.  He who makes the poison must eat nothing that morning, and must continue fasting as long as the operation lasts.  The pot in which it is boiled must be a new one, and must never have held anything before, otherwise the poison would be deficient in strength: add to this that the operator must take particular care not to expose himself to the vapour which arises from it while on the fire.

Though this and other precautions are taken, such as frequently washing the face and hands, still the Indians think that it affects the health; and the operator either is, or, what is more probable, supposes himself to be, sick for some days after.

Thus it appears that the making the wourali-poison is considered as a gloomy and mysterious operation; and it would seem that they imagine it affects others as well as him who boils it; for an Indian agreed one evening to make some for me, but the next morning he declined having anything to do with it, alleging that his wife was with child!

Here it might be asked, are all the ingredients just mentioned necessary, in order to produce the wourali-poison?  Though our opinions and conjectures may militate against the absolute necessity of some of them, still it would be hardly fair to pronounce them added by the hand of superstition, till proof positive can he obtained.

We might argue on the subject, and, by bringing forward instances of Indian superstition, draw our conclusion by inference, and still remain in doubt on this head.  You know superstition to be the offspring of ignorance, and of course that it takes up its abode amongst the rudest tribes of uncivilised man.  It even too often resides with man in his more enlightened state.

The Augustan age furnishes numerous examples.  A bone snatched from the jaws of a fasting bitch, and a feather from the wing of a night-owl,—“ossa ab ore rapta jejunæ canis, plumamque nocturnæ strigis,”—were necessary for Canidia’s incantations.  And in aftertimes, Parson Evans, the Welshman, was treated most ungenteelly by an enraged spirit, solely because he had forgotten a fumigation in his witch-work.  If, then, enlightened man lets his better sense give way, and believes, or allows himself to be persuaded, that certain substances and actions, in reality of no avail, possess a virtue which renders them useful in producing the wished-for effect; may not the wild, untaught, unenlightened savage of Guiana, add an ingredient which, on account of the harm it does him, he fancies may be useful in the perfection of his poison, though, in fact, it be of no use at all?  If a bone snatched from the jaws of a fasting bitch be thought necessary in incantation; or if witchcraft have recourse to the raiment of the owl, because it resorts to the tombs and mausoleums of the dead, and wails and hovers about at the time that the rest of animated nature sleeps; certainly the savage may imagine that the ants, whose sting causes a fever, and the teeth of the labarri and counacouchi snakes, which convey death in a very short space of time, are essentially necessary in the composition of his poison; and being once impressed with this idea, he will add them every time he makes the poison, and transmit the absolute use of them to his posterity.  The question to be answered seems not to be if it is natural for the Indians to mix these ingredients, but if they are essential to make the poison.

So much for the preparing of this vegetable essence—terrible importer of death into whatever animal it enters.  Let us now see how it is used; let us examine the weapons which bear it to its destination, and take a view of the poor victim, from the time he receives his wound till death comes to his relief.

When a native of Macoushia goes in quest of feathered game or other birds, he seldom carries his bow and arrows.  It is the blow-pipe he then uses.  This extraordinary tube of death is, perhaps, one of the greatest natural curiosities of Guiana.  It is not found in the country of the Macoushi.  Those Indians tell you that it grows to the south-west of them, in the wilds which extend betwixt them and the Rio Negro.  The reed must grow to an amazing length, as the part the Indians use is from ten to eleven feet long, and no tapering can be perceived in it, one end being as thick as the other.  It is of a bright yellow colour, perfectly smooth both inside and out.  It grows hollow; nor is there the least appearance of a knot or joint throughout the whole extent.  The natives call it ourah.  This, of itself, is too slender to answer the end of a blow-pipe; but there is a species of palma, larger and stronger, and common in Guiana, and this the Indians make use of as a case, in which they put the ourah.  It is brown, susceptible of a fine polish, and appears as if it had joints five or six inches from each other.  It is called samourah, and the pulp inside is easily extracted, by steeping it for a few days in water.

Thus the ourah and samourah, one within the other, form the blow-pipe of Guiana.  The end which is applied to the mouth is tied round with a small silk-grass cord, to prevent its splitting; and the other end, which is apt to strike against the ground, is secured by the seed of the acuero fruit, cut horizontally through the middle, with a hole made in the end, through which is put the extremity of the blow-pipe.  It is fastened on with string on the outside, and the inside is filled up with wild bees’-wax.

The arrow is from nine to ten inches long.  It is made out of the leaf of a species of palm-tree, called coucourito, hard and brittle, and pointed as sharp as a needle.  About an inch of the pointed end is poisoned.  The other end is burnt to make it still harder, and wild cotton is put round it for about an inch and a half.  It requires considerable practice to put on this cotton well.  It must just be large enough to fit the hollow of the tube, and taper off to nothing downwards.  They tie it on with a thread of the silk-grass, to prevent its slipping off the arrow.

The Indians have shown ingenuity in making a quiver to hold the arrows.  It will contain from five to six hundred.  It is generally from twelve to fourteen inches long, and in shape resembles a dice-box used at backgammon.  The inside is prettily done in basket-work, with wood not unlike bamboo, and the outside has a coat of wax.  The cover is all of one piece, formed out of the skin of the tapir.  Round the centre there is fastened a loop, large enough to admit the arm and shoulder, from which it hangs when used.  To the rim is tied a little bunch of silk-grass, and half of the jawbone of the fish called pirai, with which the Indian scrapes the point of his arrow.