The Putumayo, The Devil's Paradise/Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Not far from the city of Pasto, in Southern Colombia, a small, swift-flowing mountain stream has its origin in one of the high peaks of the Colom- bian Andes. Here, plunging furiously down the steep, precipitous descents of the Cordillera Oriental, between the high, heavily wooded mountains, which rise almost perpendicularly to the clouds, it dashes itself into spray against the immense boulders that form its bed, and throws itself over the numerous precipices in its path with a deep, resounding roar like distant thunder. This mountain torrent is the River Putumayo, which, leaving the towering Andes, flows in a south easterly direction more than a thousand miles through the great fertile, wooded plains of the Amazon basin, finally entering the great river in Western Brazil. The region traversed by this magnificent river is one of the richest in the world. In the Andes and its upper course it flows through a rich mineral section. At its source, near Pasto, numerous goldmines are being discovered daily and are changing hands rapidly, and there are immense deposits of iron and coal.
Having resigned our positions on the Cauca Railway, my companion W. B. Perkins and myself had set out upon our long-talked-of trip across South America, leaving the town of Buenaventura, on the Pacific coast of Colombia, on October 1, 1907, traversed the successive ranges of the Andes, and had arrived at the little Indian village of Santiago, in the level valley of Sibundoy. The valley of Sibundoy (once the bed of an ancient lake) is situated in the Cordillera Oriental at an elevation of about 2,300 metres above sea- level, and is some 25 kilometres long by 10 wide. The Putumayo, here but a small, crystal mountain stream, flows through it, rising in one of the numerous peaks that surround the valley on every side. A part of the valley is low and swampy, but the rest is good, rich soil, quite suitable for agricultural purposes, and covered with a thick, short grass. Although all the encircling mountains are clad with forests, the valley is, at present, cleared and ready for cultivation.
In this beautiful Andean valley four distinct villages have sprung up: San Antonio, Santiago, Sibundoy, and San Francisco. Of the first, San Antonio, I can say but little, as it was out of our line of march and we did not have time to visit it ; but I understand that it is an Indian village of approximately the same size and characteristics as Santiago. It is connected with Lake Cocha by an Indian trail, which is to be followed more or less by the location of a new mule-road. Santiago is composed of about fifty houses and a mud church, thatched with palm-leaves, erected by the Capuchins for the conversion and instruction of the Indians. Except for the five or six fathers who conduct the services and an old white hag who had been the compafiera * of a certain ex-President in the eiglities, when he was engaged in business here, the whole population is Indian, and amounts, all told, to probably five hundred. These Indians, although short and small, are tough and strong and are of an agreeable, reddish, coppery hue. The average height of the men seems to be about five feet ; the women average from two to four inches less. They are nearly all bright and cheerful, and, as a rule, intelligent, although they sometimes feign stupidity when in contact with whites. Timidity and bashfulness, especially among the women and children, are very common.
Although all, thanks to the fathers, know a little Spanish, among themselves they use their own language exclusively, which seems to be derived from the ancient Quichua of the aborigines of Peru and Ecuador. This language is spoken in a sort of sing-song, soft and melodious, which is rather pleasing to the ear. These aborigines call them- selves Incas or Ingas,t and their dialect is known as the Inca language, and is rather easily picked up by the whites, who are much in contact with the Incas. These Indians live in large rectangular houses, the walls of which consist of upright sticks, tied together with bark, the roof being of thatch and the floor of hardened earth. The spaces between the upright sticks that form the walls obviate the necessity for windows. Sometimes, if the house is a large one, several families live in it together, each family having its own corner, fireside, and utensils. The furniture is very limited, and generally consists of benches of various sizes and, sometimes, a low table, all of which are carved out of solid wood, not a nail being used in their construction. Their domestic apparatus is composed chiefly of great earthen pots, which they are very skilful in making; gourds, which serve as plates, cups and several large round stones with which they crush their maize.
The dress of the Incas is very picturesque. That of the men consists of a long cotton shirt, either blue or white, which reaches almost to the knees, nearly covering a pair of knee-pants of the same colour and material. Over this is thrown a heavy woollen poncho, always of a greyish-yellow colour, with thin, black stripes, which reaches almost to the feet. Their long, black hair, thick and abundant, takes the place of a hat, and is prevented from dangling in the face by a gaily coloured ribbon or a piece of the inner bark of the tree known to them as huimba, which passes around the crown of the head just above the ears. The women invariably wear a red shirt, the lower extremity of which is covered by a short black skirt, reaching to the knees. A bright red blanket, thrown over their shoulders, completes their costume, for, as a rule, they do not wear the headband used by the men. Both sexes are very fond of beads, and generally have an immense necklace of them, while smaller strings are worn on the wrists and ankles.
The chief, or gobeniador, is elected with great formality once a year. Then the retiring magistrate, in the presence of the whole tribe, hands over to his successor the silver-headed cane which has been since time immemorial the emblem of authority amongst the Incas. The chief's house is always distinguished by a decoration of palm leaves over the door, for all business with the whites is done through him, disputes between Indians are settled by him, and he possesses the power of punishment. The punishment is generally a whipping or confinement in stocks, which are always kept in the chief's house.
The food of these aborigines consists chiefly of maize, collards, and game. From the maize they manufacture their peculiar mazala, which is their principal aliment, for they eat it morning, noon, and night, the collards and the game they shoot being merely auxiliaries. The maize is first scalded in one of the great earthen jars, after which, when cool, a certain proportion of it is thoroughly chewed until it is well mixed with the saliva. In this important operation the whole family, both young and old, takes part, seated in a circle around the huge pot of scalded maize, each one provided with a smaller gourd, into which they shoot the well masticated mixture of maize and saliva. This operation concluded, the next step is to mix thoroughly the salivated maize with the other, and the whole mass is then deposited in the large earthen jars, where it is allowed to ferment for several days under the action of the organic principles of the saliva. The mixture is then preserved in this state, and when they wish to prepare their beverage they merely take out a handful of this preparation, reduce it to a paste, stir it in water, and their drink is ready. Ttiis mazata has a sour, bitter taste, very, palatable to the Indian, but disgusting to most white men.
Their arms consist chiefly of blow-guns or bodo-quedas, although at present shotguns and machetes are beginning to be introduced among them. These blow-guns are not manufactured by the Incas, but are bought by them from the Indians of Mocoa, who obtain them from the Cioni Indians of the Upper Pulumayo. The Cionis, in turn, are supplied with them by the Indians of the River Napo, who are the original manufacturers. This celebrated weapon is a hollow, tapering pole, from two to four metres long, pierced longitudinally by a hole some three-sixteenths of an inch in diameter. The outside surface of the pole is wound around with thin strips of tough bark, over which is applied a smooth, black coating of gum -resin from the arbol del lacre, or sealing-wax tree, while the thicker end terminates in a mouthpiece, into which a small arrow, some twenty centimetres long and tipped with a little cotton instead of a feather, is introduced. The mouth is then applied to the mouthpiece, and with the breath the little arrow is shot out with great force to a distance of from thirty to forty metres. These arrows, apparently so insignificant, are in reality awful in their effects, for their points are tipped with the celebrated curare, made from the Strychnos castelmceana, called by them ramu, and from the Cocculus toxicoferus, known to these aborigines as pani. The points are often cut, so as to break off after penetrating the skin and stay in the wound.
A puncture of the skin by one of these arrows causes death within a minute, for I have seen a large dog struck by one of these little missiles drop dead before he could run five metres. Like the hodoqueda itself, these little arrows reach the Incas only after passing through the hands of several tribes, and are generally carried in a small bamboo quiver, to which is tied a little gourd filled with cotton. It is interesting to note that although the curare with which the arrows are tipped is a deadly poison, it has absolutely no injurious effect upon the game killed by it. In many respects this weapon is superior to the shotgun, but its great advantage is its noiselessness. Thus, a hunter can kill bird after bird without fear of their becoming alarmed and flying away. The Indians can shoot very accurately with the bodoqueda up to about thirty meters.
On the 16th, the gobernador, with whom my companion Perkins and myself stayed, told us that the Indians had finished preparing their habio[1] and were ready to depart. Xo, after seeing them load up, we bade adios to the gobernador and at 11 a.m. started for Sibundoy. The road was tolerably good, consisting in many places of logs, laid transversely across the way, and skirted the edge of the surrounding mountains a little above the level of the valley, of which we would have had an excellent view but for the dense under- brush which interposed itself between the valley and us. On our march we crossed several beautiful little quebradas, whose clear, crystal waters glistened brilliantly in the sun but our appreciation of their beauty was somewhat diminished by. The fact that as nobody in the whole valley wears shoes there were no bridges over them, and we were obliged to wade through their cold, icy waters, wetting ourselves up to the knees in doing so.
After a march of some three hours we entered Sibundoy, a village of about the same size and appearance as Santiago, where we made our way to the Capuchin convent, determining to wait here for our Indians. We were kindly received by the four priests here, as well as by the Padre Pre- fecto, the head of all the Capuchin establishments in the territories of the Caqueta and the Putumayo, who makes this place his headquarters. One of the fathers. Padre Estanislao de Los Corts, a Spaniard from Cataluna, was especially kind, and, after showing us around the new convent they were building, supplied us with the following data about the Indians of Sibundoy:
The Indians of Sibundoy call themselves Cochas and speak a language of the same name, which is quite distinct from the Inca and much more com- plex and difficult. The Cochas are said to be lazier, more dishonest, and of a surlier disposition than the Incas, although resembling them very much in appearance, customs, dress, and mode of living. It is believed that these Indians were brought here long ago by the Spaniards from the River Vaupes as slaves for the goldmines of Pasto and that, escaping from their captors in this vicinity, they finally settled in the valley. They now number about 1,500, the greater part, however, living in lone huts in the mountains.
We remained at the convent waiting for the Indians all the afternoon, but as they did not appear we were glad to accept the Padre Prefecto's pressing invitation to stop here for the night. The priests told us that the cargadores * had probably gone to their homes to enjoy a last farewell feast before beginning the trip to Mocoa, which we afterwards found to be the case. The convent was scrupulously clean and fitted up roughly and simply, for nearly everything had been made by the fathers themselves. The food was plain and coarse, but substantial and well cooked, one of the priests skilfully performing this important operation. The next morning at eight o'clock the two Indians who were to carry our food, blankets, &c., put in their appearance, looking somewhat seedy and informing us that the others were coming later. They were accompanied by a pretty little Indian girl, carrying their habio, who they said was their sister. The padre, however, suspected immorality and, as a precautionary measure, bade them go to church. This over, we sent them on ahead in charge of Pedro, with orders to wait for us at the next village, San Francisco, while we stopped a little longer to take lunch with the padres.
Lunch concluded, we duly thanked the hospitable Capuchins for their kindness to us and once more set out. After a pleasant walk of about two hours we reached San Francisco, where we were cordially received by the head priest, whom we had met at Sibundoy, and installed in the convent, where we found Pedro and the Indians. San Francisco is a little, Iriste place of some two hundred inhabitants, Porters who claim to be whites, but, except for the fact that they wore hats and trousers, I could see but little difference between them and the infieles. There are two or three small shops and about twenty other houses, most of which were of adobe.
Bright and early the next morning we set out along the level valley, which we followed for some time until we struck the Putumayo, here a small, swift flowing mountain torrent, about six feet wide. Crossing it, we continued along its heavily wooded banks until we came to a small affluent on the left, which we followed up to its source. Climbing to the top of the hill, we found ourselves upon a sort of divide, which we slowly descended by an almost perpendicular trail over huge, slippery rocks and rolling cobblestones to the bottom of a deep, narrow canon, formed by another small, torrential quebrada. All the rest of the day we followed the course of this stream, which we crossed no less than thirty-four times. Occasionally the caiion, always steep and narrow, became merely vertical walls of rock, rising from the edge of the stream upwards to a height of from fifty to a hundred metres. In these places we were compelled to wade down the bed of the stream, while on other occa- sions the trail, about six inches wide, passed along the perpendicular face of some wet, slippery rock, forty or fifty feet above the river. How the Indians passed such places, carrying the heavy bultos[2] that weighed from eighty to a hundred pounds, is beyond my comprehension, nor have I any desire to make that day's journey again to find out.
At about six o'clock we reached the junction of this stream with another of about the same size, where they combine to form the River Patoyacu. Here we stopped at a tolerable rancho, Perkins and I utterly exhausted, but the two Indians and the girl apparently as fresh as ever. Neither Perkins nor myself suffered from sleeplessness that night, although a large, flat rock was our only couch. The next morning, as soon as our rather frugal meal of dry meat, coffee, and fried plantains was over, we crossed the Patoyacu and began the ascent of a monstrous mountain, the top of which we reached at about two o'clock in the afternoon. The rest of the day was spent in a constant succession of long, steep, painful ascents to the tops of the mountains, and immediately afterwards long, steep, painful descents to the bottoms, where, crossing some insignificant quebrada[3] we would sit and rest a few minutes before starting on the next climb. While taking lunch at one of these streams, Perkins noticed some peculiar-looking rocks, which, upon examination, seemed to indicate the existence of a good quality of marble. We took along several specimens for further examination.
The scenery is magnificent, of a wild, savage splendour, rarely seen elsewhere than in the Andes. The high, heavily wooded mountains, rising almost perpendicularly to the clouds, are separated from each other by foaming, plunging quebradas, which, dashing themselves into spray against the immense boulders that form their beds, leap over the numerous precipices in their courses with a deep, resounding roar like distant thunder. We endeavoured to reach a rancho called Papagallos, but, when darkness overtook us, we were still far from it, according to our Indians, so we hastily made a rough rancho and, after about an hour and a half, succeeded in igniting a fire, for it had rained during the afternoon and everything was completely soaked. The fire, at last successfully started, was just beginning to flicker up and give out a little heat, when suddenly another heavy rain set in and, within fifteen minutes, our hard-won fire was out and we and all our belongings were wet through. As the rain continued steadily until morning and the cold all this time was intense, we did not pass a very enjoyable night.
The next day was only a tiresome repetition of the one already described, up and down all day. How many miles we made I do not know, but I can state that, whatever their number, they were mostly on end. At 9 a.m. we passed Papagallos and at about 2 p.m. we commenced a long, steep descent of nearly 2,000 meters, the bottom of which we reached at about half-past four. Here we found the two small ranchos, known as Cascabel, and stopped for the night. These two ranchos were situated upon the left bank of the River Campucana, a good sized stream formed by the various quebradas we had crossed. We had now passed the last of the mountains, for from this place to Puerto Guineo, the port of embarkation, it is practically level. We had at last crossed the Andes, and were now upon the great Atlantic Slope. In the morning we followed the left bank of the Campucana for some time, scaling successfully on the way the famous "Carniceria,"[4]
At ten o'clock, while crossing the river, we met Don Elias Jurado, Leonardo's brother, en route to Pasto — the first traveller we had met since leaving that city. Continuing our journey through the dense forest, at one o'clock we reached Piedra Lisa (another dangerous rock, along whose smooth, unbroken front, which stood at an angle of about fifty-five or sixty degrees), the trail passed. The passage of this rock, which is about fifty meters long, is very perilous and would be impassable were it not for some overhanging branches which one can grasp and hold on by.
Piedra Lisa safely passed, the road continued fairly level, although very muddy on account of the thick undergrowth, and at three o'clock we entered Pueblo Viejo, a long string of scattered bamboo houses, intermingled with fields of maize, plantains and yuca, and large tracts of practically virgin forest. At one of these huts we stopped to take a few minutes' rest ; the people received us very affably and immediately brought out a large jug of chicha[5] which we soon emptied for them. After a little conversation about the probability of our getting lost in the "city" (of Mocoa), we again pushed on, and at four o'clock in the afternoon of November 21st reached Mocoa in a state of complete exhaustion.
Here, after a great deal of inquiry, we secured a very dirty room in a still dirtier bamboo hut. Leaving our effects here, Perkins and I went to the little crystal stream, known as the Quebrada Mulata, which dashes past the back of the town, and indulged in a good bath. By the time we had finished this operation, the indefatigable Pedro had ascertained the whereabouts of the "restaurant," to which we immediately wended our way, for we were starving. After we had finished our dinner, which did not take very long, for it was composed only of a quantity of unripe plantains, a still larger quantity of overdone yucas, and a little thin, tasteless coffee, we invested in a couple of bottles of wine and, retiring to our hut, Perkins, Pedro, and I duly congratulated one another on the successful termination of the first stage of our journey: the trip over the Andes. This duty performed, we retired to dream of our approaching descent of the Putumayo.