From a distance the small lake at the head of the valley appeared to
be a promising field for investigation. It yielded, however, but a
solitary Andean teal greatly resembling the gadwall (_Chaulelasmus_),
that was swimming on the unruffled water, and when this had been taken
our work in that particular spot was completed. The bottom of the pond
was covered with a solid mass of long _algæ_ far out as we could see;
these concealed any aquatic life that may have existed in the chilly
depths.

The weather was usually agreeable during the greater part of the day,
the thermometer registering in the neighborhood of 76° at noon, and
dropping to 30° at night. It rained little, but banks of clouds rolled
in frequently and precipitated a superabundance of moisture.

One day Allen and I undertook an exploration trip to the snow-line. We
started at daybreak, taking with us our guns, an abundant supply of
ammunition, cameras, and a small parcel of lunch. We made straight for
the head of the valley, passed the lake, and had soon reached the top
of the weathered ridge that formed the first barrier to our progress.
From the summit, fourteen thousand four hundred feet up, we could see
numerous other isolated depressions like the one we had just left;
in one of them was a newly made trench--probably the work of some
venturesome miner who had drifted to this lonely place in search of
gold. So far we had had not a glimpse of snow on account of the heavy
mist. We followed along the top of a hogback running northward and
gradually leading to higher country that flattened out into a marshy
plateau on its farther end. Progress was difficult. At each step the
bog quivered within a radius of several yards and the clumps of matted
vegetation depressed by our weight were quickly covered with water that
oozed from below. This was an ideal spot for snipe and several sprang
up as we painfully picked our way over the treacherous ground; but the
great exertion and high altitude had a demoralizing effect on our aim,
with the result that we were relieved of a good deal of ammunition
without securing a single bird in return.

A high wall of bare rock rose just beyond the confines of the bog,
and gaining the top of it we were up fifteen thousand feet. It was
covered with blackened rock fragments--mostly the result of weathering,
but some of them probably detached from the many towering crags and
columns by the shattering force of lightning. The highest point in the
wall is fifteen thousand two hundred feet. As we rested a moment to
recover our breath, a procedure necessary every twenty steps, the fog
suddenly lifted and disclosed the snow-bound slopes of Ruiz a short
distance away. Between us lay a valley flanked by perpendicular walls
of rock and hundreds of feet deep. The snow apparently extended down
two hundred feet lower than our station, making its lower limit fifteen
thousand feet.

We stood lost in admiration at the marvellous spectacle that
unfolded itself before us. The hurrying curtains of clouds revealed
ever-changing scenes. One moment miles of slopes covered with a
white mantle of snow stood out in bold relief; the next, they were
whisked from view and bare pinnacles of dark rock, like the spires of
a cathedral, appeared momentarily high above, their ragged outlines
softened by a veil of thin blue haze. Again, the lower edges of the
panorama came into view, revealing glaciers and avalanches of snow and
rocks perched on the brink of the wall ready to plunge with a boom into
the deep valley.

The floor of the valley was a series of ponds and morasses. Ducks
disported in the cold water, all oblivious of our presence, and
apparently safe in their, at least to man, inaccessible retreat. A
raging torrent tore along the base of the wall, adding its roar as a
fitting accompaniment to the general awe-inspiring character of its
desolate and inhospitable surroundings.

A whisp of vapor borne on a chill wind hurried across the intervening
chasm and blew into our faces. Time had passed faster than we realized
and we discovered that half of the afternoon was gone. Hurriedly we
began to retrace our steps along the wall of rock and through the
treacherous bog. By the time the sharp ridge was reached, clouds in
such volumes had rolled in over the paramo that everything was obscured
outside of a radius of a few yards from us. There was no trail of any
kind, and even the most familiar rocks assumed strange shapes swathed
in the dank vapor. A compass is useless under such circumstances.
Before long we reached the interlacing mass of ridges and, after
holding a consultation, followed along the top of one that seemed to
lead in the right direction. We stumbled along for two hours or more,
and then realized that we were lost. Darkness was fast approaching and
a raw wind swept down from the region of perpetual ice and snow. We
began to look for a sheltered spot in which to spend the night, for it
now seemed certain that each step was only taking us farther from camp.
Just then a rift in the clouds appeared, and before it again closed we
caught sight of a faint glimmer far below and to the right. That could
mean but one thing: it was a reflection from the lake at the head of
“our” valley. For more than an hour we had been travelling in exactly
the opposite direction. We gave up the thought of a bed of frailejon
leaves without regret and stumbled down the steep slope straight for
the spot where the lake had flashed into view. After many collapses
from thirst and fatigue we reached the brook with its crystal, ice-cold
water; then progress was easier, and within another hour the glow
of the camp-fire appeared through the haze, and soon we were snugly
ensconced in the depths of our blankets.

A few days after our journey to Ruiz the weather changed greatly.
Low-hanging fogs covered the paramo day and night; lightning flashed
among the clouds, and frigid gales roared over the plateaus. These were
signs of the coming winter and warned us to leave the paramo before
it was too late. Soon there would be only snow and ice, penetrating
mists, the reverberating roll of thunder, and blinding displays of
electricity. The elements would be unleashed and in all their grandeur,
and awe-inspiring frightfulness take possession of the upper world.
Life would then be unendurable, so we accepted the warning and returned
to Salento.

CHAPTER V

THE CHOCÓ COUNTRY ON THE WESTERN COAST OF COLOMBIA

Upon returning to Cartago from our expedition to the bleak paramo
of Santa Isabel, we began preparations for a visit to the notorious
Chocó, which lies along the western coast and within the San Juan River
watershed. This section of the country presents the other extreme
in climatic conditions. It has been rarely visited by naturalists
on account of its inaccessibility; and the few who have succeeded
in forcing their way within its inhospitable borders have found it
impossible to remain any length of time. Malarial and yellow fevers are
endemic among the natives, but quickly sap the vitality and life of
newcomers into the region; rain falls daily--four hundred inches being
the average precipitation for one year--and the heat is so intense that
when the sun appears during the intervals between showers the whole
jungle is converted into a steaming inferno. Small wonder, then, that
the fabulous wealth in gold and platinum of the Chocó has been little
more than touched.

Our plans called for an overland trip to Nóvita on the Tamaná River;
after reaching that point local conditions would have to guide our
subsequent movements. Trail there is none, but a footpath, often so
faint that it loses itself among the vegetation or in the beds of
streams, serves the purpose of partially guiding the stalwart negro who
carries the mail to Nóvita at infrequent intervals, as well as others
who undertake to cross the Western Range into the tropical lowland.

The townspeople of Cartago had heard a good deal, in a general way,
about conditions existing in the Chocó, but they could give no
information of practical value. We haunted the market and other places
where _peons_ congregate in numbers in our endeavor to secure porters
for the trip. The few who reluctantly expressed a readiness to go did
not seem physically fit for such strenuous work, so I rejected them.
One day a caravan of oxen arrived from the settlement of Salencio, and
I hastily engaged them for the return trip, as these animals, while
slow, are sure-footed, and can pick their way through mud and jungle
that horses could not penetrate.

Leaving Cartago, we crossed the arid Cauca Valley; the land west of
the river is more rolling than on the opposite bank, but the character
of the plant life is much the same. Within an hour Ansermanueva, a
cluster of twenty or thirty adobe hovels, was sighted in the distance,
but the trail divided just before reaching the village and we followed
the southern branch. Beyond this fork the climb into the mountains
began; there are two ridges, six thousand eight hundred feet and seven
thousand five hundred feet high respectively, with a ravine of five
thousand eight hundred feet between. The “cloud” forest does not begin
below the top of the first ridge; then there is an abundance of mosses,
ferns, bromelias and other epiphytes forming a growth that is both rank
and beautiful, and equalling in density that found in any other region.
The greater luxuriance of the flora on the western slope indicated a
heavier rainfall on that side; this is accounted for by the fact that
the summits of the various ridges stop the moisture-laden winds from
the Pacific, to a large extent, and cause them to precipitate the water
on the ocean side of the divide.

Within two days we arrived at Salencio, small, dilapidated, situated
on a little plateau between the peaks, and inhabited mainly by
half-breeds. We were advised to wait until the weekly market-day, when
many people from the surroundings would come to town, and it would be
possible to secure porters for the continuation of the journey. In
the meantime we made short excursions into the neighboring forest;
they yielded several novelties, among them a splendid example of the
military macaw (_Ara m. militaris_). This gorgeously colored bird is
rare, indeed, and we have never seen more than two at the same time.
Spectacled bears were said to be common and to come to the clearings
when corn is ripe; the number of pelts exhibited by the inhabitants
amply verified their assertion.

When Sunday came, and with it the gathering of people always present
when market is held, we had no trouble in engaging the required
_peons_, each of whom agreed to carry a pack of seventy-five pounds.
Early the next morning they appeared, eager and ready for their
undertaking. They shouldered their loads and started away at a fast
gait, while we brought up the rear of the column to prevent straggling.

The way lay across a low, forested ridge, and then adhered closely to
the bamboo-covered banks of a small stream called locally Rio Cabeceros
or Rio Vueltas, but which is really the headwaters of the Sipi River.
At one time we waded in the knee-deep water a distance of over three
miles, as it was easier than to force a way through the matted plant
life on either side. I soon discovered that the porters did not possess
the endurance of those we had previously employed on other expeditions,
and I believe this was due to the fact that the use of coca leaves is
unknown in this part of Colombia. Whenever our _peons_ had an abundance
of coca to chew they seemed tireless in the performance of their work;
those not given to the habit required large and frequent meals, ate
_panela_ all day long as they marched, and were capable of covering a
short distance only in the course of a day’s walk. We were compelled to
halt early and chose the top of a knoll for a camping site.

A steady downpour of rain had fallen the entire afternoon, which
continued throughout the night, and this, coupled with the severe
cold (the elevation being seven thousand two hundred feet) and the
desirability of preparing hot food, caused us to long for the comforts
of a huge camp-fire. Dry wood was out of the question, but the men
cut down a tree, the green wood of which burned readily, and had soon
started a fire adequate for working purposes. Their ponchos, which had
become saturated with water, were of no service in keeping them warm,
so they sat up the entire night, singing, telling stories, and drinking
hot coffee in their endeavors to remain cheerful and keep warm.

On the following day the vegetation was far more dense, and advantage
was taken of numerous narrow fissures in the mountainside roofed over
with logs and moss; through these tunnels we crawled on hands and
knees, but that was easier than forcing a way through the tangled mass
of plants growing above. When camp was made that night the base of a
tree was selected for a fireplace. At first glance it seemed that the
diameter of the vine-covered trunk must be at least ten feet, but this
was a delusion. After the men had vigorously plied their machetes on
the creepers, moss, and ferns, a stem not over two feet across was
revealed; they cleared away the lower tangle, leaving a protecting
umbrella-like canopy overhead that shielded the entire party from the
rain while they cooked their food.

We crossed three ridges in all, the elevation of each being slightly in
excess of seven thousand feet, with depressions of from two thousand
feet to three thousand feet between them. All are heavily forested, the
growth above four thousand feet being subtropical in character, while
that lower down is typical of the tropics and comparatively open.

At the end of the third day we heard the welcome roar of water, and
not long after halted on the bank of the Hávita River. A naked negro
came from the far side in answer to our calls, and ferried us across
the stream in a huge dugout canoe. There we found a settlement of half
a dozen bamboo huts filled with lazy negroes clothed in scanty attire.
The place is called El Puente. About one hundred yards below the group
of hovels, the Hávita is joined by the Rio Ingara. The water of both
streams is swift, cool, and of a bluish-gray color. Each of the streams
is about seventy-five yards wide just above the junction.

After crossing another ridge which required two days’ time, we reached
Juntas de Tamaná, on the south bank of the Hávita, a stone’s throw
above the point where this stream empties into the Tamaná, and but four
hundred feet above sea-level. Excepting only the little clearing in
which the fifteen dilapidated negro abodes stand, the entire country is
covered with a forest of tall trees; there is little undergrowth, but
many of the lower branches are covered with epiphytes, and long vines
or “forest ropes” dangle down from the interlocking tree-tops to the
very ground.

The negroes of Juntas are a miserable, sickly lot. They suffer from
lack of food, for the simple reason that they are too indolent to
grow in sufficient quantities the plantains, yuccas, and other plants
that thrive with a minimum of attention in such a favorable location.
Instead of making clearings and cultivating the fertile ground, they
prefer to lounge in their hammocks and take a chance at starving to
death. At irregular intervals, when the pinch of want is too great
to endure longer, the men paddle in canoes to their _fincas_ to cut
sugar-cane, gather plantains, and to pick palm-nuts in the forest. Upon
their return the family gathers about the food and eats until not a
vestige remains. So effectively do they attack the mound of provisions
that one might easily imagine a swarm of locusts had paid the region a
visit.

[Illustration: Native of Juntas de Tamaná with trail-haunting
blacksnake.]

[Illustration: The author with natives of Juntas de Tamaná.]

A day or two after our arrival at Juntas a two-year-old child belonging
to one of the families died. The news spread rapidly and by night
the entire neighborhood had turned out for a wake. We followed the
crowd. The baby, in a white dress, with bright red and green ribbon
trimming, lay in a wooden box on the table. A canopy of muslin had
been erected above the bier which was strewn with wild flowers. The
room was packed to suffocation with the black forms of the populace,
which glistened in the dim, flickering candle-light. At first bottles
of _aguardiente_ were distributed, and every one had a number of
liberal-sized drinks. Then the older folks withdrew against the four
walls and, squatting on the floor, sang or lamented as fancy dictated.
The younger people divided into two parties and played games around
the coffin. One of them was a kind of charade and, when the guessing
side solved the riddle, they pursued and caught the others, amid loud
shouts and laughter. I feared constantly that they might upset the
coffin. Occasionally some one would stop long enough to pet or caress
the dead little form, and address a few terms of endearment to it, such
as _pobrecito_, _angelito_, or _tan lindito_. The revelry lasted until
daylight; then a procession slowly wound its way to a newly dug grave
and deposited its burden, leaving the only little mound visible that
side of the Tamaná.

Christmas was drawing near. We were surprised to see the women
apparently making preparations for a celebration, which is most unusual
in South America. They worked several days cutting the weeds around the
village and cleaning up the place. When we asked about it, they said it
was not on account of the approaching _fiesta_, but a form of penance
they performed annually in atonement of their sins. Apparently the men
were without blemish, for they gazed upon the workers and addressed
jocular remarks to them from the comfortable retreat of their hammocks,
even enumerating particular misdeeds and suggesting special forms of
penance that might be effective.

The next stage of our journey had to be performed on the river. We
secured a huge _bongo_ and stalwart negro paddlers, and December 21
found us speeding down-stream toward Nóvita. The Tamaná is a rapid
stream, varying between one hundred and three hundred yards in width.
Its bed is strewn with boulders, causing rapids easily navigable on the
downward voyage, but difficult and dangerous to negotiate when bound
up-stream. Then there are deep passages between high, crumbling banks,
where the water glides silently onward like an olive-drab stream of
molten glass. The densest of tropical jungles lines both banks; its
matted walls facing the river are interrupted by small clearings at
infrequent intervals, where low hovels stand surrounded by the rich
foliage of banana and yucca plants. Chonta-palms, with bristling, spiny
stems, rear their plumed heads above the other forest-trees, or droop
over the water in a graceful manner, forming a dainty filigree against
the brazen sky. The brassy, merciless sun blazed down with unrelenting
vigor, and we were glad when dark storm-clouds obscured the sky and
provided a greatly needed respite.

It was possible to proceed only to a point called Cabeceros, below
which rapids of a formidable character obstruct further navigation. The
few negroes living on the river-bank can usually be induced to assist
in making the portage, men and women alike undertaking to carry packs
to Tambito at the foot of the rapids. Here it was necessary to secure
another _bongo_ and the trip was resumed.

The Tamaná grows wider constantly. Cataracts are of more frequent
occurrence and present greater hazards in their navigation. The
_bongo_, made of a huge tree-trunk and measuring thirty feet in length,
and a yard in width, was most seaworthy; but frequently it shipped
water in alarming quantities, and scraped and bumped over the hidden
rocks until we expected the craft to be rent asunder and flounder.

During the greater part of the afternoon we were in sight of a high,
isolated mountain, appearing on the map under the name Cerro Torra.
So far as I can learn no explorer has ever succeeded in gaining its
summit, and when I beheld the vast stretch of impenetrable jungle
extending from the river to apparently the very top of the mountain, I
could readily understand why the few men who had attempted this piece
of exploration had failed in their undertaking.

Late in the afternoon we landed at Nóvita. I was somewhat surprised at
the size of the town, which consists of about fifty hovels. The white
population, which was very small, consists mainly of traders, and is
more or less transient. I was told that they remain in the region a
year or two to buy gold and to sell their stock of provisions and
merchandise at exorbitant prices, and then return to a more healthful
climate--to suffer many years afterward from the effects of their
sojourn in the Chocó.

Nóvita is essentially a mining town. A good deal of gold and platinum
are washed out of the small streams that form a network in the
surrounding country. The negroes and Indians bring in the precious
metals in small quantities--wrapped in leaves--and trade them for
tinned food and cloth. However, the town seemed to be on the decline
in favor of Condoto, Pueblo Rico, and Quibdó, where richer mineral
deposits had been located.

The forest contained comparatively little wild life, and that was
typical of the Pacific tropical faunal zone. We daily took long tramps
and discovered numerous things of more than passing interest. Among
them was a colony of nesting black-and-yellow orioles (_Icterus_).
The birds had selected a solitary ceiba-tree standing in the centre
of a banana-field. It was seventy feet to the lowest limbs and the
trunk was so thick and smooth that no predatory animal could climb it,
which insured the safety of the colony from such a source of danger.
The nests, like huge pears, dangled from the tips of the branches; I
counted one hundred and four, and there must have been many others
concealed by the foliage. The adult birds were busy and excited,
and were coming and going in steady streams, keeping up their noisy
chattering all the while. We found numerous bits of egg-shells, white
with black dots, on the ground, indicating that the young were just
hatching.

One evening as we were returning from a long hunt, we noticed lines
of bats emerging from the little church standing on the edge of the
village. Next day (Christmas) I visited this rendezvous accompanied
by several negro assistants. The bats were all concealed within the
board walls, so that it was impossible to get at them, but the negroes
unhesitatingly tore away the slabs of flattened bamboo and soon had
the room filled with a squeaking, fluttering swarm which they attacked
with sticks. This method of attack proving too slow, they grabbed
guns and fired into the masses amid wild shouts of merriment. When
the pandemonium was over and the heap of slain had been collected,
they respectfully removed their hats and in passing out of the church
reverently bowed the knee before the altar.

We had been cautioned to be on the alert for snakes. The deadly
bushmaster or _verrugosa_ was said to be particularly abundant. While
hunting one day, Allen shot a hawk and placed it in the back pocket of
his hunting-coat. To all appearances the bird was dead; while crawling
through a thicket a short time later he felt a sudden sharp sting in
his back and, throwing up his hands in terror, yelled, “Oh, Lord! one
got me at last,” thinking, of course, that he had been struck by a
snake. Hurriedly removing his coat, the discovery was made that the
supposedly dead hawk had been stunned only and, reviving, had promptly
dug its talons in the first thing that offered a firm hold. One may
well imagine the unpleasantness of such an experience.

Occasionally we saw a species of blacksnake that grows to a length
of more than twelve feet. It is perfectly harmless, but has the
disagreeable habit of haunting trails and footpaths near the villages.
When a pedestrian approaches it rears its head several feet above
the ground and calmly gazes into his face. The first few times this
happens, the sudden, upward lunge of the big head, the rapidly playing
tongue and the beady eyes give one a decided shock and provide ample
cause for flight. Later, one becomes more or less accustomed to it.
This snake was also plentiful in tropical Venezuela and Bolivia.

[Illustration: Nóvita, the largest town in the Chocó.]

It was impossible to secure fresh meat at Nóvita; salt beef was
imported in barrels, but it was of such poor quality that we could
not eat it. We therefore depended on toucans and parrots for our
meat-supply, and found both species very palatable.

The paper money used throughout the greater part of Colombia is not
recognized by inhabitants of the Chocó. It rots in the wet, hot
atmosphere and for that reason is valueless. Neither are gold coins
wanted, but some of the shopkeepers accepted them at a twelve per
cent discount. The money that finds favor is composed of silver coins
from Mexico and practically all the other South and Central American
republics; it is valued according to size, the “dollars” passing for
forty cents, the halves for twenty, and so on. I found a number of
United States half-dimes circulating at two cent, and dimes at four
cent values, and “collected” all that came within reach.

After a few days’ hunting around Nóvita we secured another _bongo_ and
resumed our journey down-stream. The Tamaná empties into the San Juan,
about ten miles below Nóvita. The latter river is wider and deeper, but
there is no change in the country bordering it. All day long we glided
steadily onward, stopping at noon only for a brief respite from the
burning sun. At dusk we landed to spend the night near a negro hut. The
floor was raised five feet from the ground and the ragged, thatched
roof nearly touched it; there were no walls. Altogether it was a most
primitive dwelling, in which the dusky forms of the occupants moved
like shadows against the dim light of their cooking fire. Noanamá was
reached the next day. It is not quite so large as Juntas de Tamaná,
and stands on a bluff overlooking the river. The inhabitants are all
negroes; the males wore breech-cloths only, while the costume of the
women consisted of a narrow cloth fastened around the waist with a
string. Both men and women spend a few hours each day washing gold on
the river-bank, securing enough from this work to pay for provisions
brought from Buenaventura. When they have accumulated a small quantity
of the fine, sparkling flakes they embark in their canoes and make
their way to the seaport in three days, there to do their trading. It
was impossible to hire them for any kind of work; one woman had flour,
but could not bake bread for lack of fire-wood, because no one would
carry it from the forest one hundred yards away. Indians came to the
village daily. They wore many ornaments of beaten silver about their
necks and wrists; some of them also had earrings made of the same
metal, the size of doorknobs; they were so heavy that a framework of
sticks placed at the back of the head had to be used to support their
weight. I was greatly amused by the actions of one stalwart young brave
who, with his wife and baby, came to the settlement each day. While
in town, where he might be observed, he paid no attention whatever to
his family; he walked several paces in front of the woman, who, of
course, carried the baby, and not once even condescended to glance in
their direction. However, when they reached the river-bank or some
other secluded spot where he was safe from prying eyes, he snatched the
infant from the mother’s arms, kissed it, tossed it into the air and
acted exactly like any other fond parent. If any one approached, he
hastily returned it to his wife and resumed his taciturn expression.

At times a small steamer, the _Fluvial_, from Buenaventura, visits the
settlements on the lower San Juan. We waited in vain ten days for her
appearance. However, a launch belonging to a miner, a Mr. Stapleton,
chanced to pass, and the owner kindly offered to take us to the coast.

The San Juan grows constantly wider. Its banks are dotted with the
conical huts of Indians; the floors are always raised on poles, high
above the ground, to escape the floods and insects.

As we sped down the river many of the naked, painted savages rushed
out in their canoes, paddling and yelling like demons in attempts to
overtake the launch. I do not know what object they had in mind as we
always outdistanced them. We also saw others catching crabs in places
where the high, sheer banks were honeycombed with holes made by these
crustaceans. They had slender, sharpened sticks with a barb on the
end, which they inserted in the burrows and then withdrew with the
struggling victims impaled on them.

We reached the mouth of the San Juan in two days’ time. The river
is very wide at this point and dotted with low mangrove islands.
A sand-bar almost completely blocks the estuary, and when we left
the next morning we had great difficulty in finding a passage. Then
followed a wild, careening dash of forty miles in the open ocean. The
launch was but twenty-one feet long, and we were compelled to go out of
sight of land to avoid rocks and reefs; but dusk found us well within
the confines of Buenaventura Bay, ploughing through the placid water
at great speed and frightening up innumerable flocks of brown pelicans
that much preferred to float comfortably on the unruffled surface, and
took wing only as a last resort to escape being run down.

Buenaventura had never seemed attractive or inviting to us before, but
after a month in the steaming coastal land, with its almost constant
downpour, insect pests, and terrific heat, it appeared to be altogether
delightful. We returned to Cali and spent weeks on our backs suffering
from the fevers with which we had become inoculated. Allen’s attack was
so severe that he was compelled to return to the United States two days
after reaching San Agustin on our next expedition, and just before the
discovery of some of our most valuable material.

CHAPTER VI

IN QUEST OF THE COCK-OF-THE-ROCK

On my fourth visit to Popayán we had to remain in the city the greater
part of a week, arranging for the continuation of our journey across
the Central Andes to the headwaters of the Magdalena. Hereafter we
were to travel on foot, partly due to the fact that some of the trails
were impassable, both to riding and pack animals, and partly to enable
us to be in a position better to study the wild life of the region we
traversed. I was accompanied on this particular expedition by Doctor
Allen and Mr. J. T. Lloyd, of Cornell University.

On February 27 we left Popayán on foot, the mule-train following some
little distance behind. The route lay through undulating country,
rather well cultivated, where there were numerous huts at which we
found shelter for the nights. At one of these stopping-places the
natives were engaged in thrashing beans. The pods had been heaped upon
a straw mat and the family were beating them with heavy flails. Wheat
was thrashed in the same manner, but after the grains had been beaten
loose from the chaff large pans full were held high above the head and
poured out in a thin, steady stream; the wind blew the chaff from the
falling column and the wheat dropped upon the mat. At another hut men
were manufacturing “cabulla” by stripping off, between two sticks,
the fleshy part of the leaves of the yucca-plant. The tough fibres
remaining were mixed with horsehair and braided into strong ropes. Food
was scarce, the natives subsisting upon the inevitable “sancocho” of
boiled green plantains, and cornmeal “jarepas.” However, we managed
occasionally to pick up a fowl, some green corn, and once, we succeeded
in purchasing a live sheep; this, in addition to the provisions we
carried, enabled us to fare passably well.

On March 7 we had reached the top of a ridge ten thousand three hundred
and fifty feet high, having passed the little villages Timbio, San
Miguel, Santa Barbara, and La Vega. La Vega means “fertile plain,” and
the surrounding country fully justifies the name. Far as the eye could
see the gently sloping mountainsides had been divided into a network
of small, irregular plots by rows of high, thick hedges. Wheat, corn,
cabbage, and rice flourished under the cultivating hand of the Indian;
there were also small flocks of sheep, and occasionally a few head
of cattle. Small mud-walled huts, singly and in clusters, dotted the
maze of green landscape, and over all breathed an air of quiet and
contentment.

The trail had gradually led upward, though often descending into
gorges and ravines a thousand feet deep. We had passed through patches
of barren country, and then entered a wilderness of lovely flowering
rhododendrons. The masses of red wild oleanders were beautiful, but the
lanes of a species of shrub covered with small waxen blossoms of purest
white, mingled with deep-green foliage and the fronds of monstrous
subtropical ferns, surpassed any picture that pen can describe or the
imagination conjure. From afar we could hear the steady buzz of bees
and other insects that swarmed about the flowers, and frequently a
humming-bird whirred into the arena, hovered a few moments, and then
sped away; myriads of nocturnal insects appeared at night, and great
sphinx-moths took the place of the hummers.

The top of the ridge is covered with tall, magnificent forest. We saw
numerous signs of bird and animal life. Toucans of several species
yelped and clattered their bills in the tall trees above. There were
also yellow-shouldered troupials, blue and yellow cotingas, brown
creepers, bright-colored hummers, and many dragon-flies. The latter
possessed a special interest for Lloyd, who immediately erected
breeding-cages and began to study their life history. The larva of the
dragon-fly resembles a good-size black beetle and lives in water. It is
the possessor of a voracious appetite, feeding upon aquatic insects,
the larvæ of mosquitoes, and even upon members of its own kind. Finally
it rises to the top, hatches, and continues the cycle of its existence
as an aerialist, the terror of the winged insects upon which it preys.
Penelopes, small turkey-like birds, were abundant, and proved to be
excellent eating. One day we succeeded in taking two specimens of a
rare, beautiful tanager (_Serricossypha albocristata_) that lived in
small flocks in the tall tree-tops. It was as large as a robin, of
a velvety blue-black color, with a white crown and breast of deep
scarlet. With such a display of lovely colors one might expect harmony
in song; but apparently the vocal ability of the gorgeous creature was
limited to a few shrill “peeps” like those of a strayed pullet. Deer
also were abundant, and one day we caught a fine cat of the ocelot
family.

We pitched camp in the heart of the forest. The vegetation was really
wonderful. In spots the lower growth consisted entirely of climbing
bamboo, so dense as to be impenetrable; the moss carpeting the ground
was often knee-deep, and the trees seemed to be breaking under the
weight of the creepers, orchids, mosses, and lilies that burdened every
trunk and branch. It rained a good deal, and when the downpour stopped
there was always the drip, drip of water that had been absorbed by the
spongy masses overhead.

[Illustration: Threshing wheat.]

[Illustration: Indian hut in the Valle de las Papas.]

The forest zone extends along the top of the ridge for three or four
miles and down about one thousand five hundred feet on the other side,
but the slope immediately below this line is either bush-covered or
cultivated, and bears every evidence of having been cleared. Fifteen
hundred feet lower down we came upon the little settlement Almaguer,
which boasts about one hundred adobe houses and two severely plain
little churches, but all are whitewashed and present a clean
appearance. The main industry is the making of Panama hats of a rather
coarse kind. Many Indians visit the town on market-days, bringing coca
leaves, lime, and _sera_, a kind of vegetable wax, obtained from a
berry that grows in the mountains and used for making candles. Pigeons
are very fond of the berry, and as they ripen the great band-tailed
species congregate in flocks to feed upon them, becoming so fat that
they finally pay with their lives for the short season of feasting.
The candles made of _sera_ are green, but burn well and are generally
better than the ordinary tallow dip. The lime, or “mambe,” is used for
chewing with the coca leaves, which is a confirmed habit in this part
of the country.

As elsewhere, the weekly market at Almaguer is a day of great activity
and is looked upon almost in the light of a fiesta. Early in the
morning, usually at four o’clock, a cow is killed in the plaza and all
the inhabitants gather around to watch the skinning of the carcass.

At eight o’clock the plaza is filled with tradespeople, usually
women, squatting on the ground with their wares spread before them
in wooden trays, bags, or baskets. All that these simple people deem
necessary to existence, and even some luxuries, may be had. There are
rows of venders of bread, cakes, and dulces; others with vegetables,
rice, coffee, corn, and cheese; occasionally peaches, apples of an
inferior quality, oranges, and a few plantains are brought up from some
sheltered valley; but the greatest space is always taken up by the coca
merchants, who unquestionably do the most thriving business, as every
one takes advantage of market-day to have their “mambero” replenished.
Sometimes a buyer of hats visits the market. On such occasions the day
is ushered in with an unearthly hammering noise that proceeds from all
the houses, and investigation will disclose the women industriously
pounding the Panamas into shape on a wooden block. Later they carry
them to market on their heads, where the buyer, after a casual
examination, makes an offer which varies from forty cents to a few
dollars, according to the texture of the hat.

At night the temperature falls rapidly as the cold winds sweep down
from the mountains and howl through the streets. We have every reason
to remember our night’s experience in Almaguer. The pack-animals had
failed to catch up and we carried nothing with us, so we spent the
long, cheerless hours until sunrise shivering in our bare, dusty room
in the _posada_.

The first night from Almaguer was passed at an old mill on the banks
of the Caquiona, built by monks many years ago. They had thoughtfully
provided a large room to house the Indians who formerly came to have
their wheat and corn ground, even to the extent of providing rough
bunks; and just outside stood a massive stocks, doubtless also provided
for the use of the Indians, but it must have detracted somewhat from
the effect of the hospitality extended by the good monks. There
was plenty of tender, luscious grass for the mules. Near the river
large numbers of butterflies settled on the moist sand to drink; the
boulders on the bottom of the clear, cold stream had many houses of the
caddis-fly cemented to them--little pebbly mummy-cases in which the
owner lay snugly ensconced in the silky lining and quickly repaired the
break if we opened them. The next day we passed San Sebastian, the last
settlement, and climbed steadily higher toward the cold, bleak paramo
that marks the dividing-line between the Cauca and the Magdalena.

After four days we reached the marvellous Valle de las Papas, just
below the mist-enshrouded paramo, and took refuge in the pretentious
house of old Pedro, a full-blooded Andaquia, while preparing for our
final dash across the great barrier.

The Valle de las Papas is a great level stretch of marshy land covered
with a growth of tall grass and small clumps of forest, between ten
thousand and eleven thousand feet up. The tops of the ridges hem it in
on all sides and somewhat protect it from the icy winds. It is said
that the ancient Indians cultivated the potato in this valley; hence
its name--“The Valley of Potatoes.” An elaborate network of canals or
drains runs through the valley, but the climate and soil are such that
I doubt if cultivation could be carried on to any great extent. Often,
for many days at a time, rain and hail fall steadily and the mist is
so thick that one cannot venture far on the treacherous boggy soil.
Yet, strange to say, cattle thrive wonderfully on the high plateau, and
their rearing is the occupation followed by the few Indian families
who live on these heights. Beautiful orchids abound in the trees,
especially in the forest that reaches up to the valley; we saw many of
yellow, purple, and snowy-white. Some of the trees are of the evergreen
family, including a kind of holly. There were many indications of
deer and tapirs, although we shot none. Large snipe and ant-thrushes
were plentiful, and on the streams we saw a number of peculiar little
torrent-ducks, or merganettas; large white gulls, which the Indians say
are old birds that come up from the sea to die, soared high overhead.

At one end of the valley lies a small lake, of which we had an
occasional short view when the clouds drifted up the slopes. All about
grew clumps of frailejones. Two streams leave the grassy borders of the
lake, mere rivulets ten or twelve feet wide, through which we waded
daily; one flows down the extreme eastern slope and develops into the
mighty Caquetá that helps to swell the yellow flood of the Amazon; the
other breaks through the ridges to the northeast, and dashing down the
mountains in a series of rapids and cascades forms the Magdalena, which
empties into the Caribbean many hundreds of miles away.

Allen was suffering considerably from the fever contracted in the
Chocó four months before. Instead of being benefited by the high, cold
climate as we had hoped, his condition grew steadily worse, so we found
it necessary to continue our journey sooner than we had anticipated.
I hastened back to San Sebastian to engage Indian porters, as mules
are unable to carry packs beyond this point, and was assisted in
my mission by the schoolmaster, who took a sympathetic interest in
our undertaking. He was a pathetic example of a man who might have
accomplished great deeds had the opportunity presented itself. One of
his most highly cherished possessions was an old magazine containing
illustrations of an aeroplane and an article on wireless telegraphy.

With a great deal of difficulty I succeeded in arranging with a dozen
Indians to carry our luggage across the cordillera the following week.
They were of splendid physique and as fine a looking lot as I had ever
seen. The price agreed upon was about seventy-five cents per _arroba_
of twenty-five pounds, each man carrying from two to four _arrobas_.
The journey would require five days, and each man was to carry his
own food for the trip in addition to the pack. The charge was high,
judged by local standards, but on account of the rainy season the
trail was all but impassable; also, it was the _Semana Santa_, one
of the greatest fiestas of the year, when all good Indians should
roam the streets, dulling their senses with an excessive use of coca
leaves and _guarapo_, and fighting, while the women spent the greater
part of the days in church acquiring grace for themselves and their
delinquent husbands. A small advance was made to each man to enable him
to purchase a supply of ground corn, cane-sugar, and coca. Acceptance
of this advance is considered equal to signing a contract, and they
rarely, if ever, go back on the deal.

On Wednesday, April 3, the day set for our departure, the men appeared,
each provided with a board and strong cords. The packs, consisting of
boxes, steamer trunks, and bags, were tied to the boards which fitted
the men’s backs; a broad band was passed over the forehead and two
bands across the chest. Each man carried in his hand a forked stick,
or “mula,” as a means of aiding him in going up and down the slippery
inclines and in walking the logs that crossed the streams.

After a short, steep climb we were out on the bleak paramo, in the
midst of the rain, hail, and mist. The wind blew a gale and the
cold was intense. Through an occasional break in the banks of fog
we had glimpses of the valley on each side filled with dense clumps
of frailejones. We continued on in the face of the blinding storm
for several hours, but with the coming of darkness the trail left
the wind-swept zone and started downward, winding along the canyon
of the Magdalena; in the failing light the scenery was bewitchingly
beautiful. High, rugged peaks, sheer cliffs, and black masses of
forest towered above the sparkling stream that bounded from rock to
rock in a succession of falls. Allen and Lloyd had gone on ahead, and
after dark I came upon them camped in a unique spot. They had thrown
their blankets on a ledge in the face of a cliff that towered several
hundred feet above them. A tiny waterfall dashed over the edge of the
precipice, cleared the ledge, and joined the greater torrent below.
The regular night’s stopping-place is known as Santa Marta, which the
Indians reached at nine that night.

Immediately after arriving at the camping site the porters boiled
corn-meal, which they ate with brown sugar. Each man had brought a
sheepskin to use as a bed, and these were dried beside the fire while
their food was cooking. Before starting in the morning they had another
meal of mush and sugar. During the gruelling day their mouths were kept
well filled with coca and lime, and the apparent amount of sustenance
and endurance derived from the herb is extraordinary; nor does it seem
to have any bad aftereffect, though in Almaguer I saw a number of shaky
old women with bloodshot eyes and blackened lips and teeth, said to be
due to the result of excessive indulgence in coca.

The second night we failed to catch up with the men who had gone on
ahead. We had waded streams and knee-deep mud the greater part of the
day as the result of the steady downpour which rendered the trail
indescribably bad; everything was drenched and it required more than
an hour of hard work to start a small fire. However, the day dawned
bright and sunny, and we lingered to watch the tribes of feathered folk
that began feeding and chattering in the tree-tops. The ripening fruits
had attracted great black guans, trogons with rose-colored breasts and
metallic green backs, and wonderful curve-billed hummers with long
white tails. Along a stretch of bamboo we saw scores of large, pearly
butterflies flapping about lazily, the iridescence of their wings
flashing like bits of rainbow in the sunlight; but not a glimpse did we
have of the main object of our long wanderings--the rare and elusive
cock-of-the-rock.

In the afternoon the rain again fell in unrelenting torrents, and we
camped beneath a wall of rock hundreds of feet high, which the Indians
called the Peña Seca, or dry stone. Great vines with bunches of scarlet
flowers drooped a hundred feet below the top, like gigantic serpents,
but not a drop of all the downpour reached us. The base of the cliff
was blackened from the numerous camp-fires kindled by Indians on their
way to Tolima in quest of salt. By way of divertisement our Indians
gathered incense, which is a kind of gum that collects on certain
trees, and which they intended to take home with them for use in the
_santa iglesia_. I watched the social bees that live in company with
termites building tubular entrances that may extend out eighteen
inches or more like a coiled pipe-stem to their apartment in the nest;
apparently the two different inmates of the common domicile never clash.

The third night we reached the hut of an old Indian who called himself
Domingo, and who was as surly a creature as ever walked the earth. As
he refused us the hospitality of his hut, we camped outside his gate.

We now occasionally passed through a cleared spot where grain and
vegetables grew; cattle grazed on the long, tender grass, and
dark-brown, wild-eyed children peered at us from under the fringed,
low grass roofs of shambling Indian huts. On the top of every knoll
was a row of tall wooden crosses, some newly erected, others decaying
and ready to topple over; it is the custom of the natives to erect a
new one each year on Good Friday, permitting the old ones to remain
standing. We had reached the frontier of Huila.

On Easter Sunday we had our first glimpse of San Agustin, which was
decidedly disappointing. All that we could see as we descended the last
steep slope was a cluster of some fifty-odd mud huts protruding from
the centre of a wide, barren plain; there is no forest within a mile
in any direction, and very little cultivation is carried on in the
immediate vicinity. The town is very old; the inhabitants are mainly
of Spanish descent, but scattered throughout the surrounding country
can be found small clearings, or _fincas_, cultivated by full-blooded
Indians. These latter are of a reticent though friendly disposition,
emerging from the seclusion of their forest-bound homes only on
market-days to dispose of the products of the soil and of their flocks.

In recent years the name San Agustin has come into prominence on
account of the prehistoric ruins and monoliths that are found in its
vicinity, and which are supposed to be of very great antiquity, dating
back to a culture that has entirely disappeared and of which nothing
definite is known. Even the Indians who to-day inhabit the region have
no traditions or folk-lore of the vanished race, and scientists who
have examined the ruins have, up to the present time, been unable to
account for their origin. It has been suggested that they may represent
the work of the tribe of Andaquias, but this statement is disputed by
Carlos Cuervo Marquez, who points out that the mute reminders of an
ancient civilization already existed in the same unknown condition at
the time the Conquistadores overran the empire of the Chibchas.

The thing that first attracted our attention was the row of twelve
stone images that stand in the centre of the plaza facing the village
chapel, which vary in height from two to eight feet and are carved from
sandstone and granite. Gigantic heads, with round faces and staring,
expressionless eyes, are set upon short, square bodies. Some are
crowned with hats or head-coverings that range in pattern from the
Turkish fez and sugar-loaf to curious curved caps that may have been
intended to simulate the rainbow. Many of the figures are quite naked,
while others are clothed in a narrow band, or loin-cloth. The teeth
of many of the human beings represented are prominent, and each has
two pair of great pointed canines like those of a beast. This row of
images was placed in its present location by order of the priest who
had charge of the parish; we may imagine at what cost of labor when we
realize that many of the stones weigh several tons. Of course, there
are no trails, and the only way was to drag them out of the forest with
ropes.

One of the monoliths represents a woman with a small child in one arm
and a club in the other hand raised in an attitude of defense; on one
is carved a woman meshing a _muchila_, and on another a man is holding
a fish. There is the hewn figure of a large monkey crouching over a
smaller one, and some distance away stands an owl holding a snake in
its beak. A flat slab in a recumbent position bears the engraved figure
of a woman and possibly served as the covering of a coffin or a grave.
Then there is the statue of a woman with a mallet in one hand and a
chisel in the other, thought to represent the goddess of sculpture. It
seems not improbable that the greater number of the images represent
idols which were worshipped by the ancient people.

[Illustration: The village of Santa Barbara.]

[Illustration: A corner of San Augustin.]

The most interesting examples are to be found in the forest above San
Agustin. Under the giant cedars and tall cecropias that cover the
slopes one finds works of a more pretentious nature, scattered among
the dense low palm growths and covered with creepers and epiphytes.
There a huge stone tablet may be seen, supported on four richly
carved stone columns six feet high, which probably served as an altar
for the offer of sacrifice; or it may have been the entrance to a
temple. Near-by is an underground gallery leading to two large caves
in which are carvings of the sun and moon with rays darting in all
directions. There are many other statues within a radius of several
miles, and doubtless a systematic search of the region would reveal
rich archæological treasure-troves. Numerous mounds and caverns furnish
abundant evidence of the existence of ruined temples and the remnants
of works of art that have yielded to decadence with the passing of
the centuries. Most of the known statues have been undermined by
fortune-hunters and have toppled over; others have been broken by the
excavators in their mad search for the small gold replicas or ornaments
that are found in the graves, while several have been demolished by
order of the clergy. The only thing that prevents the removal of the
stones themselves is their great weight and lack of transportation
facilities.

The ruins about San Agustin possess none of the ornate massiveness of
those found in Guatemala and Yucatan, but rather has the work been
executed along severe lines and in bas-relief; nor are they nearly so
well preserved, which might tend to show that they date back to an
earlier period. Hieroglyphics are almost wholly wanting. Doctor Karl
Theodor Stoepel, who spent some time in San Agustin previous to our
visit, has traced a similarity between one of the monoliths and an
example found in Pachacama, Bolivia. In one or two instances the work
resembles that of the Aztecs.

Just how to account for the advance of civilization to a point
where art and architecture were encouraged, and which supported a
well-organized form of government, and then to explain its complete
extinction, is a question on which students of the subject are
at variance. Religion in some form or other has always wielded a
powerful influence upon the life and customs of primitive nations; one
evidence--almost invariably the deities and the temples erected for
their veneration represent the supreme efforts of the ancient artists
and alone have withstood the weathering of ages. This points strongly
to the supremacy of a sacerdotal order; but whether the reigning
classes who withheld their knowledge from the common people for selfish
purposes were annihilated by an uprising of the servile hordes or
by an outside invasion, or whether some great cataclysm of nature
extinguished the progress of ages at a stroke, may forever remain a
secret.

The bird life around San Agustin was varied and abundant. Trees were in
blossom, especially one with a feathery, pinkish flower (_Mimosa_), and
to this scores of hummers came. One species had a slightly curved bill
and was green in color, with a patch of deepest purple on the throat;
another of a blue color had tail-feathers six inches long. In the
ravines there were many chachalacas that kept up a demoniacal cackling.
The bushes were full of finches and lovely velvety red tanagers,
while honey-creepers came to our table daily and gorged themselves on
sugar. In the forest we saw many large, woolly monkeys, some bluish,
others silvery gray. There were kinkajous, agoutis, and peccaries.
The two-toed sloth was abundant; the flesh of all these animals was
greedily eaten by the natives. Numbers of large lizards or iguanas
prowled about the town and feasted on the tiny chickens and ducklings.
A flight of locusts covered the entire upper Magdalena, and for days
the air was black with the pest; millions would rise from the ground in
a steady cloud in front of us as we walked along through the fields. In
a few days not a speck of green remained. The hungry, insatiable hordes
moved on, but behind them remained a wide, brown desert, filled with
sorrow and desolation, for the crops of corn, yuccas, and bananas had
been destroyed and there would be famine for many months to come.

[Illustration: A mountain stream, such as the Rio Naranjos, where the
cock-of-the-rock spends its existence.]

We scouted the forests daily, confining our search to the untrodden
ravines of the Rio Naranjos, a turbulent, wicked stream that joins the
Magdalena a short distance below. Great precipices flank its sides and
the water rushes through dark, narrow gorges. Everywhere the river-bed
is dotted with great boulders against which the water dashes with
a force that sends clouds of spray into the air. The slopes of the
mountains and ravines are covered with a dense palm jungle, the trees
laden with bunches of purple berries. It is in places such as these
that the cock-of-the-rock spends its existence. After several weeks of
the most strenuous work our efforts were rewarded: we came suddenly
upon a flock of male birds in the top of a palm, the bright scarlet
color of the wonderful creatures flaming among the deep-green fronds
in a dazzling manner as they flitted about, and with outstretched
necks and raucous “_eur-rr-ks_” surveyed the disturbers of their
time-honored solitude. We were the first human beings to penetrate
their jungle fastness and excited curiosity rather than fear. The mere
sight of these beautiful birds in their wild surroundings was worth
all the discomforts of the long journey. In size they are no larger
than domestic pigeons, but the color is of a most intense and brilliant
scarlet, with wings and tail of black; the upper wing-coverts are of a
light shade of gray, and the eyes and feet are golden yellow; a flat
crest an inch and a half high completely covers the head and hides the
yellow bill. The female is of a dull shade of brown.

We wanted to find their nests and to study their home life, of which
little was known; also to secure material for the museum group. With
the aid of Indians, and ropes made of creepers, we began to explore the
face of the cliffs, some of which were a hundred feet high. On many
of the steep slopes the palms grew so close together that we utilized
them as ladders. As it rained nearly every day the footholds were very
slippery, and many times one or another of the party fell, being saved
from being dashed on the rocks far below only by the rope that bound us
together.

One day, as we crept along slowly and painfully, we flushed a bird of
sombre brown from a great boulder that rose from the centre of the
stream. We waited breathlessly while she fluttered about in the palms
and then returned to the rock. She flew many times back and forth,
carrying food in her bill, and at last I discerned a dark object
against the face of the rock upon which the bird centred her attention.
There was no longer cause for concealment, so we moved to the edge of
the torrent and saw the grass and mud nest plastered against the face
of the rock; below raged a whirlpool, and on each side there was a
waterfall. A more inaccessible spot could not have been chosen by the
bird, whose haunts had never been violated.

After a consultation the Indians decided to build a raft, and
accordingly cut down trees and lashed the trunks together, but no
sooner had the craft been launched than it was caught by the raging
swirl and spun about until the creepers parted and we found ourselves
struggling in the whirlpool. A great liana which had been securely tied
to the raft and fastened on the bank swept past, and this proved to be
our salvation.

A tall tree was now felled, and its course so directed that the top
should fall across the inaccessible rock island, but it fell several
yards short and again we were outwitted.

The sun was now directly overhead, and the fierce rays entered the
narrow confines of the canyon so that it was stiflingly hot. Angry
peals of thunder warned us of the approaching storm, and red howling
monkeys, disturbed from their midday rest, roared dismally. Above, the
river flowed like a greenish stream of molten glass; below, it dashed
through the gorge with a dull roar, and to the towering boulder in
the centre clung a treasure, to possess which men had risked their
lives; but on the very verge of success we seemed likely to fail. Even
the Indians, pioneers of the jungle, shook their heads doubtfully and
wanted to return.

We tried the only remaining resource. With poles and lines two of the
Indians and myself picked our way to a number of small rocks that
jutted out of the angry flood at the very mouth of the gorge. The other
Indian spliced together joints of slender bamboo and climbed out into
the branch of the fallen tree which had lodged against some rocks. From
this precarious position he made repeated thrusts at the nest; finally
it fell and began its maddening career in the whirlpool. Around it
went, many times, and then shot straight for the gorge, swerving toward
the rock on which Juan stood. As we shouted encouragement Juan dived.
In spite of the fact that he was a powerful swimmer we doubted if we
should ever see him again, but after what seemed minutes he reappeared,
battling furiously with the flood that sought to sweep him into the
maelstrom. We threw him a line and dragged him ashore. In his mouth he
held the precious nest, a young bird, drowned, still clinging to the
grass lining.

Later, and under circumstances hardly less thrilling, we found other
birds and nests with both eggs and young, but we took only those that
were absolutely necessary. The others, and there were many, we left to
the eternal mystery of the wilderness, to dance in the shadows and to
woo their mates beside the rushing waters; to rear their young and to
lead the life that was intended for them from the beginning.

CHAPTER VII

CROSSING THE EASTERN ANDES INTO THE CAQUETÁ

Of the many little-known places in South America, the least known
lie eastward of the eastern base of the Andes. One such region is
the Caquetá of Colombia. We had been considering the feasibility of
undertaking a trip into this country, but the departure for home of my
companion, Doctor Allen, and Mr. Lloyd, from San Agustin, left me alone
in the field, and I doubted the advisability of taking the journey
without their assistance. From all the information I could gather,
the crossing of the Eastern Range presented great difficulties and
would have to be accomplished on foot. The rainy season had set in,
adding to the difficulties of travel. Also, the rivers were swollen
to such an extent that there was danger of our being stopped at any
one of them; or, far worse, of being unable to recross them upon our
return. However, a nearer view invariably changes the perspective, so I
determined to approach the region as near as possible, gather all the
data available, and then follow the course that seemed best.

Accordingly, we bade a reluctant farewell to San Agustin one Sunday
morning. The entire village turned out to see us depart and gave
us numerous tokens of their good-will and friendship in the form
of embroidered handkerchiefs, panama hats, food, and pets. An old
Indian solemnly presented me with a small monkey, which he said could
cry if spanked thoroughly; he offered to give a demonstration of
the creature’s accomplishment, but I assured him that his word was
sufficient. A parrot was contributed by another person who said it
would be good company, as it “conversed” well. The _Vaya con Dios!_ of
these simple, honest folk was touching, and we took away with us only
the most pleasant memories and friendliest feeling.

After a three days’ ride through level plains and gently rolling
grasslands we forded the Rio Suaza and drew rein in the town of
Guadaloupe. It stands at the foot of the Cordillera Oriental. A trail
was being constructed from this point across the mountains and into
Amazonian drainage; however, work had little more than begun, and
the reports of the route we had from the villagers were not very
encouraging.

There was nothing of particular interest about the village. We moved
to a site known as La Danta three thousand five hundred feet up the
slope. There was abundant woods all around in which we hunted with good
results nearly three weeks.

One day a party of Indians made camp on the bank of a creek not
far from La Danta, and immediately built a rock and mud dam across
the little waterway. Then they crushed a great many leaves of the
yucca-plant and threw them into the stream. The milky juice quickly
mingled with the water, and soon scores of catfish came to the top,
stupefied by the poison, and floating on their backs. They were
gathered by the basketful and taken away by the Indians. These catfish,
living in rapid mountain streams, are provided with a sucking disk
which enables them to attach themselves to a rock to rest; otherwise
they would be washed down stream, as they are not very powerful
swimmers.

The cost of being married is so high in some South American countries
that in many cases the ceremony is dispensed with. Occasionally,
however, bands of missionaries visit a region and attempt to undo the
wrong inflicted by the local _padres_ by uniting in marriage free of
charge all those who appear before them for that purpose. The _padres_
are not always to blame; frequently the inhabitants are simply too
indifferent or lazy to go through the formalities, or there may be no
one in their midst to look after their spiritual wants.

While we were at La Danta a half-dozen priests came to Guadaloupe
and urged the _paisanos_ to take advantage of this opportunity to
become united in wedlock according to the ritual of the church. The
people listened to the exhortations, promised to heed the admonitions,
and--failed to show up at the proper time. Then the _padres_ lost
patience and talked the matter over with the _jefe_. The latter sent
out soldiers to scour the country and bring in all the offenders living
together within a radius of many miles; the pairs were frequently
brought in handcuffed together, all objections and excuses being
promptly overruled or ignored by the officiating clergy. Then they were
lined up and married.

Several weeks later I was the guest of a very high government official
in another state. In the course of dinner conversation the _señora_
asked me in the most casual way: “Tell me! In your country, do
people get married, or _así, no más_ like here?” The last phrase was
accompanied by a dainty snap of the fingers. I am afraid I said: “_Así,
no más!_”

From _peons_ working on the new road we learned that their operations
had extended to a point near the top of the range, and that a _tambo_,
or rest-shack, had been built there to shelter the laborers. We
immediately started for the place and by dint of hard travel reached
it in one day’s time. The shack bore the name Andalucia and was seven
thousand nine hundred feet up. The _peons_ gladly shared their quarters
with us, and we divided our rations with them, which must have been a
welcome change from their everlasting boiled corn and _panela_.

The weather at Andalucia was most severe; fog, strong wind, almost
continuous rain, and a freezing temperature reminded us of conditions
on a paramo at the worst season of the year. Also, the forest was
dense, and the vast number of fallen trunks and branches rendered the
greater part of it impenetrable. Birds were scarce and hard to find,
but small mammals were plentiful.

The foreman of the work gang had cleared a few acres of land and sowed
wheat, but the chances of harvesting a crop were very small, because
it seemed as if all the rats and mice for miles around had located the
spot and promptly migrated there to unearth the seed and cut down the
tender shoots.

Water for drinking and cooking was secured from a deep pit dug in the
slope. One of our first cares always is to investigate the water-supply
of the region in which we are working; an inspection of the excavation
near the _tambo_ revealed a most astounding state of affairs; three
earthworms, as large as good-sized snakes, make the reservoir their
home. They resembled the well-known “shiners” that appear on our lawns
after a shower; but the size! The largest, by actual measurement, was
thirty-seven inches long and four inches in circumference. When I
asked the cook for an explanation as to why he did not remove them and
keep the water clean, he promptly informed me that they were _cojures_
(cohoories) that he had dug up in the woods and placed there for
safe-keeping until he had time to use them on a fishing trip in the low
country. Needless to say, perhaps, his pets promptly disappeared; he
always insinuated that they had met with foul play at my hands!

One day a person of distinguished appearance rode up the road and
introduced himself as General Rafael Santos, of Bogotá. He had heard
that we were in the locality and wanted to get into the Caquetá. Could
he be of any service to us? As he was in control of the work being
done on the new trail, he certainly was in a position to be of great
help. He told us of conditions on the eastern slope and also of the
country we were so eager to see; before leaving, one of his _peons_
was despatched down the trail to inform his scouting-parties that we
would follow within a short time, and for them to have camping-places
prepared for us.

We lost no time in starting on the trip. I had with me several natives
who had been with the expedition some months, and their number was
augmented by men from Guadaloupe who were eager to have a hand in the
undertaking. Every one walked, the _peons_ carrying the packs; but
mules were driven ahead to test the trail, and also for use after we
reached the level low country.

The heavy subtropical forest that begins at La Danta continues on to
the top of the range, and down the other side in an unbroken mass of
solid, living green. There were practically no signs of life, but the
wind blew less violently and the cold was less intense and not so
penetrating as at Andalucia.

The slope is less abrupt than on the western side. On the second night
a palm-leaf lean-to called _El Paraiso_ was reached. The elevation was
two thousand four hundred and twenty-five feet. A number of bedraggled
and discontented laborers had erected this shelter and said they would
stay there without doing another stroke of work until their pay,
several months overdue, should arrive. Perhaps they are still camping
there, unless the prospect of starving to death forced them to move,
as we had heard several times that the foremen were in the habit of
drawing the money for all the men under them, and then decamping for
parts unknown.

Beyond “the paradise” the way lay through a region that might well be
called _El Infierno_. There was an unbroken succession of pools and
sinks so that we struggled onward hour after hour through water and
thin mud several feet deep. Contrary to our expectations, we had been
able to use the mules for very light packs on parts of the previous
day’s journey; but now they floundered and caused so much trouble, that
we heartily regretted not having left them behind.

On the following days the country was dotted with steep, rocky
foot-hills, alternated with deep, muddy depressions. Rain fell almost
continuously, but it served to keep away troublesome insects. The
_peons_ were cheerful withal and seemed to enjoy the experience in
spite of the hard work. However, it was with a feeling of relief that
we emerged from the mountainous country and entered a stretch of level
forest, the elevation of which was one thousand feet. From the edge of
this “plateau” we had our first view of the Caquetá--a perfect ocean of
forest stretching out ahead as far as the eye can see, which on clear
days is a distance of many miles. The sight is most impressive. Not a
single rise is visible above the uniform expanse of green, as the trees
appear to be all of the same height.

We stopped at the first native hut encountered, which was but a
ten-minute walk from the settlement of Florencia. There was a clearing
of considerable size; the greater part of it was overgrown with grass
and weeds, but there were also fields of cane and plantains. The latter
were the finest I have ever found in all South America--eighteen inches
long and sweeter and better flavored than the best bananas. It was
almost impossible to grow sugar-cane in any quantity; capibaras were
abundant along the streams and made nightly inroads on the plantation,
devastating large areas on each visit.

The great Amazonian forest extending on all sides was full of
surprising sounds emanating from a fauna entirely new to us. For the
first time we heard the clear, ringing whistle of the “false bell-bird”
(_Lathria cinerea_). The penetrating _whoo-ee-whee-oo_ filled the
woods with music as the birds called to one another, but the obscurely
colored singers were hard to see among the dark branches. The song
contains several low, _churring_ notes that are lost from a distance.

The abundance and variety of wild life was so great as to almost
bewilder us and we worked day and night preparing the wealth of
material that came into our hands. Working conditions were most
unfavorable; it rained daily; sand-flies took away a great deal of
the pleasure that each day brought in the form of new and interesting
creatures, while mosquitoes and fleas insisted on gaining an entrance
under the nets and making the nights disagreeable. Every member of the
expedition suffered from malaria during our entire stay in the Caquetá
region. Notwithstanding these handicaps, we lost not a single day, and
the collections rapidly grew to record-breaking size.

It was, of course, necessary to depend to a certain extent upon native
hunters. They were always carefully instructed as to the area they
should visit and how to work it; from the results they obtained I
could usually tell whether directions had been followed. One of these
_cazadores_ was a lazy, thoroughly good-natured half-breed named
_Abrán_. He came in daily with a tale of woe, recounting in detail
the great distance he had covered, the hardships of such a long tramp
through the jungle, and--bringing few specimens. I pretended to believe
his stories, knowing full well all the while that he had really
selected a comfortable spot a mile or so away and then settled down
on a log for a quiet day of smoking and day-dreaming. When any animal
came within sight he shot it. In this manner he secured many of the
shy, ground-haunting species, such as rails, tinamou, and ant-birds
that one seldom sees while moving about through the forest. This was
exactly what I wanted. It is all but impossible to find a native
hunter with patience enough to sit and wait for these things, so while
_Abrán_ thought he was playing an easy game, he was in reality the
most valuable _peon_ in the outfit. His brother _Moisés_ was of the
opposite temperament; he walked many miles each day and considered it
beneath his dignity to shoot anything but large, brilliantly colored
birds, such as parrots, macaws, cotingas, and tanagers, or monkeys--in
short, game worthy of a man’s efforts. The two brothers made an ideal
combination.

[Illustration: Tree-fern, typical of the Andean forests.]

_Moisés_ had spoken frequently about a marvellous bird called _tente_
which he said was found in the region, and of which he was determined
to secure one as a pet for the _patrón_. One day he brought in a
queer, frightened little creature--all legs and neck--that he proudly
introduced as the _tente_. It was a young trumpeter (_Psophia_). After
being tied up a few days it grew very tame and was given full
liberty about the place. It walked slowly and in dignified fashion,
catching flies and pecking at insects on the ground or walls; but if a
dog should chance to pass near by it darted at it with outspread wings,
making a loud, rumbling sound deep down in its breast; the dog always
fled in terror. The bird increased rapidly in size and before long
the beautiful metallic-blue throat-feathers appeared. When we emerged
from the hammocks in the early mornings it was always there to greet
us with low bows, spread wings, and deep murmurings. In travelling, a
large-meshed fibre bag served as its container; upon being turned loose
when camp was made, it first carefully dried its plumage before the
fire, then strutted around a while, and finally flew into the branches
of the nearest tree to spend the night. We kept this interesting
little pet until our departure from Colombia, and then gave it to an
acquaintance in Neiva, where it was well cared for.

A colony of cultivator-ants had taken possession of a patch of young
_cecropia_-trees near the house. They carried particles of earth to
the branches and formed them into large balls in which the seeds of a
succulent plant were sowed and cultivated. The earth was kept loose
and moistened and the bunch of tender shoots resembled a clump of
mistletoe. In this manner an abundant food-supply was assured.

Florencia was a small village of adobe and bamboo huts, built in
anticipation of the opening of Colombian Amazonia, when the new trail
across the Andes should be completed. The region is undoubtedly rich
in natural resources, and there seemed to be a possibility that the
dreams of these pioneer settlers might some day be fulfilled. However,
five years later, while aboard the S. S. _Vauban_, bound for New York,
I chanced to meet among the passengers a Colombian with whom I had
become acquainted in Florencia. He stated that the climate there had
proved so unhealthful that most of the people had died or gone away and
the settlement was all but deserted. The elevation of the site, though
thousands of miles from the Atlantic Ocean, into which its rivers
drain, is only six hundred and seventy-five feet.

During our stay in the vicinity we had occasion to witness a
celebration of the feast of San Juan. On the eve of the festival a pig
was slaughtered in each hut; those who had none went into the jungle
and shot a wild one. The dressed carcass was placed in an oblong wooden
bowl, surrounded with plantains, yuccas, and yams, and then baked four
hours in a mud oven. The roasts were delicious and every one ate until
not a morsel remained, which was far into the night. Next day the
_fiesta_ proper began with a bull-fight, local talent, shirtless and in
tattered drawers, supplying the places of the gorgeous _toreadores_,
_banderilleros_, and _matadores_. This was a fine chance for the youths
to display their courage to the weaker sex, which had gathered _en
masse_ to witness the performance, and, if one enjoys such spectacles,
he would doubtless say that the showing made was quite creditable.
The men charged the bull, flourishing their bright-colored ponchos,
and when the animal turned the tables and chased them they fled to
shelter, as is the custom of the profession. We did not remain to see
the finish, but later in the day the women were roasting chunks of beef
over open fires. The merrymaking continued for several days, and the
latter part of the period consisted in drinking _aguardiente_, with
the resultant fighting that always marks the wind-up of such affairs.
The _alcalde_ was a leading spirit in the activities of the festive
occasion; he had been a priest at one time, but was excommunicated for
preaching sermons of too liberal a nature. Then he married and was
rearing a family. He told us that he owned a ranch called La Morelia,
two days’ distant from Florencia, and offered to send us there; so
we accepted his courtesy with pleasure, as we were eager to see the
country farther in the interior.

A faintly defined footpath led to La Morelia. The forest is
comparatively open, that is, free from dense undergrowth. The trees are
tall and there are a few tree-ferns and palms; many climbing lilies
and other epiphytes grow on the trunks and branches. Moss is lacking;
near the streams bamboo, wild cane, high grass, and briars, united by
creepers, form dense jungles that are hard to penetrate. Streams and
rivers are numerous and we were at once impressed with their size and
depth. Crossings were effected in dugout canoes. While the current
is swift, the waterways are so silent that one is not aware of their
existence until reaching their very borders.

We saw little of the Huitoto Indians inhabiting this district. They
seem to remain in seclusion in their forest homes and rarely venture
into the path of the settlers. Those we encountered were of low
stature, yellow in color, and had features so nearly resembling the
Japanese that they might be easily mistaken for that race. They are of
a shy and retiring disposition. Their ornaments were very elaborate,
consisting of anklets, amulets, and necklaces of colored seeds and
jaguar and monkey teeth, skilfully wrought into pleasing combinations.

The hut at La Morelia was of large dimensions, built entirely of
bamboo, with palm-leaf roof. An unusual feature was that it contained
two stories, the lower used to store grain and plantains, the upper
serving as living quarters. A clearing about one hundred acres in
extent surrounded it; most of it was grass-covered, providing pasturage
for a few head of cattle, the remainder was under cultivation. The
several acres that had been given to growing plantains produced so
abundantly that hundreds of bunches were going to waste. If left to
mature on the plant the fruit bursts and is destroyed by insects. The
choicest clusters were cut green and then placed in a down-stairs
room of the house to ripen. At night hundreds of small bats visited
the enclosure to feed on the mountain of rapidly yellowing fruit.
We desired some of the creatures for our collections, but found it
difficult to catch or shoot them in sufficient numbers. Finally we
evolved the plan of suspending a fish-net from the ceiling and tacking
out the edges so that it formed a cone with a wide base. A choice
bunch of the ripest plantains was placed in the centre for bait. Bats
soon gathered about the trap in swarms. At first they were suspicious
and circled around the net without attempting to alight; but as their
hunger increased so their caution decreased in like proportion, and
before long they were striking the conical arrangement from all sides
and madly endeavoring to scramble through the small meshes. Some
succeeded in forcing their way through the openings and immediately
fell upon the bait with ravenous appetites; the vast majority, however,
became helplessly entangled in the meshes. Newcomers arrived in a
steady stream; they paid no attention to our presence nor to the
lights we carried, but frantically hurled themselves into the midst of
their struggling brethren, until the net was covered with screeching,
scrambling masses.

The house was within a stone’s throw of the Rio Bodoquera--a stream
two hundred yards wide. One night a jaguar attacked the cattle and
chased them on to a sand-spit that projected out into the stream. We
heard the mad bellowing of the frightened animals as they stampeded
past the shack, hotly pursued by the snarling jaguar. A few shots
sufficed to frighten the big spotted cat back into the jungle, but
the cattle refused to leave the strategic position to which they had
retreated. The river was rising rapidly, endangering the panic-stricken
creatures. Every hand turned out; we took lanterns with us and, manning
the canoes, paddled to the far side of the peninsula and attempted to
drive them back to the mainland. All our efforts were in vain. The work
was very exciting, as enraged members of the herd charged the lights
repeatedly when we approached close to them. Finally the water became
so deep that the animals had to swim, and then they made for the far
side of the river and disappeared from view. It took several days to
round them up, but a number were never seen again.

[Illustration: The high, flat-topped panorama of the Andes.]

One day a Franciscan priest stopped at the _rancho_ for a short rest.
He was engaged in opening a trail to Mocoa. About twenty _peons_
accompanied him, carrying his outfit. His robe was in tatters and his
feet were bare; he had spent months in the jungles and showed the
effects of hard usage. Each of his men carried an animal of some kind
on top of his pack. There were monkeys, parrots, macaws, and a curious
little creature belonging to the agouti family (_Myoprocta_) that
they called _tin-tin_. We had seen numbers of the latter along the
river-bank, where they lived in burrows. The flesh is white and of fine
flavor. In spite of the hardships the priest and his party had endured
they were in the best of humor, and after an hour’s halt shouldered
their packs and resumed the march. No one will dispute the fact that
men of this type have done a great deal toward exploring unknown parts
of South America; usually they are the real trail-breakers and lead the
way for the pioneer settlers who are to follow.

The bird-life of the Caquetá is typical of the Amazonian forest, and
many of the species are found on the lower river two thousand miles
away. This is caused by the uniformity of topographical conditions, and
the lack of a barrier that would interfere with the range of a species.
On all of our visits to the headwaters of the Amazon’s tributaries,
in Colombia, Bolivia, and Brazil, a large proportion of the mammals
collected were new to science and differed greatly from those found
lower down the river’s course. Such large animals as spider-monkeys
(_Ateleus_), “flying” monkeys (_Pithecia_), and cats represented forms
heretofore unknown to science; the smaller mammals also were new in
many instances. Of course, we must not lose sight of the fact that
the power of flight gives greater mobility to the birds and accounts
for the wider range of some of them, but not for the equally vast
distribution of the ground-inhabiting and almost flightless species.

After a strenuous three weeks at La Morelia we returned to our first
stopping-place near Florencia. The rainy season was at its worst, and
low clouds covered the forest day after day, while torrents of water
fell almost continuously. The journey back to Guadaloupe was far more
difficult than had been our entrance into the region, for the greater
part of it lay up-hill and mud and water had accumulated in spots until
it was waist-deep. The cold grew more intense as we neared the top of
the range. We were never warm or dry until we reached our destination.

The maximum time allowed for work in Colombia had expired. Although I
had spent over eighteen months in the republic, they had flown all too
rapidly, and I heartily regretted that it was not possible to visit the
numerous other places that invited exploration. The next best thing
was to hope for a return trip in the future--a hope that was realized
several years later in our expedition to the Antioquian Highlands.

The homeward trip was accomplished without noteworthy incident. At
first there was a ride of five days’ duration down the desert-like
valley of the Magdalena to Neiva. The river is not navigable in this
part of its course on account of rapids and shallow water. At Neiva
a _champán_, or flat-bottomed freight-boat, was secured. The crew of
twenty men rowed it down to Giradot in three days; it takes them thirty
days to pull the craft back up-stream to the starting-point.

The remainder of the journey to Puerto Colombia was merely a matter of
travel on river-steamers and train, and required two weeks’ time.

In summarizing the work of the expedition to the Caquetá, Doctor
Chapman, in “The Distribution of Bird Life in Colombia,” writes as
follows:

This “work during the rainy season in the humid Amazonian forests of
the Caquetá, where with only unskilled native assistance he secured
eight hundred and thirty birds and mammals in thirty days, is a feat
in tropical collecting.” And “this locality ... was one of the most
productive of any visited by American Museum expeditions, and many
species were secured which have not heretofore been recorded from
Colombia.”

CHAPTER VIII

ACROSS THE ANTIOQUIAN GOLD-FIELDS TO PUERTO VALDIVIA ON THE LOWER CAUCA

Puerto Berrio is not the most attractive spot in Colombia, but it is
nevertheless of a great deal of importance. All steamers plying on
the Lower Magdalena stop at that port, the up-going ones after a six
days’ voyage from Barranquilla to discharge freight for Medellin, and
those bound down-stream to take aboard gold and other products of the
Antioquian highlands.

The arrival of the steamer always causes a great deal of confusion.
Debarking passengers are required to look after their own luggage,
which is not a simple matter, as it is invariably covered with
mountains of boxes and bags on the lower deck; and after it has been
located it is necessary to secure _peons_ to convey it ashore, the
ship’s crew invariably refusing to render this service.

There is always a rush for the little hotel “Magdalena,” built on a
slight bluff overlooking the river. Accommodations are limited, and
those who arrive first naturally have the advantage of selecting the
cooler rooms in the upper story. However, the advantages gained are
partly imaginary, at best. The climate is insufferably hot in the
daytime, and mosquitoes filtering through rents in the nets protecting
the beds are most annoying at night. Nor is it possible to seek the
cooling comfort of a bath; a small, corrugated iron building in the
garden is supposed to provide for this need, but a tank containing
water for the shower is placed on the roof in the full glare of the
tropical sun, and the water becomes heated to such a degree that it is
almost scalding.

The town of Puerto Berrio is situated a few hundred yards below the
landing. It contains about a hundred low buildings, many of which are
utilized for shops where merchandise and, more important at least to
transients, a great variety of fruit may be had. All the buildings are
low--some constructed of adobe with red tile roofs, others of nothing
more substantial than bamboo, and grass or palm-leaves.

Beyond the town is a low, rambling shed used as a slaughter-house. When
one tires of watching the blue tanagers, orioles, and yellow warblers
quarrel in the cocoanut-palms near the hotel, he may tempt his æsthetic
taste by walking to the pavilion of bovine death, and look upon the
hundreds of black vultures sitting on the roof, strutting and hopping
over the ground, or tearing at the hides that have been stretched out
to dry. These birds are so typical a part of most towns and villages of
tropical Colombia that one soon learns to accept them as a matter of
course. They act as scavengers. Without them the settlements would reek
with foulness.

Puerto Berrio marks the beginning of a narrow-gauge railway, and each
morning at six a passenger-train leaves the station for Cisneros,
covering the first stage of the journey to Medellin. Almost immediately
after leaving the port, the road plunges into the finest type of
Magdalena Valley forest. We therefore debarked at the first settlement,
called Malena, only fifteen minutes after leaving the starting-point.
My assistant on this expedition was Mr. Howarth S. Boyle, of Elmhurst,
Long Island.

At Malena the tropical forest reaches the height of its development.
There is a clearing large enough only to provide room for the village
of some twenty houses, and the stately living wall of trees hems it
in on all sides. The people are most obliging, and while there is no
_posada_, or inn, of any kind, a Mestizo family volunteered to permit
us the use of part of their dwelling.

A short tour of inspection confirmed our first impression of the
region; it was a naturalist’s paradise. One had only to go to the
outskirts of the town to find birds in greatest abundance. A number
of tall dead trees had been left standing in the clearing, probably
because it was easier to merely girdle them and let them die than to
cut them down, and many blue and yellow macaws and Amazon parrots were
nesting in cavities high up in the trunks. They had young at the time
of our visit (March), and screamed and fluttered about the nests all
day long. No one thought of disturbing them. Rough-winged swallows
and martens nested in the same stubs, and apparently lived in perfect
harmony with their noisy neighbors.

A shallow, narrow stream of clear water flows through the clearing, and
a belt of woods and low sprouts mantles each bank with dusky green.
This was the favorite resort of many small birds; oven-birds and
ant-wrens ran about in the deep shade, while night-hawks, aroused from
their slumbers, flapped noiselessly into the air and dropped again a
few feet away. Scores of parrakeets chattered in the branches overhead,
while flocks of large, spotted wrens (_Heleodytes_) added to the chorus
with their incessant scolding.

If we remained close to the stream we were sure to surprise herons
of several species, and black ibises wading in the shallow water. A
species of ani (_Crotophaga_) fluttered in the overhanging bushes; they
were awkward though beautiful creatures, the size of a blue jay, with
brilliant, black iridescent plumage; the mouth was pure white, while
the eyes were of a pea-green color.

If our tramp led to the heavy forest, the character of the birds
changed. Giant orioles (_Ostinops_), grackles, and chachalacas always
remained near the border of the taller growth, and toucans in flocks
seemed to prefer the protection of the more inaccessible cover.

[Illustration: The town of Valdivia.]

[Illustration: The Cauca River at Puerto Valdivia.]

The forest is magnificent, and is composed largely of ceibas with
thick, white trunks and wide-spreading tops. Many _tagua_, or ivory-nut
palms, grow beneath the tall trees; their fruit is one of the important
articles of export from the Magdalena Valley and, during August
and September, many thousands of bags are shipped down the river to
Barranquilla. Wild life, however, was comparatively scarce in the
forest proper, with the single exception of mosquitoes, which were
present in unlimited swarms, even in the daytime; and small troops of
brown marmosets that showed themselves at rare intervals.

While crossing the clearing one day a flock of blue and yellow macaws
passed overhead; we needed a pair for the collection, so I took a
quick shot at the birds as they flew by; however, I succeeded only in
wounding one of their number, which flew to the ground in a long slant
and alighted so far away that it was useless to try to follow. On
reaching home at noon, I was greatly surprised to find the bird perched
on a ladder in the very house we were occupying. It had dropped in the
yard, and having been seen by some children, they tried to catch it,
whereupon it took refuge indoors and kept them at bay with its angry
screams and attempts to bite.

The evenings at Malena were fully as profitable as the mornings.
We always spent a pleasant hour or two at dusk, walking along the
railroad. Pools of water had collected in the hollows where earth
for the road-bed had been excavated, and many water-birds came there
nightly to fish or catch frogs. Great blue herons, bitterns, and
occasionally a cormorant or anhinga were surprised at their nocturnal
feasts. When we returned after dark we started numerous goatsuckers,
which had settled in the open lane to catch insects and to sing; this
habit of resorting to open places, especially trails and roadways, has
earned for them the name _guardacamino_ (road-guard) among the natives.

Malena was such an unusually interesting place that we expected
to remain there several weeks; but, unfortunately, an epidemic of
dysentery had invaded the Magdalena Valley, and the village was soon
writhing in the throes of this fatal disease. Sickness and death in the
family of our hosts made it necessary for us to continue on our way.

It requires exactly six hours to reach Cisneros, the end of the
railroad, from Puerto Berrio. The altitude of the terminus is three
thousand seven hundred feet above sea-level, and as one approaches it
the heavy forest gradually disappears, to be replaced with a lower
growth of brush and bushes; finally the hilltops are barren.

At Cisneros one may secure riding-animals, a carriage, or a motor-car,
according to the mode of travel preferred, for the short ride across
the ridge to Botero, from whence the journey may again be resumed
by train. The road is splendid, and as the highest point, called La
Quiebra, is only five thousand four hundred and twenty-five feet up, a
canter on a spirited horse across the divide is most enjoyable.

Botero is very similar to Cisneros. There are two small hotels where
the traveller may rest in comfort until the train leaves for Medellin,
which is at 4.30 P.M.

Numerous villages are scattered along the railroad, which follows
closely the course of the Medellin River. The country is green and
apparently fertile. Thickets of wild cane grow near the stream, and
the valley is dotted with clumps of tall, slender willows; so dense is
the latter growth in some parts of the region that it forms groves and
woods.

Two and a half hours after leaving Botero the train arrived at
Medellin. Medellin is the third largest city of Colombia, and boasts
of a population of seventy thousand. The city is not modern but very
picturesque, and lies in a depression almost completely surrounded
by mountains. We were fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of
the American consul, Mr. H. B. Meyerheim, who rendered the expedition
invaluable service during our entire stay in Antioquia.

The people of the state differ from the Colombians living in other
parts of the country in that they possess more initiative and business
ability; and for this reason they are frequently referred to as the
Jews of Colombia. Some authorities go so far as to assert that they are
really descendants of a colony of Jews that settled there many years
ago. For this belief there seems to be very little foundation. The fact
that the climate is bracing and that it requires a greater amount of
work to gain a living in the semiarid country probably accounts for the
increased degree of energy displayed by the inhabitants.

Our first expedition was to a point in the mountains southeast of
the city, known as Santa Elena, and only a few hours’ ride on mules
from Medellin. After crossing the ridge we found ourselves on a high,
wild plateau, which had at one time been covered with forest; but the
trees had been felled on the greater part of the area, and only small,
scattered patches of woods were left untouched. There are numerous
little huts in this upland country, and at one of these we decided to
remain for as long a time as the country proved a profitable collecting
ground.

On account of the great change in the flora, occasioned by
deforestation, a corresponding change had taken place in the bird
life. But little remained of the subtropical fauna we had expected to
find; however, there were black thrushes, several species of tanagers,
toucans, trogons, and motmots, besides many commoner species. Weasels
were abundant and occasionally blundered into our traps; these animals
are very easy to call up, and if one sits quietly and imitates the
screams and squeaks of a wounded bird, it is often possible to attract
a weasel to within a few feet, and at times it will run across one’s
lap in search for the supposed victim. There were also squirrels of
several species, and tiger-cats.

Many flowering shrubs dotted the roadside, imparting a blaze of color
to the muddy highway; some of them were covered with brilliant scarlet
blossoms, and others with snowy trumpetflowers of great size. In
addition to this wealth of native flowers, the people cultivated plots
of gladioli and roses, both of which attained great size and beauty in
spite of the cold, wet climate.

We continued on across the highland from Santa Elena to a place called
Barro Blanco, passing through the villages of Rio Negro and Carmen on
the way; but the character of the country did not change appreciably!
One of the products of the high, bleak region that immediately
attracted our attention was a variety of maize; this thrived even on
rocky ground. The ears were large and well-formed, and the huge, even
grains were of a milky-white color and of splendid flavor. Large flocks
of pigeons came to the corn-fields to feed and furnished splendid
shooting; they fly down the mountainsides at terrific speed, and the
rushing noises made by the wings can be heard at a great distance. On
the edges of the fields grew small trees (_Ficus_) bearing quantities
of white berries; birds of many species, including flycatchers, came to
feed on them.

After completing our work in the Santa Elena region we returned to
Medellin. Then we took the train as far as a station called Barbosa,
and started overland for the Lower Cauca. We brought both pack and
riding mules with us on the train, as it was difficult to obtain them
at Barbosa, and when everything had been unloaded at the station, packs
were adjusted and the mules started up the exceedingly steep ridge to
the north. The altitude of Barbosa is four thousand six hundred and
twenty-five feet above sea-level, but there was no break in the narrow,
rocky trail until we had reached the summit, eight thousand one hundred
feet up. A few miles beyond the top lies the village of Don Matias,
almost concealed in a deep depression and surrounded by fruit-trees.
The trail continues to wind across a rolling, arid country. Boulders
of great size are strewn on the ground; they are of a most peculiar
formation, consisting of concentric layers of stone, one or two inches
thick.

Water is scarce, and we passed only one stream, and that of small size,
called the Rio Porce.

Seven leagues is considered a good day’s travel in Colombia, on account
of the mountainous nature of the country and poor trails. However, on
our first day out from Barbosa we covered only five leagues, and spent
the night at a hut called Sabanete, nine thousand feet up. Early the
following morning we reached Santa Rosa, the centre of the Antioquian
gold-fields. The town is of considerable size, but stands in the middle
of a bleak, arid plain, and is about as cheerless a place as one
could find. The surrounding country is exceedingly rich in gold, and
numberless mines pierce the flat, stony surface, and penetrate into the
hillsides. The only drawback to mining operations on a gigantic scale
is the lack of water. During the rainy season the inhabitants of Santa
Rosa gather water in barrels and every available sort of container, and
then wash gold out in the street in front of their homes, or in the
back yards. Despite its many natural disadvantages, Antioquia is one of
the richest states in Colombia, and produces a great proportion of that
country’s yearly output of gold, which in 1916 amounted to $5,400,000.

The country beyond Santa Rosa is practically uninhabited for a distance
of ten or twelve miles; after that a growth of low woods gradually
appears, and with it an abundance of bird life, such as California
woodpeckers, green and yellow jays, black thrushes, warblers, and
parrots. This was in great contrast to the arid country we had just
left behind, where practically the only sign of life was an occasional
hawk hovering in the air for many minutes at a time, in the hope of
surprising an unsuspecting lizard or some small rodent among the rocks
below.

It was in this forest that we again encountered a number of one of the
most beautiful birds found in the entire region--the white-crowned
tanager (_Serricossypha albacristata_). A flock of sixteen sat in the
top of a bush and kept up a continuous shrill peeping.

The third night after leaving Medellin we reached Yarumal, a large
town built on a steep, rocky slope. From a distance it seems as if the
houses were standing one on top of another, and it is difficult to
understand what prevents the whole town from sliding down the steep
mountainside.

The “Hotel de la Madre” is one of the institutions of Yarumal. It is
conducted by an old negress who looked us over suspiciously and found
it hard to decide whether or not to admit us. While deliberating and
fumbling about her shawl she scratched her finger severely on a pin;
to this I immediately applied a few grains of permanganate taken from
my snake-bite lancet. This won her favor, and we were given a room.
Later she confided to us that two Englishmen had stopped there the
week before. “We were frightened to death when we found out that they
were Englishmen,” she said, “because England is at war, you know. But
what do you think? They paid their bill next morning and left without
hurting anybody. However, we made up our minds to be careful about
admitting strangers in the future.”

One may ride from Yarumal to Valdivia in one day; but we broke the trip
by stopping at a large wayside inn called La Frijolera. It was in the
midst of a splendid forest growth, the elevation being five thousand
feet. From a distance the forest looked most promising, but on account
of the density of mosses, ferns, and creepers forming the undergrowth
it was all but impenetrable.

We located a grove of guavas a short distance from the house, and this
proved the most prolific hunting-ground. It was always possible to
shoot squirrels there, as they came out at all hours of the day to feed
on the ripening fruit. Many birds also flocked to the low trees for
their daily sustenance, and even opossums lurked about the roots and
brush to pick up the sweet morsels dropped by the furred and feathered
flocks feasting in the branches.

At La Frijolera we engaged a native hunter who owned a famous
hunting-dog named _Golondrina_ (meaning swallow). Words can hardly
be found to convey an accurate picture of the hunter, but the dog’s
name at once suggests its chief accomplishment. Day after day our
man took his dog afield in search of agoutis, but he always returned
empty-handed, explaining that while he had started a number of the
animals we wanted, _Golondrina_ could never _see_ them, and so she
failed to catch them. However, one day he saved his reputation as a
hunter by making a difficult trip of ten miles to a steep, heavily
wooded ravine, and shooting a number of red howler monkeys. A few days
later the dog accidentally came across a peccary, which some native
hunters were pursuing, brought it to bay on a rock, and kept it there
until it could be shot.

This place presented rare opportunities for hunting by night. A road
had been cut through the forest, dividing it in two clean-cut sections.
However, the tips of wide-spreading branches from each side of the
clear swath met in several places, forming an aerial connection above
the road. These are known as “monkey bridges” because night monkeys
and other animals utilize them in crossing from one section of the
forest to another. As there was a full moon it was only necessary to
sit quietly on a stump near one of the bridges and wait. Before long
a rustling sound would come from the tree-top, so slight as to be
scarcely audible, and occasionally a deep, low grunt; then silent,
shadowy forms emerged from the blackness of concealing foliage and
slowly made their way across the springy passage. Kinkajous also used
these bridges, and as the natives prized the skins of these animals
highly for making chaparejos, they conducted a regular business of
hunting them on moonlight nights. After shooting in one spot for
several nights in succession, it was necessary to leave it undisturbed
for some time, as the animals became wary and sought other bridges.

The town of Valdivia is located on a little ridge four thousand two
hundred feet up, about ten miles from Puerto Valdivia, which is on the
Cauca River. All the intervening country is wooded.

We reached the port on a Sunday afternoon. The people from a distance
of many miles around flocked to the spot on this day for the purpose of
having a “good time,” so that there were upward of a hundred natives
in and about the one corrugated iron and bamboo building comprising
the _puerto_, dancing, drinking, fighting, and trading at the little
shop. The owner of the house received us courteously (and where in all
Colombia was courtesy wanting?) and we soon made ourselves comfortable
in the large wareroom which formed one end of the structure. There was
no thought of work that day, for everybody crowded about to have a good
look at and welcome the _gringos_, but we made the best of the occasion
and secured a good deal of information concerning the surrounding
country.

The Cauca, a swift, muddy stream four or five hundred feet wide at this
point, is hemmed in on both sides by the steep slopes of the Western
and Central Andean Ranges, the forest extending down to the water. It
is navigable from here on down to a small settlement called Cáceres,
but rafts and canoes only are employed in making this journey, which
requires half a day going down and two days coming up. The natives
are a careless lot while on the water, and numbers of lives are lost
annually. About the first thing we saw was the body of a man floating
down the river, with a vulture perched on it. We asked Don José, owner
of the place, why he did not send some of his peons in a canoe to
recover it. He replied that if he did he would be required to care for
the body until a government official from Yarumal came to view it, and
then he and every one present would have to go back with the coroner to
give their testimony as to the finding of the cadaver. This entailed
so much trouble that it was customary not to pay any attention to such
occurrences.

In few places have I seen such an abundance of interesting fauna as
at Puerto Valdivia. The forest was teeming with birds; mammals were
plentiful; shoals of fish and even caimans swarmed in the river; there
were also insects enough to cheer the heart of an entomologist.

[Illustration: A naturalists’ camp in the forest.]

[Illustration: A native hunter with a red howling monkey.]

In such a region the naturalist has no idle moments. When we tired of
working with birds and mammals, which were of chief interest to us, we
had only to step to the river-bank, where vast swarms of brilliantly
colored butterflies settled in thick masses in the mud or rocks to
drink. A single sweep of the net often ensnared several score of the
insects. A species of _Urania_ of a black and green color predominated,
but a _Diana_, deep red above and spotted with silver dots on the
under-side was not uncommon.

Fish could always be secured in abundance. If we attempted to catch
them with hooks we usually landed catfish or small eels. It is unlawful
to use dynamite in Colombia, but Don José had a goodly supply stored
away and did not hesitate to use it when occasion required. The _peons_
detailed for that purpose selected a spot in the river where logs and
brush had grounded to form a drift, or where the water eddied against a
sharp bend; they tied a rock to the explosive, lit the fuse and threw
it into the water. After a few moments, during which the water hissed
and bubbled as the gases from the burning fuse rose and escaped, a
dull thud followed and, almost immediately, the surface was littered
with numbers of dead and stunned fish. They were invariably a species
of “Pacu” (_Prochilodus nigricans_), weighing from one to four or five
pounds, and proved to be excellent eating.

Not far from the port is an old cacao-plantation which has apparently
been deserted for a number of years. The trees are tall and covered
with moss, while the sheltering _cochimbas_ or _madre de cacaos_ form
a high canopy of interlocking branches. To this cool retreat almost
every species of bird common in the region came to feed or to pass the
noonday hours. There were buccos and wood-hewers in abundance--the
former dull, stupid birds, which sat quietly on the lower twigs in
the hope that some insect would wing its way not too far from their
ever-hungry mouths; the latter, agile and alert as they scampered up
the moss-covered trunks, eagerly examining each crevice for a hidden
grub or an ant. Gorgeous trogons with resplendent green backs and
blood-red breasts flitted among the lower branches, and little parrots
of bright green with gold-colored heads screamed and fluttered in the
leafy branches high overhead. Where ferns and brush grew thickest, near
the numerous ravines, flocks of yellow manakins (_Manacus_) sputtered
and whirred in the semidarkness; they proved to be an undescribed form.

Mammals, too, were not lacking. Of chief interest were giant black
weasels with white throat patches (_Tayra_). These are truly dreadful
creatures--at least to the animals on which they feed. They are of
powerful build, the neck muscles being particularly well-developed,
and I can picture them as a dangerous antagonist even to a deer or a
peccary.

The smallest of ant-eaters (_Cycloterus didactylus_) was also found in
this region. This little animal, while not rare, perhaps, is seldom
seen on account of its diminutive size and arboreal habits. It is of
a beautiful golden color, and the fur is so fine and silky that could
it be obtained in quantities sufficient for commercial purposes it
would perhaps rival in value the highest priced fur in use to-day. The
creature lives in the tree-tops and is diurnal in habits. It moves
along the branches with great rapidity, either in an upright position
or inverted like a sloth, the prehensile tail being used constantly.
Ants form the food, and as these ascend even the highest trees, the
little ant-eater has a never-failing and abundant supply; they are
gathered up hurriedly as the little creature moves quickly along.

One day an army of carnivorous ants invaded our quarters while we
were busily occupied preparing the specimens collected during the
morning. The first intimation we had of the arrival of the ravaging
host was when scores of cockroaches suddenly appeared and frantically
ran up the walls of the room. Not long after, several centipedes eight
inches long joined the fleeing cockroaches, and before long a number
of scorpions followed in their wake, hotly pursued by the multitude
of ants. There was nothing for us to do but follow the lead of the
panic-stricken insects, so we hurriedly transferred our collections to
a zone of safety outdoors, and waited a few hours until the ant army
had completed its work and gone on its way. The natives welcome these
visits as the ants act as scavengers and rid the house of vermin.

While at Puerto Valdivia we were presented with a young night monkey
not larger than a good-sized mouse. It was a most interesting pet,
and readily took to a diet of condensed milk, which it drank from a
spoon. My companion, to whom the little animal belonged, kept it on the
window-sill, from which point of vantage it took a lively interest in
all that occurred within its range of vision. It so happened that there
was a very small crack in the sill, and this proved to be a matter of
the utmost concern to the tiny monkey. Hundreds of times each day it
crept timidly to the crack and peered down into it anxiously, although
there was only darkness below. When we held the pelt of an animal near
it paid no attention whatever to it, with the single exception of the
skin of one of its species, which it recognized immediately, and to
which it clung tenaciously. When we left the hot climate of the Lower
Cauca and started on the return journey to Medellin the little creature
was unable to withstand the cold of the higher altitude and died.

The purpose of our zoological exploration of this section of Antioquia
was to secure material that would throw light on the geography of the
country farther north; for, beyond the general knowledge that the
junction of the Cauca and the Magdalena mark the breaking down of
the Cordillera Central, we knew comparatively little of a definite
character about this part of Colombia. It was not until several
months later that our work farther west--on the Paramillo and the
Rio Sucio--provided the material which, viewed from a distributional
standpoint, furnished the clews that aided very materially in solving
our problem.

CHAPTER IX

ASCENT OF THE PARAMILLO--COLLECTING ON THE RIO SUCIO

The return to Medellin from Puerto Valdivia occupied five days. We
again went to our former headquarters, the “Gran Hotel,” and spent a
few busy days packing the large collections brought from the Lower
Cauca. Then we began to gather provisions and cargo mules for a second
expedition.

Upon leaving Medellin we started northwestward, having in view an
ascent of the Paramillo, a lofty spur of the Andes, jutting out of the
Western Range slightly below latitude 7° south. This region, so far as
I am able to discover, had never been explored.

At first the trail is wide and very good, so that within four hours
after starting we reached the summit of the first ridge, eight thousand
seven hundred and fifty feet up. A great cleft in the bare, rocky
peaks forms a natural pass and saves a climb of at least an additional
thousand feet. The slope on the other (western) side is more gentle.

We were immediately impressed with the barren nature of the country,
for, with the exception of a few patches of low brush, and clumps of
withered grass, there was no vegetation. An occasional glimpse of the
Cauca River, far below, presented the picture of a broad yellow ribbon
lying upon a brown, rocky plain.

That night we reached San Geronimo, a small town well down in the
valley. Limited plots of ground are irrigated in the vicinity of the
settlement, where rice, corn, and pasturage are cultivated by the
inhabitants. Yellow-rumped tanagers, anis, and finches (_Sycalis_) make
this little oasis their home, and add greatly to its attractiveness.

Next morning we were in the saddle before six o’clock. A few hours
later, after crossing a low ridge, we came suddenly upon Sopetran, a
beautiful little town completely hidden in groves of palms, mangoes,
and other lovely trees. The cluster of some hundreds of snow-white
houses with red roofs, wide, well-kept streets, and the abundance of
multicolored birds fluttering and singing among the deep green foliage,
render Sopetran one of the most attractive towns of its size I have
seen in tropical America.

At noon we reached the Cauca and crossed that sluggish, muddy stream
on a suspension bridge about eight hundred feet long. The cables are
anchored in picturesque brick piers built into the face of the steep
banks, and hundreds of swallows utilize as nesting-sites the small
openings where the wires enter the masonry. Gravel flats flank the
sides of the river, and bare, sandy islands divide the water into
several channels. The elevation is approximately two thousand feet.

One league beyond the Cauca lies the town of Antioquia. If Sopetran
is the last word in attractiveness, Antioquia must be placed at the
extreme other end of the scale. The wide, arid valley supports no
vegetation except occasional clumps of cacti and dwarfed mimosas,
which rather add to its desert-like appearance. The heat is almost
unbearable, as the Western and Central Andes, hemming in the valley
between huge walls of pink clay and sandstone, shut off all ventilating
winds.

Although it was still early in the afternoon, we decided to spend
the rest of the day in Antioquia, as the pack-mules seemed nearly
exhausted; but it was not long before we heartily regretted not having
avoided the town and made camp out in the open plains. Our _arriero_
had guided us to the little hotel, where a matronly _señora_ received
us with evident joy and a great deal of ceremony, probably because
we were the first guests in some time; we soon discovered, however,
that she was not the only one to whom our visit gave pleasure. Fleas
in droves appeared from the cracks in the brick flooring and made
their way through leggings, trousers, and all other wearing apparel
as quickly and easily as the proverbial rat running through a cheese;
and when we entered our room, vermin of a still more objectionable
character rushed joyfully from the beds, walls, and chairs to gloat in
hungry anticipation at their prospective victims. We erected our cots
in the _patio_ and spent a long, long night out in the open.

Buriticá was reached on the following day. Immediately after leaving
Antioquia, a mere ledge of a trail begins the ascent of the Coast
Range, and while a good deal of anxiety was felt for the safety of the
pack-animals, it was nevertheless a relief to escape from the cheerless
desert wastes and the intolerable heat of the low country. The altitude
of Buriticá is six thousand two hundred feet. On account of the jaded
condition of the mules, we spent a half-day in the town, and also
lightened the cargoes by leaving at the inn all equipment intended for
a subsequent journey in another direction. We had, of course, never
visited Buriticá before, but I had not the slightest hesitation in
leaving with perfect strangers a good deal of valuable material. The
honesty of the Colombians is well known, and we did not lose a single
thing by theft during the entire two years I spent in that country.

At Tabacal, a half day’s ride from Buriticá, we lost sight of the Cauca
River. Our view was shut off by an independent ridge of mountains
several thousand feet high, which rises out of the valley between the
range we were on and the stream. A slight change was also perceptible
in the character of the country; extensive areas covered with brush now
dotted the slopes, although at infrequent intervals; and on the extreme
tops of both ranges a thin fringe of green was plainly discernible.
The country is also very rough and broken, and there are a number of
ridges to be crossed, many of which are two thousand feet high. Several
separate mountains, not connected with the main ranges, stand here and
there like giant, man-hewn monoliths, rising from a basal elevation of
three thousand to eight or nine thousand feet, which magnifies their
tremendous proportions.

On the fifth day we reached an altitude of eight thousand feet, and
entered a fine strip of forest, the first we had seen on this journey.
This is the beginning of the forested zone, and close scrutiny
revealed the fact that it begins at precisely the same height on both
the Central and Coast Ranges, and continues to the very top of the
mountains, several thousands of feet higher up. We travelled along the
top of the ridge for some miles, and then again descended abruptly to
the barren valley where the little village of Peque is situated, and
where our journey by mules ended.

Peque contains about fifty dilapidated mud huts, and its population is
mostly of Indian descent, but includes some pure-blooded Indians. We
had a letter of introduction to one of the latter, Julian David, who
is the chief man in the town, and he rendered us every assistance. He
called together a number of sturdy young half-breeds and requested them
to join the expedition; in other words, told them to carry our packs to
the top of the Paramillo. The men eagerly agreed to do this, for they
had never before been in the service of strangers, and the trip to the
high country and also the society of _gringos_ promised interesting
possibilities. We spent a few days investigating the neighboring
country, while the men had their wives prepare the provisions for their
use during the trip.

Some of the country surrounding Peque once doubtless bore a light
forest growth, with heavier forest in the ravines; but by far the
greater part is naturally barren or covered with brush thickets. I was
told that at the time of the Spanish invasion forty thousand Indians
inhabited the region, and as the several mountain streams supply an
abundance of water, and the soil responds fairly well to cultivation,
there seems to be no reason why it should not have supported an
extensive population; at the present time only a few hundred people are
left, the others having gone to swell the ranks of victims exacted by
the lust of the conquerors.

The forested zone, beginning at eight thousand feet on the ridge we
had just traversed, gradually extends its limits downward as one goes
farther north, until at Peque it reached as low as five thousand feet
in the deeper and well-watered ravines; and, as previously stated, at
Puerto Valdivia it reaches the very edge of the Cauca.

One day an inhabitant of Tabacal rushed into our room and begged me
to show him the wonderful diamond ring he said I wore while in his
village; he had been away at the time, so had not seen it, but tales
had reached his ears upon his return of the marvellous brilliancy
of the stone which lighted up the whole street as we walked along.
At first I wondered from what sort of an hallucination the man was
suffering, for neither my companion nor myself carried any diamonds
with us; finally I remembered that, in trying to find our way through
the street at Tabacal, we had used a small electric flash-light to
avoid falling over the pigs or into the mud-wallows; whereupon I
demonstrated its mysterious powers to him, and he started back on his
two days’ walk a better-informed but nevertheless a most-disappointed
man.

A stream of clear, cold water flows around one side of the hill upon
which Peque stands, and to this we went nightly for a swim. Don Julian
could not quite believe us when we told him of the purpose of our
nocturnal prowls; so one night he accompanied us to the stream and,
wonder of wonders, we actually did go into the water. I invited him to
join us, but he said: “No, such a thing is unheard of; and, besides, an
Indian is just like a cat; when either one gets wet it dies!”

When the half-breed porters who were to carry the equipment finally had
their _charque_ and _jarepas_ all ready, they shouldered their packs
and started for the mountains. As there was no trail, an additional man
was engaged to go in advance and clear an opening with his machete.

[Illustration: The porters en route to the Paramillo.]

[Illustration: Cuña Indians at Dabeiba.]

A three hours’ walk brought us to a point called El Madero, because
a few trees had once been cut down there for their lumber, but the
clearing was overgrown with blackberry-briars, brush, and guavas. Then
we plunged into the unexplored forest.

It was our plan to follow along the top of an undulating ridge
which one of the men said was the shortest and easiest route to the
Paramillo. He knew from experience, having once visited the region some
sixteen years before. It was during the course of a revolution; his
father was pursued by the opposing forces and fled into the forest,
taking his son, who was then a small boy, with him, and eventually
reaching the Paramillo, they spent some time there in concealment.

At first the forest was fairly penetrable, but soon the moss-draped,
liana-garlanded walls closed about us in a compact mass; ferns, palms,
and arums sprang up from the ground in a matted jungle to join the
heavily laden branches above. Then our trail-cutter was pressed into
service, and plied his machete with deadly effect on the vegetation,
with the result that a narrow tunnel was opened, through which we
walked or crawled as occasion might demand.

On account of the long climb, having ascended five thousand feet during
an eight hours’ march, we made camp at three o’clock at an elevation of
ten thousand feet. This gave us an opportunity of observing a few of
the birds living in this untouched wilderness. There were wood-hewers
and yellow-headed tanagers; parrots and blue-throated jays. A large
harpy-eagle sat majestically on a low branch, surrounded by a flock
of California woodpeckers, which screamed and scolded and darted at