  Before parting from our friends the mules, it may not be amiss to speak of the equipment for man and beast which obtains in Colombian Andine regions. The saddle used—sometimes native, sometimes European—offers nothing striking in its composition, only that it is provided with a crupper which must be very strong—strong as a braced strap—since in the steep ascents or descents the girth alone would be insufficient. The men wear leggings or zamorros, which, in fact, are rather seatless trousers than leggings, 2 feet wide, held together by a strap across the loins, the outside consisting of tanned hide with the hair on it, and the inside of soft leather. They have the advantage of being very easily put on and slipped off when the rider alights. The stirrups are a large shoe wherein the whole foot is encased, made of copper or brass. At first those unfamiliar with the roads find them awkward, bulky, and heavy, but one soon learns that they are an indispensable protection, a sort of armour or shield against the stones, trees, and sundry other obstacles which the rider’s foot is bound to strike. The poncho, which is a rectangular piece of woven cotton cloth about 5 to 6 feet long by 3 to 3½ feet broad, with a slit in the centre, is worn by all riders, and a similar piece of india-rubber cloth, only somewhat larger, is carried strapped to the back of the saddle to be used when rain comes on. The real native accoutrement, in which the saddle differs, having a pommel and being high-seated in the back, is not complete without the lasso, made of twisted raw hide, kept soft and pliable by the frequent use of tallow, which is rubbed into it. The expert herdsman can throw the lasso a long distance, either across the neck of the horses or right over the horns of the cattle; their aim is unerring. They fasten the lasso to the pommel of the saddle, and turn their horses backwards so that they may better withstand the pull of the lassoed animal. Spurs in Colombia are frequently worn, especially when you ride somebody else’s hired mule or horse. The spurs are more formidable in appearance than harmful in reality; the rollocks, instead of being small with little pinlike pricks as in Europe, are huge in size, about 3 inches in diameter, and each prick about 1½ inches; they make a great rattle on the slightest provocation, but are less painful to the animal than the little European spurs. Apropos of this, I remember the case of an individual who, finding the Colombian spurs too heavy, only wore one, arguing that if he managed to make one side of his mule get along, the other side would be sure to follow, and hence only one spur was needed. On arriving at the wayside venta, or inn—and Heaven only knows how elastic a man’s conscience must be to bestow the name of inn upon many of these ventas—the first care of an experienced traveller is to see to the welfare of his mules and horses. If available, Indian corn, brown sugar of the species called panela, which is uncrystallized solidified molasses, and the best grass that can be got in the neighbourhood, are given to the animals. If there happens to be an enclosure, the mules and horses are let loose in it, so that they may rest more comfortably; but these enclosures are very frequently a delusion and a snare, as inexperienced travellers find when, on rising early in the morning the next day, they are told that the animals have jumped over the fence or broken through, or in some other way disappeared, whereupon the muleteers, with the boys and men available in the locality pressed into the service for the occasion, scour the mountains and the neighbouring forests in search of the missing animals, the search lasting at times four and five hours, during which the traveller frets, foams, and possibly, if he be quite natural and unspoiled by convention, swears. But notwithstanding these drawbacks, there is a special charm about this mode of travelling. In the morning about four the traveller arises from his not too soft couch. The first breakfast is at once prepared, and whilst it is being cooked the maÑanas, or morning greeting, is indulged in, consisting of a little whisky, brandy, aguardiente, rum, or whatever spirits happen to be available. The hour, even in the hot lands, is cool. The stars still shine brightly in the heavens, and, were it not for the testimony of one’s watch, one would believe one’s self still in the middle of the night. The mules are brought forward, given their morning rations, the luggage is strapped on the ‘cargo’ mules, as they are called, and the others are saddled, and if all goes well, towards five or half-past, the journey begins. There is a characteristic odour in the temperate and low lands of the tropics at that special hour of morning, and the dawn is announced by a hum in the ear, which, whilst it is still dark, is not of birds, but of the thousand insects that inhabit the forest. Finally, when the sun bursts forth in all his glory, a hymn seems to start in all directions, and the mountains vibrate with echoes of universal animation from the grass and the bushes, the running streams, and the nests in the branches of the trees laden with life. In the cool air of the morning the mind is quite alert, and the climbing and descending, the fording of rivers, the crossing of ravines and precipices, the slow ascent of the sun in the horizon, the fresh stirring of the breeze in the leaves, the reverberation of the light on the drops of fresh dew still hanging from the boughs and dotting the many-coloured flowers—all these things induce such a feeling of communion with Nature that one feels one’s self an integral part of the large, immense, palpitating life that throbs in every direction, and the conception of immortality seems to crystallize, so to speak, in the mind of the traveller; but, of course, familiarity breeds contempt, and things beautiful, though they are a joy for ever, might tire Keats himself through repetition, so that at times travelling in this wise often seems slow, and one longs for some other means of locomotion. Yet I cannot help thinking with regret of the days when one will ask for a ticket—railway, ‘tube,’ balloon, or whatever it may be—from any place on earth to any other place. When that day arrives, men will be transported more rapidly from one place to another, but the real traveller will have disappeared, as the knight-errant disappeared, as the gentleman is being driven out from the world in these days when all things are bought and sold, and kindness and generosity are becoming empty words or obsolete relics of a past that very few understand, and fewer still care to imitate. On the very outskirts of the forest, within half an hour’s ride from the long file of trees, we came upon a group of thatch-roofed structures which form the so-called town or hamlet of San Pedro del Tua, a meeting-place, as I have said before, for herdsmen and dealers, deserted at the present season; the only persons who had remained were those whose poverty—heavier than any anchor—had kept them on the spot away from the Christmas and New Year’s festivities that were being celebrated in all the towns and villages of the neighbouring region. Our first care was to find a roof under which to pass the night. We inquired for the man in power, namely, the correjidor, a sort of justice of the peace, mayor, sheriff, all in one, an official to be found in hamlets or villages like that which we had just reached. It was not hard to find him, since there were only fifteen persons in the place. We had a letter of introduction to him, which made things easier. He immediately took us to the best house in the place, which happened to belong to him. He asked us what good winds had wafted us thither, and whither we went. As we did not care, until having felt our ground a little more, to state frankly that we wanted to cross into the neighbouring republic of Venezuela, one of us—the most audacious if not the best liar of the lot—calmly stated that we had come to the llanos for the purpose of selecting and purchasing some land, as we intended to go into the cattle-breeding business, and possibly into some agricultural pursuit or other. The correjidor said nothing, but an ironical smile seemed to flit across his lips. When we had become more familiar with things and customs in the plains, we understood why he had not replied, and the cause of his almost imperceptible smile. To purchase land in the llanos would be tantamount to buying salt water in the midst of the ocean! People ‘squat’ wherever they like in those endless plains that belong to him who exploits them. The cattle, horses, sheep, are the elements of value to which ownership is attached, but the grazing lands belong to one and all, and as matters stand now, given the scarcity of population and its slow increase, such will be the condition of affairs for many a long year to come. Once inside the house that the correjidor had placed at our disposal, and feeling more at ease with him, we told him of our intention to go to Venezuela, and asked for his assistance. His name was Leal, which means loyal; its sound had in it the clink of a good omen, and later events proved that he deserved it. He told us that our undertaking was by no means an easy one, nor one that could be accomplished without the assistance of expert and intelligent guides. He added that he knew the various ways to penetrate from Colombia into Venezuela, and that if we would accept his services he would accompany us. I need not state that the offer was accepted with alacrity. In the short journey from the skirt of the forest to the hamlet of San Pedro del Tua across the llano itself, we had time to remark that its aspect, once in contact with it, was quite different from the beautiful velvety green waving in the sunlight, soft and thick, that we had seen from a distance. The ground was covered with a coarse grass varying in height and colour, we were told, according to the season of the year. A great many small pathways seemed to cross it in all directions, formed by the cropping of the grass and the animals that moved to and fro on the plains. We crossed various caÑos, which are natural canals, uniting the larger rivers. As we were at the beginning of the dry season, these canals were low, and we forded them without any difficulty, but in winter—that is to say, in the rainy season—they attain the dimension of large rivers, and travelling in the llanos on horseback then becomes most difficult. We came frequently upon copses of the moriche palms already described. In the centre of these copses one always finds a cool natural basin of water, which is preferred by the natives as being the healthiest and the sweetest of the locality—agua de morichal. There must be something in it, for the cattle also prefer this water to that of the rivers and caÑos. To our inexperienced eye the llanos bore no landmark which might serve as a guide to our movements. After a copse of moriche palms came another one, and then another one, and no sooner was one caÑo crossed than another took its place, so that without guides it would have been impossible for us to know whether we were moving in the right direction. Leal advised us to lose no time, as the journey we had before us was a long one. Now that we were close to the beginning of our canoe journey on the rivers, we at once set to counting the belongings we had brought at such great expense and trouble from the high plateau of BogotÁ, which seemed ever so far away when with the mind’s eye we beheld it perched like an eagle’s nest high up on the summit of those mountains that it had taken us about eighteen days to descend. As every inch of ground that we had left behind had been, so to say, felt by us, the distance appeared enormous, and the old city and the plateau seemed more like the remembrance of a dream than of a reality. We drew up our inventory, and found that we were the happy possessors of about eight cases, 50 pounds in weight each, containing preserved meats, vegetables, and food of all kinds in boxes, jars, tins, and so forth. Next came about six large jugs or demijohns of native fire-water, or aguardiente, a most useful and indispensable beverage in those latitudes, and about half a ton of salt, a most precious article in that region. We were going across the plains where there are neither salt-water fountains nor salt-bearing rock deposits, and we knew that as an article of barter, salt went far beyond anything else that we might possess, hence the large quantity which we carried. Our arsenal consisted of four fowling-pieces, six Remington and two Spencer rifles, plenty of ammunition, cartridges, gunpowder, one dozen cutlasses, or machetes, and four revolvers. We also had a box with books, our trunks with clothing, rugs, mosquito-nets, waterproof sheets, a medicine-chest, and two guitars of the native Colombian type; but what rendered us most important and steady service during the whole of that journey was a certain wicker basket, 1 yard long, ¾ of a yard wide, and 10 inches in height, which contained a complete assortment of cooking utensils and table-ware for six persons—plates, corkscrews, can-openers, frying-pans, and all that one could wish to prepare as sumptuous a meal as mortal man could desire in those vast solitudes. The saucepans, six in number, fitted one inside of the other, nest-wise; they were copper-bottomed, and proved of inestimable value. The tumblers and cups were also nested—pewter ware with porcelain inside. Everything was complete, compact, and so solid that, after the long journey with its vicissitudes, the wicker basket and its contents, though looking somewhat the worse for wear, were perfectly serviceable. Leal, a man of simple habits, who had never been in a town of more than 4,000 or 5,000 inhabitants, on looking at that display of superfluous articles, argued that we were altogether too rich, and that our movements would be greatly facilitated were we to dispense with, say, two-thirds of what lay before him on the ground. We pleaded that since the worst had been accomplished, namely, the transportation across land, roads, and mountain trails, we might as well keep what we had, and only abandon it when forced to do so. Leal nodded his head, as one who sees that it is useless to argue, and nothing more was said on the subject. Everything was prepared on that New Year’s Day to start on the next day for the neighbouring cattle-farm of Santa Rosa del Tua, situated on the river Tua, one of the affluents of the Meta, which itself is one of the most important tributaries of the mighty Orinoco. These arrangements and decisions once arrived at, it was deemed prudent to celebrate our arrival into the place, and the arrival on the scene of life of the New Year, by a banquet worthy of the double occasion. A heifer was slaughtered. Leal brought upon the scene, in front of the house where we were stopping, the whole side of the animal trimmed and prepared for roasting; he had passed through it, skewer-wise, a long thin pole of some special wood hard and difficult to burn. A huge bonfire was lit on the ground, and Leal fixed the lower end of the skewer quite close to the fire, holding the side of the heifer now right over the flame, now at a certain distance, turning and twisting it with consummate skill. The air was soon scented with that odour of roast meat which so deliciously tickles the nostrils of him who has an empty stomach. Looking at Leal doing the roasting, I realized Brillat-Savarin’s dictum: On devient cuisinier, on naÎt rotisseur. Leal, if not a born poet, was a born roaster. Soon the meat was ready; our plates, forks, and knives not being sufficient for the crowd, we preferred not to bring them forth. Large leaves, green, fresh, and shiny, cut from the neighbouring banana and plantain trees, were laid on the ground both as a cover and as dishes. Leal unsheathed from his belt a long, thin shining knife as sharp as a razor, and with wonderful dexterity cut the huge joint, separating the ribs, so that everyone could have a bone with a large portion of hot, steaming, newly-broiled meat. Bread was not forthcoming, but there was an abundance of baked and roasted green plantains, crisp and mealy, which did service for the best bread; at least, so we thought. As for meat, never in my life do I remember having enjoyed such a delicious morsel: so the banquet consisted of meat and roasted plantains À discretion. A bottle of rum which belonged to our stock, and which I had forgotten in the inventory given above, went round the guests of that primitive board, warming our hearts into conviviality and good-humour. Finally came the big bowls of coffee, prepared according to the local fashion, which deserves to be described. The coffee is roasted and ground in the usual way, but these operations are only carried out just before the liquor is brewed. In a large saucepan cold water, sweetened to the taste with black sugar, is placed over the fire, and the necessary amount of ground coffee is thrown into it before it gets warm. The heating should not be too rapid; when the first bubbles indicate that the boiling-point is about to be reached, the saucepan is withdrawn from the fire, and a spoonful of cold water dashed upon the surface of the hot liquor almost in ebullition. This precipitates the roasted coffee to the bottom, and gives a most delicious beverage, which, though not as strong as the coffee distilled according to other methods, retains all the aroma and flavour of the grain. The method is a very good one in localities where delicate coffee-machines cannot be easily procured, and it is in truth nothing more or less than the method of preparing Turkish coffee, with less fuss than is required for the Oriental variety. We had soon grown, in that very first day of our encounter with him, to like Leal and to wonder at his intimate knowledge of the plains, the forests, and the rivers of that vast region. He was not a Colombian; he had been born on the shores of the river Gaurico, one of the affluents of the Orinoco. From boyhood he had thus come into daily contact with the mighty rivers and the deep and mysterious forests that cover their shores. His plan was that we should first follow the river Tua down to the Meta. On arriving at this latter river, we should have to find larger canoes, which would enable us to reach the Orinoco. Once on the Orinoco we would arrive at the settlement called Urbana, where we were sure to obtain larger craft in which to go as far as Caicara. Here we might wait for the steamers that go to Ciudad Bolivar. As to the time required for this journey, Leal said that, barring unforeseen obstacles, fifty days might suffice for us to reach Ciudad Bolivar. The only inhabited places which we would come across were first San Pedro del Arrastradero, then Orocue, and finally San Rafael, the last Colombian settlements where troops were stationed, and on inquiry Leal stated that on the river Meta it was necessary to follow the only channel that existed, so that it would be indispensable for us to touch at the various towns he had named, as there was no lateral caÑos by which we might avoid them, should we want to do so, as was the case in other parts of the plains, where one might either follow the main stream or some caÑo or tributary. If we wanted to take another river route, we might, on reaching San Pedro del Arrastradero, walk a short distance of about a mile to the caÑo called Caracarate, which would take us to the river Muco, an affluent of the Vichada, almost as large as the Meta River, and flowing into the Orinoco. But, said Leal, if we follow the Vichada instead of arriving on the Orinoco below the rapids, we shall strike that river above the rapids, and these alone will entail more trouble and difficulty and require more time than any other part of the river. For the moment no decision was taken. The question was left open to be solved as might be most convenient at an opportune moment.
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