Mistaken Journey

New Zealand Listener, Volume 12, Issue 304, 20 April 1945, Page 23

Mistaken Journey

ROY

SHEFFIELD

An account of adventures in Central South America by an English "Innocent Abroad." In this chapter he leaves the cattle ranch and starts for Buenos Aires. | PRERLOL LPI OLE BIRLA A ALLA IAL Pros XVII. OUTH AMERICAN Indians are no less superstitious than natives in other parts of the world, and one belief which is world-wide in its influence they share very strongly. It is that by raising an image of a person, and ®y harming that image, a corresponding injury may be inflicted on the person whom the image is supposed to represent. There is no doubt that witch dottors, or ju-ju men, wield amazing powers of auto-suggestion over their subjects, and Walter assured me that he had heard of authentic instances where death had been willed upon a victim by this means. If he believed that, the Indian had a good reason for not letting me take his photograph; and I, too, had a good reason for not persevering in. my endeavour to take it! * * * It was late next afternoon when a distant call from the other canoe echoed across the water. Carlos let out a piercing yodel in reply, and we paddled to meet them. Their.news was good, for they had come across a hummock of dry land rising above the flood, and beyond it, in the cover of bushes and fight timber, they had disturbed nearly a hundred head of cattle, There was barely an hour’s daylight left, and with all speed, we made for the little island. It was very small, barely fifty yards across, and having served a hundred head of cattle as sleeping quarters for some . weeks, it was in a fine mess. But if we could shoot a beef, it would do as a camping ground for the night, and we pressed on into the timber in pursuit of the cattle. Despite our stealthy approach, they would not let us come near them, and twice they charged away before we got a sight of them, a game which could go on indefinitely. The occasion clearly demanded a change of tactics, and Walter was equal to the emergency. In the big canoe we took up a position where a patch of elephant grass screened us from view, but where we ourselves commandéd a good sight of anything coming our way. Pietro and the other cowhand in the smalle: canoe were instructed to make a wide semi-circle, and to head the cattle back towards us. Walter urged them to hurry, for the daylight’ was precious, and we sat down quietly to await events. Twenty minutes passed, and then away to our left, we heard a shout from

Pietro, and the crash of cattle charging away through the undergrowth. The same bitter thought occurred to all of us, and the anticipatory delight with which I had been considering my supper received a rude shock. "Come on," exclaimed Walter, "they’re goin’ to miss us." We hastily paddled the canoe in the wake of the cattle, while Walter stood braced up ready for a shot. There came a second shout from Pietro, and in the same ‘ifstant another bunch of beefs rushed past. They were very close, but as Walter would say, "they lit by like a bat out of hell,’ and with the vegetation interfering with his aim, I thought he would never get a clear shot at them. He waited until they raced across a gap in the trees and then, bang! The rearmost animal somersaulted violently, made one frantic effort to regain her feet, and slumped down in the water. The carcase was hauled athwart the canoe, and as we made for the island the sun went down, and with tropical suddenness darkness covered the campo. When our fire was blazing and strips of meat were roasting, the little island did not seem such a bad place, after all. IT changed my view, however, as the night advanced, for somehow the devilish mosquitoes pierced my net. | In the morning, my face looked uncommonly like a balloon, and my eyes were so swollen that it was difficult to see. I discovered a tear in my mosquito bar, quite a small one, but easily large enough to admit the little winged furies, and I remarked how unpleasant it would be to be without a net at all. Walter agreed, and recalled a case of two men who were lost in the Matto Grosso forest while out on a day’s hunting trip. They had all the essentials for sustaining life indefinitely; guns and ammunition to obtain food; matches to light their fires; and running streams for water. Yet they died; and the cause of their death was simply and _ solely through lack of sleep. It was a grim tale, and I could imagine, in part, the unspeakable agonies they suffered. That day was the last I ever spent out in the campo, and it might easily have been the last one I ever spent anywhere, for Walter and I both had an extremely narrow escape from serious injury. 3 # it * [N our search for another herd. of cattle, we came across a stretch of campo where: the flood water was too shallow to float the canoe. While Rufino pulled. from the bows, Carlos pushed from behind, and. our assistance not being needed, Walter and I walked alongside. What was engaging our attention at the time I do not remember; but Rufino called us back to earth with a shock when, with an urgent note in his voice, he pointed to our feet, and screamed, "Jacare! Jacare!" There, right underneath us, was an alligator; another step (continued on next page)

MISTAKEN JOURNEY (continued from previous page) and we must have trodden on it, for the thing made no effort to get out of our path, and its evil eyes were looking up at us with a hard, unblinking stare. There were four minds with but a single thought, and Rufino, Carlos, Walter and myself fairly hurled ourselves into the canoe. To the alligator, if it had a sense of humour, the ‘sight must have been vastly entertaining; but we were not amused, and while Walter was groping for his rifle, I loosed the contents of my automatic at the thing’s head. The beast suddenly flared into life. It’s threshing tail churned the water into a frenzy, and it made quick thrusts forwards and sideways, as if grappling with

an unseen enemy. The exhibition of bad temper was most impressive, and I felt glad it had saved the fireworks until after .we were in the canoe. Walter brought the display to an abrupt finish with a shot from his rifle, and for the next few minutes we were busy taking each other’s photograph following the best traditions of big-game hunters. But it was Rufino who deserved his picture taken, for without his warning shout things might have gone very dif: ferently. The day passed without special incident after that, for fresh cattle were located, and we returned to the ranch house just before nightfall. It was my swan-song to the life of a Matto Grosso cowpuncher. Back at the fazenda with the setting sun, I noticed, in a sudden excitement, that a launch was tied up alongside the landing-stage. The discovery was at once a relief, and a disappointment. It had to be goodbye. The master of the launch was a young Brazilian, who traded up and down the Rio Paraguay in his little vessel. He was willing to take me down to Corumba, and proposed to start the following’ morning. * * * WE had a riotous farewell supper in the evening, and Ramsey’s wife provided a veritable banquet. All the dishes I had ever sampled seemed to be on the table, together with many little delicacies in honour of the occasion, When finally the party was over I went to sleep with a feeling of profound dejection. Descalvados turned out in full force in the morning to bid me farewell. The cattle outfit was there to a man; José, Rufino, Carlos, Pietro and the others, they all shook hands and for a few hilarious moments we recalled the various incidents which had enlivened my stay. Shooting the mosquito; losing the seat of my trousers; the sinking canoe; the alligator; these, and a host of other things they remembered, and each one brought a laugh. The launch’s gasolene engine chugged into life, and as we swung round and headed downstream I gaye the outfit the cattle-scaring scream they had taught me. Their answer shrilled back loud and long, and the thin, mournful ec!oes slowly died away in the forest. Rounding a bend in the river the ranch house was lost to view, and Descalvadés was no more than a delightful memory. The launch was a trading vessel which called at the various settlements along the river, and the captain was quite young, as were several of his crew. They did not strike me as being anything so capable as were the hard-bitten collection who had taken me up to the fazenda. Lashed to the starboard side of the launch was a covered wooden barge containing a heterogeneous assortment of trading goods, ranging from sewing machines and saddles down to silk underwear and cigars; from sacks of sugar to spear heads, and from embroidered hammocks to strings of beads. We made no stops the first day, and with the assistance of the strong current skimmed swiftly downstream. With darkness came a steady downpour of rain, and at the same time the gasolene engine developed a bad attack of asthmatic splutters. Each spasm was followed by a burst of redoubled vigour, but soon the splutters became more frequent and the energy less sustained, until finally it gave up the ghost altogether, and relapsed into silence,

At once the boat was at the mercy of the river, for with no way on her, she was impossible to steer, and the fast-running tide took her where it might. For a time we drifted safely in midstream, albeit we were going sideways like a crab; and then, with a sweeping crash, we were plunged into the wall of jungle which marked the bank. Heavy branches and long arms of foliage scraped the deck, and involved us in imminent danger of being carried overboard. Our progress was arrested for barely a minute, and once more being borne along by the stream, we slowly spun round and smacked into the bank again some fifty yards further on. These crazy antics were repeated half-a-dozen times, and I began to weary of dodging to and fro across the launch to escape the clutching vegetation. A small pig tied in the stern saved the situation, for suddenly his _ piercing squeals shattered the silence of the night, and he was rescued from over the gunwale where he was suspended by his neck and one leg. This narrow escape stirred the captain into action, and he shouted an order. At once the crew joined him in noisy debate, the general trend of which seemed to lie in hurling opprobrious remarks at the man tinkering with the engine. ‘Though outnumbered, he was not at a loss for a reply, and after a rapid interchange of pleasantries he slammed down his spanner with a gesture which plainly said, "do the — job yourself!" His defection united the others into a concerted plan of action, and to my relief the anchor was dropped, and we hove-to in safety. * %* * BEGAN to wonder what other adventures might befall us before we reached Corumba. I was dozing off to sleep before the engine of the launch was coaxed back to life, and it appeared to have recovered from its malady, for we continued on our way without further delay. We made two calls next day, both at settlements of river Indians, and I was interested to discover what would be the requirements of such simple folk. I wondered if the crew were, in reality, a team of high-pressure salesmen, and would sell the unwilling natives silk stockings, or vacuum cleaners; or perhaps a pair of roller skates, or a bi- cycle on the eternal payment system. The -Indians seemed not to want any of these articles, however, and their fancy ran to something in small sacks, probably cereals. In return they traded cattle hides and skins, among which I recognised otter and wild pig. The procedure in these deals was leisurely in the extreme, although the initial method of approach was something of a novelty, and might easily commend itself to unsuccessful canvassers whose suburban bell-ringings and door-knock-ings evoke no response. Not being a steamboat, we had no siren, and in its place a cow horn was used; the horn hung over the wheel and, when occasion demanded, one of the crew would blow down it, producing a long, steady boo-oo-oop. I imagine one of these poked throtigh a letterbox would almost certainly bring a reply. At any rate, the Indians answered, although I was surprised that the soft, mellow note of the horn should be heard for more than, say, two hundred yards. There must be something in the timbre of a horn’s note, however, which gives it a long range of audibility, (continued on next page).

(continued from previous page) for the Indians always heard the summons although their huts were half-a-mile or more from the ri bank. The headman of the second community was a charming old fellow, and would have commanded respect in any company. Among his purchases he included a white cotton shirt, which was passed round among his womenfolk for admiration. Whether or not these women were all his wives, or whether he. was monogamous, I cannot say; neither do I ‘remember Walter Hill or Mac ever commenting on the matrimonial relationship of the river Indians. At all events, the leather-faced squaws were very much at home under his thatched roof, smoking their short clay pipes, and spitting on the floor with easy familiarity. That day one of the crew showed me a trick which added materially to my enjoyment of the journey. Grasping the trope which bound. the launch and the barge together, he lowered himself into the water between the two vessels. The sensation of swishing through the water at six or seven knots was most exhilarating, and I used to practise it several times a day. Apparently our speed through the water, or the sheltered position of the bather,» was a safeguard against piranha, although I noticed that the remainder of the crew never attempted it. ‘ * * ,* E made three more calls before teaching Corumba, but business was not brisk at any of them. At one place there were six or seven lightly-clad women lounging beside a hut, all smoking their pipes. Among them was a naked child with an amazing little pot belly, and he too smokéd his pipe and spat in nonchalant fashion. It was a fine camera study and I prepared to take a picture. The women, however,: were horrified, and fled into the huts, making me think I had offended their superstitious natures. But they had a very different reason, and a typically feminine one too, because in a few seconds they reappeared and smilingly invited me to photograph them. I prepared to do so, but without enthusiasm, for they had discarded their pipes and had attired themselves in shapeless white dresses which hung on them like sacks, and effectually hid their dusky charms. It was a disappointment and, not having» the courage to ask them to undress again, I made the best of a bad job, and focused on. the little boy’s tummy. An hour or two after we had resumed our journey we heard strange moans and groans coming from inside the covered barge, and investigations revealed one of*the younger members of the crew in a hopeless state of intoxication. He had been drinking while the captain was. trading with the Indians, and I have never seen anybody so well "and truly soused; the cheap firewater had rendered him quite unconscious, and he was tossing and writhing on a pile of hides in an agony of delirium. They shut him in, and left him to recover his senses. /The pig who had so narrowly escaped an unpleasant death when he was swept

overboard lived only to provide us with a dinner, and when he was gone the cook tried his hand as a fisherman to give us a change in the menu. His piscatorial efforts with a piece of meat on the end of a line were fruitless, and merely earned him the scorn of his comrades. To obtain better results, a canoe which was lashed to the side of the barge was put into the water, and with rods and lines two of the scoffers got into it. They guided the canoe into the quieter waters by the bank and wielded their rods, Whatever bait they used, it was very effective, for no sooner did they make @ cast than it was taken; and in ten minutes there were as many fair-sized fish squirming in the bottom of the canoe.‘ Very. good eating they proved, too. (To be continued next week)