the weapon varies from eight to twelve feet.
This singular instrument is designed, not for propelling a bullet, but an arrow; but as this arrow differs altogether from the common kind it also needs to be described.
The blow-gun arrow is about fifteen or eighteen inches long, and is made of a piece of split bamboo; but when the “patawa” palm can be found, this tree furnishes a still better material, in the long spines that grow out from the sheathing bases of its leaves. These are 18 inches in length, of a black colour, flattish though perfectly straight. Being cut to the proper length—which most of them are without cutting—they are whittled at one end to a sharp point. This point is dipped about three inches deep in the celebrated “curare” poison; and just where the poison mark terminates, a notch is made, so that the head will be easily broken off when the arrow is in the wound. Near the other end a little soft down of silky cotton (the floss of the bombax ceiba) is twisted around into a smooth mass of the shape of a spinning-top, with its larger end towards the nearer extremity of the arrow. The cotton is held in its place by being lightly whipped on by the delicate thread or fibre of a bromelia, and the mass is just big enough to fill the tube by gently pressing it inward.
The arrow thus made is inserted, and whenever the game is within reach the Indian places his mouth to the lower end or mouthpiece, and with a strong “puff,” which practice enables him to give, he sends the little messenger upon its deadly errand. He can hit with unerring aim at the distance of forty or fifty paces; but he prefers to shoot in a direction nearly vertical, as in that way he can take the surest aim. As his common game—birds and monkeys—are usually perched upon the higher branches of tall trees, their situation just suits him. Of course it is not the mere wound of the arrow that kills these creatures, but the poison, which in two or three minutes after they have been hit, will bring either bird or monkey to the ground. When the latter is struck he would be certain to draw out the arrow; but the notch, already mentioned, provides against this, as the slightest wrench serves to break off the envenomed head.
These arrows are dangerous things,—even for the manufacturer of them to play with: they are therefore carried in a quiver, and with great care,—the quiver consisting either of a bamboo joint or a neat wicker case.
The weapons of war used by the forest tribes are the common bow and arrows, also tipped with curare, and the “macana,” or war-club, a species peculiar to South America, made out of the hard heavy wood of the pissaba palm. Only one or two tribes use the spear; and both the “bolas” and lazo are quite unknown, as such weapons would not be available among the trees of the forest. These are the proper arms of the Horse Indian, the dweller on the open plains; but without them, for all war purposes, the forest tribes have weapons enough, and, unfortunately, make a too frequent use of them.
Chapter Three.
The Water-Dwellers of Maracaibo.
The Andes mountains, rising in the extreme southern point of South America, not only extend throughout the whole length of that continent, but continue on through Central America and Mexico, under the name of “Cordilleras de Sierra Madre;” and still farther north to the shores of the Arctic Sea, under the very inappropriate appellation of the “Rocky Mountains.” You must not suppose that these stupendous mountains form one continuous elevation. At many places they furcate into various branches, throwing off spurs, and sometime parallel “sierras,” between which lie wide “valles,” or level plains of great extent. It is upon these high plateaux—many of them elevated 7,000 feet above the sea—that the greater part of the Spanish-American population dwells; and on them too are found most of the large cities of Spanish South America and Mexico.
These parallel chains meet at different points, forming what the Peruvians term “nodas” (knots); and, after continuing for a distance in one great cordillera, again bifurcate. One of the most remarkable of these bifurcations of the Andes occurs about latitude 2 degrees North. There the gigantic sierra separates into two great branches, forming a shape like the letter Y, the left limb being that which is usually regarded as the main continuation of these mountains through the Isthmus of Panama, while the right forms the eastern boundary of the great valley of the Magdalena river; and then, trending in an eastwardly direction along the whole northern coast of South America to the extreme point of the promontory of Paria.
Each of these limbs again forks into several branches or spurs,—the whole system forming a figure that may be said to bear some resemblance to a genealogical tree containing the pedigree of four or five generations.
It is only with one of the bifurcations of the right or eastern sierra that this sketch has to do. On reaching the latitude of 7 degrees north, this chain separates itself into two wings, which, after diverging widely to the east and west, sweep round again towards each other, as if desirous to be once more united. The western wing advances boldly to this reunion; but the eastern, after vacillating for a time, as if uncertain what course to take, turns its back abruptly on its old comrade, and trends off in a due east direction, till it sinks into insignificance upon the promontory of Paria.
The whole mass of the sierra, however, has not been of one mind; for, at the time of its indecision, a large spur detaches itself from the main body, and sweeps round, as if to carry out the union with the left wing advancing from the west. Although they get within sight of each other, they are not permitted to meet,—both ending abruptly before the circle is completed, and forming a figure bearing a very exact resemblance to the shoe of a racehorse. Within this curving boundary is enclosed a vast valley,—as large as the whole of Ireland,—the central portion of which, and occupying about one third of its whole extent, is a sheet of water, known from the days of the discovery of America, as the Lake of Maracaibo.
It obtained this appellation from the name of an Indian cazique, who was met upon its shores by the first discoverers; but although this lake was known to the earliest explorers of the New World,—although it lies contiguous to many colonial settlements both on the mainland and the islands of the Caribbean Sea,—the lake itself and the vast territory that surrounds it, remain almost as unknown and obscure as if they were situated among the central deserts of Africa.
And yet the valley of Maracaibo is one of the most interesting portions of the globe,—interesting not only as a terra incognita, but on account of the diversified nature of its scenery and productions. It possesses a fauna of a peculiar kind, and its flora is one of the richest in the world, not surpassed,—perhaps not equalled,—by that of any other portion of the torrid zone. To give a list of its vegetable productions would be to enumerate almost every species belonging to tropical America. Here are found the well-known medicinal plants,—the sassafras and sarsaparilla, guaiacum, copaiva, cinchona, and cuspa, or Cortex Angosturae; here are the deadly poisons of barbasco and mavacure, and alongside them the remedies of the “palo sano,” and mikania guaco. Here likewise grow plants and trees producing those well-known dyes of commerce, the blue indigo, the red arnotto, the lake-coloured chica, the brazilletto, and dragon’s-blood; and above all, those woods of red, gold, and ebon tints, so precious in the eyes of the cabinet and musical-instrument makers of Europe.
Yet, strange to say, these rich resources lie, like treasures buried in the bowels of the earth, or gems at the bottom of the sea, still undeveloped. A few small lumbering establishments near the entrance of the lake,—here and there a miserable village, supported by a little coast commerce in dyewoods, or cuttings of ebony,—now and then a hamlet of fishermen,—a “hato” of goats and sheep; and at wider intervals, a “ganaderia” of cattle, or a plantation of cocoa-trees (cocale), furnish the only evidence that man has asserted his dominion over this interesting region. These settlements, however, are sparsely distributed, and widely distant from one another. Between them stretch broad savannas and forests,—vast tracts, untitled and even unexplored,—a very wilderness, but a wilderness rich in natural resources.
The Lake of Maracaibo is often, though erroneously, described as an arm