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MUKOWtn RNWUMHI OOt* K* O*# IVO*
1RARY I
IIIILJ
.,.,0.11111 Illllll
D DDD1 D153237 2
MOSQUITO
n ^
An Account of a Journey : : : :
through the Jungles of Honduras
By
PETER KEENAGH
Boston & New York
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
* / * ; .;M^\DE fN GREAT BRITAIN
"*. ** *
** :**.?.: :/*.-
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
t/
I]
To
my Father and. Mother
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Contents
THE ROAD
TEGUCIGALPA
PERLA DEL MAR
COXXEN HOLE
ROATAN
BREWER S LAGOON
TOM-TOM CUT-OFF
PATUCA
M TSAMU
MEDICINE MAN
MAFIA
TZOCAL
WAMPU JUNCTION
VICENTINOS
GUARUNTA
TOACAS
RIBRA
CARATASCA
Page i
16
33
52
65
3
95
in
125
140
155
190
206
221
236
252
267
Vll
Illustrations
1. BREWER S LAGOON and GANNON ISLAND Frontispiece
2. TEGUCIGALPA : The Road Facing page 6
3. SIGUATAPEQTJE 12
4. TEGUCIGALPA : The Palace of El Poder Supremo 22
5. TEGUCIGALPA: Loteria Nacional 26
La Merced
6. NEAR COMAYAGUELA 30
7. LA CEIBA 38
8. COXXEN HOLE 54
PORT ROYAL, ROATAN
9. BAY ISLANDS 68
BARBURATA
10. BAY ISLANDS 80
BAY ISLANDS : Oven
it. Don Miguel Ramirez, Gomandante of all
Mosquitia 88
12- Zambu House near Brewer s Lagoon 96
TOM-TOM CUT-OFF
13. Lagoon Zambus 103
BREWER S LAGOON
14. Kirkonnell and Osgood (Bay Islanders) 127
Zambus Poling a Pipanto in Brewer s Lagoon
15. VICENTINO COUNTRY: Gol6n Mountains 213
1 6. In the Col6n Mountains 238
Map of LA MOSQfJITIA 34
ix
AUTHOR S NOTE
THE Province of La Mosquitia is a very large area,
chiefly unexplored ; most of it is covered by thick
and all but impenetrable jungle. The author and his
companion during their journey saw a little of it and
were fortunate enough to find several tribes of Indians,
but time was very short and with the equipment at their
disposal they were barely able to scratch the surface of
the vast expanse of unknown territory.
In addition to this neither the author nor Mr. Nigel
MacDermott, who went with him, had the slightest
scientific knowledge of any kind. For these reasons let
no learned conclusions be drawn by the reader from the
material of this book ; and let him understand clearly
from the start that the expedition was no more than an
unjustified piece of elaborate and protracted inquisitive-
ness.
I am much indebted to the Editors of The Times for
permission to reprint material which appeared in their
columns during December 1936 and January 1937 ; to
Mr. Nigel MacDermott for some of the photographs ;
to Mr. Sholto O Rourke for reading the proofs ; and
finally to all those who gave us invaluable help and
advice both before we started and during our journey.
XI
Chapter One
THE ROAD
FROM the Caribbean coast there are three ways
of reaching Tegucigalpa, which is the capital of
Honduras. One can fly precariously for two hours in
a very old aeroplane, one can ride five days on a mule,
or one can travel with jolting determination in the
baronesa along the Indian hunting trail which many
years of use and courtesy have dignified as The Road.
The baronesa is a singular vehicle which is found only
in Spanish Honduras : it has its counterpart in the
Nicaraguan condesa, but outside of Central America it
has no relatives among wheeled conveyances. The
baronesa is a jaunty-car, very low and almost obscenely
wide, built on some ancient and infallible American
motor-car chassis. In common with the cars of all
Spanish countries, it is driven by the combined efforts
of two boys of seventeen or eighteen, who have pre
viously removed all those parts of the mechanism de
signed to prevent noise. The baronesa rarely fails to
complete a journey : where oxcarts and mule-trains
are held up, and The Road is invisible under the muddy
swellings of the rivers, the baronesa still manages to
struggle through, her ancient engine kept dry by strips
of old tyres and her intake extended vertically, like a
periscope, four or five feet in the air to outwit the
i B
MOSQUITO COAST
floods. No other wheeled traffic can travel on The
Road, even during the driest season : it is out of the
question. Enormous boulders are strewn along it, un
moved since the days of Pizarro, and the bridges that
once spanned the seven streams that separate Teguci
galpa from the Caribbean are gone, destroyed by floods,
hurricanes, and the activities of those promoting or pre
venting revolutions. To the traveller who is used to
English roads, The Road of Honduras is incredible :
it is much less of a road than the worst impassable
declivity on the road-maps. The construction of the
Honduran Road, however, is a tremendous achieve
ment. It crosses swamps, savannas, and deserts : it
circles mountains and digs through them, it runs care
lessly through the widest parts of enormous rivers. In
no place along its length could its building have been
easy, for the country has been revolution-ridden for as
long as the oldest inhabitants can remember, and State
subsidies for public works have been few and small.
Money has, from time to time, been set aside for the
improvement of The Road, but the difficulties which
road-building entails in the tropics make the work
very costly and the sums tempting : and it is not
hard to guess how far aside some of the money was
set.
The progress of the baronesa is further impeded by
the presence of innumerable graves which stand annoy-
ingly sacrosanct in the middle of the path. It is the
native custom to bury a traveller where he falls, and
it is considered very uncharitable to do otherwise. A
great many Hondurans have died on The Road, each
THE ROAD
buried and marked by a rough wooden cross, which
is supported by a pile of stones. After a burial, every
passer-by throws a stone on to the grave : this pile of
stones supports the cross permanently and protects the
corpse from the ravages of wild dogs and tiger cats.
In places The Road is ridiculously cluttered up with
graves, for much of the guerrilla warfare that breaks
out at election time is centred around strategic points
on The Road. Honduran travellers are very strict
about honouring the dead, and a peasant on his way
to another village will sometimes spend hours finding
a suitable stone to put on the grave of a friend. An
American engineer, some years ago, saw fit to move
some stones from The Road to help him in some task
of construction he had in hand while prospecting in the
mountains : he was quite ignorant of Honduran cus
toms and Spanish, and insisted on taking the convenient
piles of stones from The Road. He was shot to death
the next day by a native who was apparently drunk,
and there was nobody to build a pile of stones over his
grave : the vultures made a much cleaner and less
obstructive tombstone for him. The drunken Hon
duran was arrested as a matter of course, and was sub
sequently liberated as easily. Life and death are both
very cheap in Honduras, for the maximum prison sen
tence for murder without any excuse at all is six months
in a special army company. For those who have any
excuse, or can prove provocation, or who have friends
and relations in the Government, the sentence is con
siderably less.
The origin of the baronesa is not known in Honduras.
3
MOSQUITO COAST
Perhaps it came from Nicaragua, which boasted a road
long before the Hondurans had built one : perhaps it
was introduced by the enterprising groups of English
and American adventurers who invaded the republics
of Central America after the war. The name, how
ever, was given to it locally, either to honour or ridicule
a certain German Baroness who bears a very well-
known name indeed, and who lived for many years in
isolated splendour in a native hut near the Caribbean
coast. The Baroness was installed in the country well
before the war, but her story remains her secret : she
was one of the most interesting and incredible of the
mysteries of the Caribbean coast. She was very fat,
and her temper was tremendous, and her title passed
to the mechanical baronesa many years ago. The legend
has it that her husband, a cruel monster somewhat
decorated by Central American imagination, brought
her to Honduras and threatened to leave her stranded
on the coast. The Baroness, who was a woman of
action as well as one who knew her own mind, promptly
killed him and from that moment forward never left
the scene of her crime, which was celebrated with
revelry and dancing by the populace. The only fea
tures the Baroness had in common with the baronesa
was her extreme width : but this was said to be very-
remarkable and was indeed the salient characteristic
of both Baroness and bus*
The approaches to the Mosquito Coast of Honduras
and Nicaragua are difficult. Political and legal bar
riers protect one of the wildest parts of the earth from
4
THE ROAD
marauding strangers who might be up to no good. La
Mosquitia, as the unexplored part of Honduras is called
in Spanish, is protected property and is under the very
special jurisdiction of the President of the Republic,
who in official communiques is rather ambitiously styled
El Poder Supremo the Supreme Power. It is difficult
to imagine the mass of intrigue which surrounds simple
transactions in Spanish America : and it is for this
reason that the Mosqi^to Coast remains very largely a
closed book to scientists. Governments change in Cen
tral America with such musical-comedy rapidity that
the slow process of treaty-making and the expensive
business of befriending Cabinet Ministers is often
brought to nought just before a start into Mosquitia
is to be made, and the whole farce must be replayed.
The Nicaraguan frontier, too, makes exploration diffi
cult, for it is not geographically fixed with any accuracy.
Many years ago the eternal dispute over the Nicaragua-
Honduras frontier was put before the King of Spain for
arbitration : but his decision, which was delivered in
1906, according to the Nicaraguans seemed to favour
Honduras, and was promptly declared null and void.
It is generally assumed to run along the course of the
River Coco : but since the course of that river is un
charted this does not really help, and any excursion
into the Mosquito Coast is regarded with the greatest
suspicion, both by the authorities of Honduras and by
the gangs of smugglers, gun-runners, and bandits who
live on the edges of civilization in the Patuca country.
For all these reasons there is a mass of detail and red
tape to be seen to in Tegucigalpa : and for this reason
5
MOSQUITO COAST
it was that my cousin Nigel and I became acquainted
with The Road.
The Road winds endlessly on for nearly three days
in the baronesa, three days of a fiendish rolling progress
on solid wheels. It is intolerably hot, and the fumes
of the boiling engine make us both feel ill. The drivers
laugh and shriek words of encouragement to us from
their seat in front. They seem to enjoy the journey
immensely, and considerable discussion frequently
arises as to who is the driver. The official driver is
Pablo, who is seventeen and is an Indian ; but his col
league, who has no official capacity in the equipage, is
much larger and is a very black Negro. Occasionally
Pablo sings, and the Negro falls asleep. Nigel and I
try to sleep, but it is quite impossible.
From time to time The Road offers diversions. The
seven rivers are swollen, for we arrive at the end of the
rainy season. During the rains not even the baronesa
can pass : we later discover that one reason for Pablo s
great interest in the journey is that it is the first since
the end of the rainy season, and no one has yet been
able to discover whether The Road is passable.
When we come to the rivers we stop, while Pablo and
his friend do things to the engine to protect it from the
water. A large iron pipe projects vertically in the air
for about five feet above our heads, so presumably the
baronesa would still be in working order if all her inmates
were drowned. Pablo swathes the spark-plug leads in
oily waste* Both drivers point out that we arc about
to ford a river, and make signs with their hands to show
6
TEGUCIGALPA: The Road
THE ROAD
us exactly what they are doing to the engine. We nod
and laugh. The Negro blows the horn to show that
even that still works. . . . If the river is not too deep,
the baronesa wallows through in a dignified way, slowly
but without any great difficulty. Sometimes she stops
in mid-stream and has to be restarted, which takes a
very long time indeed : and crossing the Ghamelec6n
river she did this three times, finally relapsing into a
sulky silence. No one says anything : there is no noise
but the slap of the thick yellow water against the
baronescts buttocks. The swollen river swirls around
her and washes away the red mud from under the
wheels, so she sinks deeper and deeper into the river
bed. Nigel and I rouse ourselves and look about :
apparently we are marooned, fast in mid-stream, and
neither of our drivers seem at all concerned about our
plight. Pablo grins and shrugs his shoulders with the
resignation that is so typical of all Central Americans.
c Hay que esperar ! There is nothing for it, he says, but
to wait. He seems not at all ill-pleased. Perhaps, he
says, a paisano will happen to come by with a team of
bestia to haul us out : perhaps, however, he impresses
us with some glee, we shall have to remain for several
days in mid-stream. This is more than our co-driver
can stand : he collapses in fits of laughter and shrieks
at us in several dialects. Nigel and I look at each
other. This is too much.
c Carqjo, Pablo, tenemos que sacarle de aqui ! No quiero
quedar la noche en el agua, cono ! Nigel s Spanish is more
rude than it is accurate : but it seems to impress Pablo,
who agrees violently. We tell him that we must reach
7
MOSQUITO COAST
Siguatapeque by nightfall, as we have no mosquito-nets
and do not relish having to sleep in the open on the
plains. Pablo and the Negro have a hurried and
heated conference in undertones. Finally, both take
off their clothes and wade around towards the front of
the baronesa, while Nigel stands up with his Winchester
to watch for alligators. It is unlikely that any would
attack the men in the water in the middle of the day
and with the river in full spate, but Pablo seems appre
hensive and keeps muttering in undertones about
legartos ! We see no trace of anything resembling an
alligator. After some time Pablo clambers back into
the driver s seat, and for some reason which is beyond
our mechanical knowledge the engine starts imme
diately. The wheels spin hopelessly, however, and the
baronesa does no more than shift her ponderous bulk
from one side to the other. The mud is stirred up by
our wheels, and the river looks almost black. Finally
Nigel and I undress, jump into the mud, and lend our
efforts to those of Pablo and the Negro in working her
out of the slime* After two hours she moves, slides,
sputters, and finally drags herself out of the water.
Everything is filthy : our kit is soaked, except for the
things which we had wisely packed in water-proof bags,
and we are covered in red ooze- The floor of the
baronesa is several inches deep in it, and it does not look
as if we shall ever be a normal colour again.
But the Ghamclec6n was the worst of the rivers- It
is the deepest and most treacherous of them, for it runs
at nearly seven miles an hour when the tributaries that
pour into it from the hills are really swollen, and some-
8
THE ROAD
times it carries large logs and branches along in its
muddy swirl, quite large enough to stave in the side
of the baronesa or to knock one down if one was wading
across the river. Sometimes the Ghamelec6n is ob
structed by several wagons and carts, stuck fast in mid
stream : and if they are not removed quickly they
break up like ships on the rocks, and are carried off
to the sea. No one who travels along The Road regu
larly, (and there are several such people, most of whom
claim to be carrying government dispatches of the
utmost secrecy and importance) expects to pass straight
over the Ghamelec6n : a delay of a day or so is not
regarded as any misfortune. Most travellers prefer, if
possible, to make the journey by mule, but at certain
times of the year this is out of the question since the
water is too deep for the mules to wade across, and
swimming they could never hope to carry their enor
mous burdens over to the other side. This was the
chief reason Nigel and I did not travel with a mule
train, which we had originally contemplated, and
which I think would have been much more fun. Some
of our equipment was very heavy, and a mule train
would have been impossible except under the most
favourable conditions.
In Honduras The Road is regarded as a very busy
thoroughfare, and when we talked, during our stay on
the coast, of reaching Tegucigalpa by baronesa we were
assured that no harm could befall travellers on The
Road since there was so much trqfico moving on it at
all times. We conjured up pictures of the Great North
9
MOSQUITO COAST
Road, of Watling Street and Broadway : no dangers
could lurk, from bandits or other incalculable elements,
on a road where one was continually in sight of other
people. During the two and threequarter days in
which we laboured sluggishly along The Road we
passed two people, both riding mules. The first was
a Very Important Person indeed, handsomely turned
out in a pair of khaki breeches and top-boots : at first
sight he belonged to the category, mentioned above, of
People Carrying Important Documents. He greeted
our approach with the gravest suspicion, and pulled
well away from our path, with a slight sideways twist
of his body to bring the thirty-eight strapped to his side
in a shoulder holster into full view. Nigel and I greeted
him with the usual * Adios.* He paid no attention to
us but addressed himself to Pablo, who sat staring
woodenly from his seat, * Onde van los gringos ? 9 Where
are the foreigners going ? There is only one place to
which The Road leads, and he must have known it as
well as we did, but the question did not surprise Pablo,
who shouted * Vamos a Tegucigalpa ; apparently this
made the whole business very satisfactory. The
stranger grinned, seized the bottle of local beer that
Nigel held up to him, and shook us both warmly by
the hand. His name, he told us, was Jos6 L6pez
Galixto, and if we happened to need any insurance
he was the man to come to. Before we parted he had
offered to sell us a motor-car, to inscribe us on the list
of the republican party, to accompany us to the Mos
quito Coast, and to take us to a place where he knew,
for a dead certainty, that there was an immense
10
THE ROAD
gold mine. We declined all his offers with determin
ation.
The second stranger was later to play a large part
in our expedition. He was an imposing figure like the
first, but he was tremendously fat and rode his mule
with that air of dignity which in Central America is
only assumed by those closely connected with the cur
rent Government. He wore a broad-brimmed Spanish
hat with a flat crown, a grey waistcoat and the tightest
of black alpaca trousers which only abandoned the con
tours of his portly form at the knee, where they flared
out into a prodigious width. He seemed to be in a
great hurry, and from the front we could see that as
he rode towards us his short little legs were banging in
and out continuously to encourage the mule to fiirther
feats of endurance. Encourage is perhaps not the right
word, for each of his spurs was fitted with a sharply
spiked wheel, at least an inch in diameter ; but Central
American mules seem to care very little for punishment
of any kind, and the only way to set them in motion
at all is to persevere with the sharpest spurs available.
He reined up beside the baronesa in Wild-West style,
mopping his brow with an enormous red handkerchief.
Pablo stopped by pushing the gear lever through into
reverse with a horrible crash. The stranger dismounted
and introduced himself excitedly and proudly as the
Comandante of the district of Portrerillos, through which
we were now travelling. He was on a commission, he
said, a very special commission from the Poder Supremo
in Tegucigalpa to apprehend a muy mat hombre called
Jos L6pez Calixto, who was reputed to have escaped
MOSQUITO COAST
from the capital not long before, and had we seen any
thing of a tall man riding a grey mule and wearing a
revolver in a shoulder holster ? We told him that the
grey mule had passed, going well, some six hours be
fore. He sighed contentedly. That was a good thing,
he said, for it meant that Calixto was well out of his
district by now, and he could not be blamed for letting
such a well-known bandit escape. He turned and rode
with us towards Siguatapeque, and as we went along
he told us the story of Jos6 L6pez Calixto and why he
was wanted so badly in Tegucigalpa.
Calixto was a Nicaraguan. Nobody in Honduras
seemed to know very much about him, how he lived
or why he chose to stay away from his own country.
There are too many Central Americans who cannot
live in their own states for that to have been a matter
of importance or even of interest. For the last six
months (said our Comandante), Jos L6pez Calixto had
lived in Tegucigalpa at the Estanco de los dos Hermanos,
a low hotel which was the rendezvous for a great many
different kinds of undesirables (We later saw how true
this was : to stay at the Dos Hermanns was to stamp one
self at once as a doubtful character,) At least two
Honduran revolutions are known to have started there,
and several neighbouring disturbances are suspected of
having the Dos ffermanos for their origin : and it is sus
pected that most of the arms trade in the Five Republics
is conducted from there. Calixto in spite of this seemed
to have been well received in the haute monde of Tegu
cigalpa on account of his good manners and his amazing
succession of impeccable clothes. He became in time
12
SIGUATAPEQUE
H* 1 THE ROAD
very friendly with some of the Cabinet Ministers, and
was frequently invited to attend the interminable balls
which are given by the Honduran Government. He
seemed well off and he became particularly friendly
^with a Cabinet member whom we will call Carlos San
,, Vicente. This friendship continued for some time,
until suddenly Calixto disappeared from the Dos Her-
manos and Carlos San Vicente did not appear to take
his seat on the benches. Visitors to the San Vicente
house were told that Carlos was ill, that he had a bad
T headache and could not appear in public. Other more
^privileged visitors, however, found him sitting in his
^ bedroom gnashing his teeth and tearing his hair, having
v broken most of the furniture in the room to pieces. . , .
"^ Since then, sighed the Comandante, he had heard no
thing ; he was very anxious to hear what had hap
pened, but had found it quite impossible to get any
kind of news from Tegucigalpa at all. All he knew
^ was that an order had come through from the General
^ himself telling him to get Calixto at any price.
C* It was not till nearly six months later that we knew
^ what had happened.
^ Jos6 L6pez Galixto had approached Carlos San
Q^ Vicente with a proposal which was to have been very
profitable for both of them. He had, he said, been
unfairly compelled to leave his native land under a
cloud which was connected with some trifling detail
about the validity of some American currency he had
been distributing in Nicaragua ; but fortunately he
had been able to escape with his own personal fortune,
which he had converted into hundred-dollar bills and
13
MOSQUITO COAST
smuggled out of the country when he made his escape.
The trouble was, however, that he was now unable to
get rid of even his own valid money because he could
get no change : all the Central American banks, which
are controlled by Englishmen and North Americans,
had received warnings about him from their head
offices, and he did not dare go into a bank to change
his large notes. As it happened, by a lucky chance he
had the hundred-dollar notes with him, and would be
quite willing to sell them to his friend Carlos San
Vicente at a great discount ... he had just twelve
thousand dollars, and because of his friendship with
Carlos, he would part with them for a nominal five
thousand dollars. Now American currency in the
Spanish republics is the best money that can be had ;
as British sterling is to the East, so is the dollar to the
Central American countries. It is stable, it is valid
everywhere, and it is supremely oblivious of the fluc
tuations brought about in local currencies by revolu
tions. Carlos San Vicente was more than interested ;
he scraped up five thousand good dollars and handed
them over to Calixto. Calixto produced twelve sealed
sardine tins and handed them to San Vicente with a
crafty smile , . . that was the way, he said, he had
managed to keep such an enormous sum safe during
his adventures in escaping from Nicaragua. He picked
one tin out at random and opened it ; it contained ten
one-hundred-dollar notes, crisp and fresh from the
United States treasury. Carlos San Vicente, who had
until now been just the slightest bit suspicious of his
friend, examined the notes closely ; he knew enough
14
THE ROAD
to tell a real note from a forgery, and these were obvi
ously quite genuine. They shook hands on the deal
and Jose L6pez Galixto went home to his hotel, and
was heard of no more in Tegucigalpa. It was not until
the next day that Carlos San Vicente found that the
other eleven tins contained just what one would expect
in sardine tins. He had paid five thousand dollars for
one thousand dollars, and it later turned out that even
the ten one-hundred-dollar notes were not quite good
enough. . . .
We never heard what happened to Galixto. He
probably escaped, because he was clever ; and I think
we rather hoped that he did.
Chapter Two
TEGUCIGALPA
HPHERE is a tradition among the writers of books
J. on travel in foreign countries which decrees that
the reader shall be put in possession of all the facts
about the journey. Knowledgeable readers must be
allowed to have their opinions about one s dietetics and
equipment, and old gentlemen must have their say
about what should have been done, or about young
people nowadays not understanding the Value of Good
Staff Work at The Base, Readers all over the world
(one hopes), safe in their arm-chairs, must be allowed
to criticize and calculate exactly why the misfortunes
they recognize as adventures took place : and it is
cheating, just as in a murder story it is cheating for the
detective to find clues which the reader knows nothing
about, to start a journey in the middle of unexplored
deserts or to open a book under fire in some South
American Revolution. It is intolerable for the author
of a thriller to introduce a Supernatural Power or an
Unknown Eastern Drug into his deductive nexus at the
last moment, and it is just as bad for the travel-writer
to move a thousand miles between chapters, or to
escape from the melting icefloe by some means which
the reader is left to imagine. The reader has a certain
and immediate escape from the monotony of tropical
16
TEGUCIGALPA
jungles and the tedium of frozen steppes ; he need only
do his travelling in small comfortable doses. And he
must bear with the author during the dull empty parts
of his voyaging.
Our journey from the coast to Tegucigalpa was more
amusing than it was exciting or interesting. There was
little to see, beyond the wild rugged landscapes, and the
incredible jolting of the baronesa did not tend to put us
in any mood to appreciate scenery. I think that during
those sixty hours I was more uncomfortable than I have
ever been before : but the journey served to give us a
slight idea of the details of organization which lay be
fore us. Nothing could in fact be simpler than travel
ling from the Caribbean to the Capital, but encumbered
with the lackadaisical vacillations of the Spanish mozo
the journey became a vast and improbable gamble.
There was a time on the coast when we had almost
abandoned hope of starting inland : everything seemed
against us and we had not yet learned that in tropical
America one must see to every tiny detail oneself. Our
agents in Puerto Cort6z, highly recommended locally,
had drawn their pay and apparently retired. Porters
had failed to appear, our gear was damply entombed
for dreary days in the Customs House, and much of it
went astray altogether. We were told that the road
was impassable and that the baronesa had broken down
beyond repair, that we were not to be allowed, after
all, to start. . . .
I repeat that in Honduras one must watch every
thing done personally or else do it oneself. Perhaps
the admixture of Indian and Negro blood (the Hon-
17 c
MOSQUITO COAST
durans are nearly all of mixed blood) aggravates the
proverbial laziness of the Spaniard ; perhaps it is just
the natural drowsy effect of the tropics.
Certainly there are more contentedly unemployed
people in Honduras than anywhere else. The country
is rich, and the population small, so there is little incen
tive to work ; food can be had from the trees and the
ground, and the red native beans which form the back
bone of the native diet are almost given for the asking.
The climate is so hot that a quantity of clothes is
nothing to work for. The only temptation that leads
the lower-class Honduran to work is the possibility of
eventually earning enough money to buy a revolver,
which is the final ambition of them all : with a revolver
money is easy enough to get hold of, and no nonsense
about working for it : and in addition the peon with a
gun rises immensely in local society as if his armed
estate gave him a civil status beyond the reach of the
unarmed pauper.
The chief piece of unpleasantness we encountered
was in the Customs, and was due to the local love of
firearms, which is not confined entirely to the peones.
We had an enormous armoury . . . repeating shot
guns, rifles, revolvers, automatics . . . every conceiv
able form of weapon which we felt might be useful or
which thoughtful but ill-informed friends before our
departure had considered suitable. The official in
charge of the aduana peered at them in envious con
sternation, but there was nothing he could do ... we
had permits, bunches of them, signed by the highest
authorities in Tegucigalpa. They were an impressive
18
TEGUCIGALPA
display, stamped and counter-stamped, sealed and
counter-sealed, and signed, apparently at random, by
the Minister of War, the Minister of Foreign Affairs,
the Minister of Finance, and for good measure by a
mysterious official known as the Minister of Fomento,
whose function we were never able to discover. In the
face of this evidence of our bona fides the local officer
could not read a revolution into our expedition, or sus
pect us of gun-running : but he resignedly contented
himself with checking and re-checking every number,
bore, and quantity of ammunition. The process took
well over two hours. Finally he fell upon Nigel s re
peating twenty-two, which seemed to tempt him too
far ; it was called a rifle on the permit and the invoice,
he wheedled, but nothing was said about it being a
repeater : did we think we could smuggle dangerous
weapons into Honduras as easily as that ? For all he
knew, the permits might be forgeries anyway, and we
might be the advance guard of an invading army ! He
carried the twenty-two lovingly away and returned us
the rest, telling us severely that Further Investigations
would have to be made and the permits verified, and
the whole affair carefully taken up with the Poder
Supremo at Tegucigalpa.
We were ignorant then : we did not know enough
to do what we should have done. In our simple way
we imagined that telegrams would be sent at once to
the Capital, instructions and apologies would then issue,
and the rifle would be returned to us by special mes
senger. We told each other how much trouble the
Customs man would get into for confiscating it, and we
19
MOSQUITO COAST
said it served him right : we wondered whether he
would lose his job or merely be reduced in rank.
An uneventful week passed without news from the
aduana, while we went on with other arrangements for
the journey.
Just before we started inland we mentioned the matter
to the Comandante of Puerto Cort&z, who had received
special instructions from the President to look after us.
He was furious : he flew into a tremendous rage and
dragged us off immediately to the Customs House,
where he demanded in an extravaganza of rhetoric
that our property be handed over to us, c in the name
of General Carfas, President of the Republic. Now if
there is one thing that puts the fear of God into an
official in Honduras it is the mention of General Carfas,
and we were to find, on many occasions, that this was
a magic breeze to carry us through the doldrums of
official formality. General Carfas is enormous and
leonine, a terrifying figure who seized the Presidency
some years ago by sheer bravery and strength of char
acter. El General to the people of the coast towns,
and in particular to the petty officials, is an almost
legendary figure. His word is supreme ; he is the
Government, and has many ways of getting what he
wants.
The aduanero, who had been nastily startled by the
entrance of the Comandante, was very frightened by this
invocation of El General* He scurried around and made
a great show of looking for the rifle in all the most
improbable places in the Customs House. It was obvi
ously not there : we knew it, he knew it, and he knew
20
TEGUCIGALPA
that we knew it. He fidgeted uncomfortably and
licked his lips. Suddenly it dawned on him :
c Hombre ! * Of course, how could he have forgotten !
He had just taken it round to his own house for a
day or so, to clean it, as he was afraid it would get
rusty lying in the Customs House. . . .
There is something about the town of Tegucigalpa
which makes it seem infinitely removed from the sane
and orderly world to which one is accustomed. There
is something in the loneliness of its mountain surround
ings, which cut it oiFfrom outside influences, that makes
it appear a little unreal. Everything about Teguci
galpa is a mixture ; the people are a wild hotchpotch
of colours and races, the climate is half mountainous
and half tropical, and it is altogether a queer compro
mise between the lawlessness of the wilds and the
civilization of a rising republic. It is a place of vivid
contrasts between the savage and the civilized, which
make the little peculiarities of a backward community
stand out in grotesque relief. One is given the im
pression that Tegucigalpa was, not long ago, a native
village, and that upon it was suddenly crammed all
the bustling veneer of American modernity. Such a
contrast is common enough in tropical countries ; for
there are very few parts of the earth which have not
been reached by the enterprising representatives of
American business houses, which amass enormous for
tunes by peddling the most modern products to the
most backward people. But in Honduras there is some
thing lacking which makes the contrast stronger. The
21
MOSQUITO COAST
country is hard to reach, and its foreign contacts are
few ; the civilization which has come so suddenly to
Honduras develops rapidly, in its own way, and it has
not the advantage of having other countries in close
touch with it to modulate the flow of its progress.
Tegucigalpa can lay very few claims to beauty.
There is a certain grandeur in its wild mountain set
ting, but without that background the town itself is for
the most part unexciting. The architecture is Spanish,
showing the strong influence which is the legacy of the
Conquistador es> but the charm of low roofs and patios is
rather offset by the fact that the streets are laid out in
the modern American fashion, dully rectilinear. The
town is divided into two by a small and dirty river, in
which most of the local washing is done, which separ
ates suburban Comayaguela from Tegucigalpa. There
are a few landmarks which stand out in one s memory,
whether one arrives by land or by air ; the Cathedral,
an enormous but little patronized edifice of mixed and
rather rococo architecture, with its great Spanish tower
standing high over the town ; the President s palace,
a dazzling white square with concrete battlements and
machine-guns standing ready to scatter lead in the in
terests of El Poder Supremo, and the twin forts which
stand one on either side of the Capital. The forts are
the first objective of revolutionaries who are making an
assault on Tegucigalpa, for they stand on two high hills
in positions that command every corner of the town.
It sometimes happens, if a badly organized revolution
gets out of hand, that the parties are in possession of
a fort each, and take turns shooting with antiquated
TEGUCIGALPA: The Palace of El Poder Supremo
TEGUCIGALPA
cannon in the general direction of the town. Most of
the Legations of the foreign powers are in a direct line
between the two. His Majesty s Legation, with justi
fiable caution, has recently moved itself to a high hill
some way out of the town, whence it can watch the
fun in safety.
The Hondurans are a very remarkable nation in that
they can always be relied on to live up to their reputa
tion, and frequently to go one better. The general con
duct of civil and military affairs in Central America is
surprisingly similar to the common idea. The Hon-
duran has a reputation for revolutions, and he sees to
it that a year rarely passes without one. He is thought
of as wearing a wide-brimmed sombrero, and will very
rarely be seen without it. The Honduran Army is
largely composed of officers of Field Rank, and the
General Staff has (at least until recently) been inclined
to take into consideration, when planning the activities
of the soldiery, a great many factors other than military
efficiency. The Government is characteristically lacka
daisical, and there is only One Sure Way of getting any
thing accomplished. Any friendly advances that one
makes to those in authority are as likely as not wasted,
as a new government may come into office in the fol
lowing week, and all the important positions will be
redistributed, with brilliant partiality, to the friends
and relations of the President. There is no dishonesty
in Honduras, but affairs are conducted on a different
basis from our own ; everyone, or nearly everyone,
accepts an original moral point of view, and the local
scale of honesty is calibrated accordingly.
23
MOSQUITO COAST
Honduras was, certainly until 1924, probably the
most actively and consistently turbulent country in
either hemisphere. Revolution was literally a normal
condition ; and it was axiomatic that all revolutions
were successful. The country was very sparsely popu
lated and there was in it no kind of unity. Several
languages were spoken, and there were only the most
rudimentary communications. The success of insur
gents was partly due to this, for nothing was ever heard
of a revolution in the Capital until the Government
was on the point of falling, and enthusiastic revolu
tionaries in outlying provinces would sometimes be
several revolutions behind in their activities, through
not having heard the result of their own previous
efforts.
Another aggravation to the unsettled state of the
country was the presence of large quantities of adven
turous foreigners, some of whom were taking refuge
from the law in Honduras and some of wh6m were
merely voluntary amateur revolutionaries. The sea
ports on the Caribbean coast were filled with English
men, Irishmen and Americans who were out to amuse
themselves and make whatever profit they could from
the country. Just before and for a considerable num
ber of years after the Great War, Puerto CorttSz, Tela
and La Ceiba were filled with some of the toughest
and roughest characters of the world.
The best known of all the c filibusters/ and the one
who played the greatest part in changing the history of
the five republics, was a certain e General Lee Christ
mas, a stupid and pig-headed adventurer with tremen-
24
TEGUCIGALPA
dous charm and courage and a blustering personality
that attracted the simple soldiery of Honduras. Revo
lutions in Honduras are fought without very much
personal animosity and with little loyalty ; soldiers
frequently change sides and always rally around the
standard that looks as if it is most likely to win. El
General Chreestmass, as he became known, was a terrify
ing figure who dominated the politics of Honduras for
three decades, leading the army into battle and con
tinually designing for himself new and more gorgeous
uniforms. His career started abruptly and accident
ally. He was originally an American railway engineer
who had been dismissed from his job at home and had
no prospect of getting another. In time he found his
way to New Orleans, which is the main gateway to
Central America, and almost in despair he boarded a
ship which was sailing for Tela. The story goes that
he did not know where the ship was going, and that
when the purser asked for his ticket he paid his fare
with what little money he had left to c Whatever place
we get to first/ Eighteen months later, having landed
in Honduras, Christmas was Generalissimo of the Army
and practically dictator of the country. He had in
stalled General Bonilla in the Presidency, but it was
obvious that he himself was the only figure of import
ance and that he had the loyalty of the country behind
him. He had taken the seaports on the Caribbean
coast, and he had made and spent three considerable
fortunes.
Lee Christmas made his dbut in the revolutionary
circles of Honduras in 1910, when a train-load of
MOSQUITO COAST
bananas which he was driving along the Caribbean
coast was attacked by insurgents, who ordered him to
drive on as fast as the engine would travel towards
Puerto Cortez. Christmas, sensibly enough, did not
offer any resistance, and presently began to enjoy the
feeling of defying authority as his train rushed along
the shore with bullets whistling past his ears. Before
long it became apparent that the little band of revolu
tionaries in the train were in for a bad time, as their
ammunition was running low and the enemy seemed
to be present in larger numbers than had been expected.
Christmas, although uneducated and as obstinate as
one can well be, was at least a man of resource and
quick decisions. He took command, somehow (with
out a word of Spanish) of the revolutionary train and
ran it into a siding near Puerto Cortez, where he loaded
it with disused boilers and plates of steel. With the
help of his soldiers the train was converted into a roll
ing fort and machine-guns were fitted inside the boilers
to cover the country on both sides of the track as the
train went along.
When his preparations were completed, he put the
engine into reverse and backed the train down the
single track towards the Government troops, which
were conveniently engaged in pitching camp beside
the line.
The Government soldiers did not take long to make
up their minds. They were so impressed with this
mechanical tour de force that they deserted (including
most of the officers) and rallied around the standard
of the new jefe . . . el jefe Chreestmass as he was
26
TEGUCIGALPA: Loteria Nacidnal
TEGUCIGALPA: La Merced
TEGUCIGALPA
known from then on. That night he was made a
Colonel.
The next day the revolutionaries, who had until the
arrival of Lee Christmas been fighting in a very half
hearted and disorganized manner, seized all the coastal
towns with the Customs houses and their enormous
revenue. Christmas had the sense to see that this gave
him a stranglehold over the country ; for almost all
the money in Honduras comes from taxes and duties
on the ports. By the time he had conquered the coast
his victory was really complete, for his reputation was
growing in an extraordinary way, and he was already
an almost legendary figure in the simple minds of the
peones. His courage was tremendous, and stories are
still told ofjefe Ckreestmass taking machine-guns single-
handed, charging whole platoons of soldiers, and escap
ing from impossible situations. At one time he was, as
a matter of fact, captured by the Government troops
and sentenced to be shot, but his bravery and cool nerve
saved his life. The officer in charge of the execution,
something of a sentimentalist, let him go because he
appeared to care so little for the preparations of the
firing squad. Christmas never learned Spanish, but
by this time he had picked up most of the swear- words,
and these he hurled in quick succession at the enemy
officers who had come to watch thejefe gringo die. The
Honduran admires bravery more than anything else,
and it was somehow arranged that he should escape,
taking several of the Government officers with him to
join the insurgent army.
For many years the adventurer Christmas held the
27
MOSQUITO COAST
position in Honduras that Pancho Villa had held, many
years before, in Mexico* He was a legalized bandit,
useful to the Government but dangerous, tolerated only
because he might be useful in the future. While the
revolution was in progress, Lee Christmas was invalu
able, and in fact was responsible for the victory of the
rebels : but once Bonilla was President, earnestly try
ing to bring peace and civilization to the country,
Christmas became a great nuisance rather than a help.
He held various official positions in Tegucigalpa and
insisted on creating the most elaborate and gorgeous
uniforms to go with them. Officially he was not a
success, for his methods were frequently too direct and
rarely constitutional. As the country became quieter
and less turbulent, Christmas became the most disturb
ing element in it ; no one dared cross him, no one
dared get rid of him ; and someone always had to
smooth over the little * situations * which he caused
with great regularity. He was the revolutionary enfant
terrible.
The history of Lee Christmas is a wild and melo
dramatic saga which would occupy several volumes if
it were told in full. He soon fell in with the tradition
of tropical intrigue, and there were times when he was
fighting on both sides of the fence. He married five
wives in as many years, had innumerable children, and
killed those who crossed his path without even momen
tary hesitation. He finally died, not from a bullet or
machete wound, but from some very obscure tropical
disease. During his numerous campaigns he was on
several occasions reported in the Press as dead, and
TEGUCIGALPA
this he always regarded, for some reason, as a great
personal insult ; in fact he tried to sue newspaper
owners on more than one occasion for what he con
sidered a wicked libel.
A number of other figures stand out in the revolu
tion-ridden history of Honduras, most of them still
living : Guy Moloney, for instance, an enormous Irish
man, who was at one time Chief of Police in New
Orleans and is one of the world s best machine-gunners.
He was Christmas s lieutenant for a great many years,
and between them they were a combination that made
any fighting in Honduras pretty decisive, Moloney
still lives in the country, where he is an active and
influential figure in the local politics of San Pedro Sula.
There was also a certain General Jefferies, and another
Irishman by name of O Reilly, who all played import
ant and exciting parts in the development of the new
Republic, but they are still living and their story is by
no means at an end.
It must by now appear to the reader that I am well
away from my original subject, which was an expedi
tion made by my cousin and myself into the unexplored
territory on the Honduran Mosquito Coast. I think,
however, that I am right in bringing in some of the
other aspects of Honduras, which will help the reader
who does not know the country to understand some of
the snags which lay in our path. By far the most diffi
cult part of our expedition was getting started at all
from Tegucigalpa, whose official and unofficial circles
seemed anxious, for some time, that we should be dis
couraged from an assault on the Mosquito Coast.
29
MOSQUITO COAST
No one could have been more helpful than the Hon-
duran Government ; but there was always the impres
sion, lingering in spite of innumerable courtesies, that
we were not regarded with official favour. As I have
said before, the Mosquito Coast is the special preserve
of the President, and one is not encouraged to go there
unless one can give evidence of very serious and straight
forward business. The idea of people going there for
fun was almost too much. Scientists, who are known
to be mad, are understood, as are prospectors ; but it
was inconceivable that we should be going there with
out some ulterior motives. Luckily we had arranged
for proof of our bona fides to be given officially, through
introductions we happened to have.
For nearly three weeks we stayed in Tegucigalpa, not
really because we had to but because we liked it. We
played everlasting games of golf with the Diplomatic
Corps, who to the great annoyance of pilots have built
a golf course, with numerous bunkers, across the middle
of the Government aerodrome at Toncontin. We went
to enormous dances, lasting usually till morning, given
by the Government at the International Club, with
pine-needles strewn over the stairs and on the floor in
all the ante-rooms, and relays of Marimba bands beat
ing out modern dance tunes with a solid Indian rhythm
and an occasional lapse into a Spanish tempo. Sweet
champagne is served, and enormous rounds of brandy.
There is very little noise ; the Hondurans are quiet
and dance, too, with a solid Indian determination. We
sit at the bar most of the time and talk about local
politics.
30
NEAR COMAYAGUELA
TEGUCIGALPA
The Marimba is a surprising instrument which is
played by any number of musicians, ranging usually
from half a dozen to a dozen, who all play on different
parts of it, apparently with little regard for each other.
The Marimba looks like the instrument we should call
a xylophone, but it is infinitely more noisy and has
probably rather less finesse in its music, which sounds
much better at a considerable distance. The more
modern and expensive Marimba bands in Tegucigalpa
are further supplemented and supported by people
playing saxophones and trumpets of various kinds, who
sit around the Marimba and improvize accompani
ments and embellishments to the original tune. Nearly
all the music played by the Marimba is the ordinary
dance music which one hears in every country of the
world to-day ; but it seems, in Tegucigalpa, to derive
a sort of sinister and slightly grotesque eastern lilt
through the liberties which are taken with time and
key. The Hondurans are not musical, and have
no form of native music, even among the Indian
tribes ; in fact, they are not in any way artistic, as
are their neighbours the Guatemalans and Nicar-
aguans-
They were pleasant days. We planned our cam
paign with all the old soldiers of the country, and
gradually the expedition took shape. We saw the
President, old General Garias who had terrified the
Customs men at Puerto Cort&z ; we dined in the Lega
tions and we rode mules up to the great silver mines
at San Juancito, where there are over a hundred miles
of underground tunnels in the mountain-face. We
MOSQUITO COAST
stayed ztfincas in the country near Tegucigalpa and
heard all the most confidential secrets of Central Ameri
can diplomacy. We rested and talked and improved
our Spanish. We did not want to leave.
Chapter Three
PERLA DEL MAR
r T 1 HERE are two reasonable ways and one slightly
X fantastic way of penetrating to the interior of the
Mosquitia territory. The most obvious route, which
we eventually adopted after several weeks of wrangling,
was through Brewer s Lagoon and up the Patuca
river ; the other, slightly slower but perhaps more
sensible, would have been to go across country from
Tegucigalpa by mule and to attack the unexplored
area from the east instead of from the Caribbean coast.
The third method, which we should dearly have liked
to try, but which we hardly dared to mention, was to
take an aeroplane from Tegucigalpa and chance being
able to land on one of the broad sand-banks which
we had heard lay along the Patuca* It was a fairly
big risk, however, for the water was high at that time
of year and had we not managed to put the plane
down almost immediately we might not have been
able to get back. Another thing which deterred us
from this plan was the fact that the only plane avail
able was an old tri-motor, heavy and unwieldy ; and
being fairly large it needed a considerable run in
which to land. Neither Nigel nor I had very much
experience in flying large planes.
The cross-country method might have been very
33 D
MOSQUITO COAST
practical for our purpose, but again might have been
useless : no one knew anything of the country between
Tegucigalpa and Mosquitia beyond the limits of the
villages. The going might have been very bad, and
we should perhaps have taken many weeks to cut or
burn a way through the bush. A track leads from
the Capital as far as Catacamas, but beyond that there
is no trail, and we should probably have been badly
lost if we tried to make any kind of journey in the
unmapped area. Travelling across country through
tropical vegetation is very slow and boring and I
think would have been less satisfactory, on the whole,
than the route we chose in the end.
The Province of La Mosquitia is the area which is
bounded on the north by the Caribbean, on the south
by the Province of Olancho and the river Segovia or
Coco, and on the west by the Province of Col6n. It
is mixed country ; the thickest kind of tropical jungle
alternates with miles of savanna, and apart from
the streams and rivers there are no landmarks of any
kind.
Most of Mosquitia is unmapped, and it contains
some of the largest tracts of unexplored land which
remain. Here and there a river has been sketched in
on the word of a wandering prospector, and the fringes
of the province are comparatively well known, but for
the most part it remains interestingly white on the
map. Very few expeditions have ever tried to pene
trate the interior.
The last official expedition into Mosquitia was under
the auspices of the Honduran Government, and took
34
PERLA DEL MAR
place no later than 1882. It was a tremendous affair,
supported by soldiers, engineers and scientists, who
started off up the Patuca river almost two hundred
strong. The size of the party was its undoing, how
ever, for the Nicaraguan frontier guards were suspicious
at the news that such a large force was in their neigh
bourhood, , and nothing was accomplished beyond an
ignominious and undignified skirmish with semi-official
Nicaraguan bandit troops. Since that time the Hon-
duran Government has made no effort to open up Mos-
quitia, partly because the government is usually so tem
porary that it does not care to embark on any project
that is not immediately profitable, and partly because
the population of Honduras is still far too small to
expand successfully into new ground. The result is
that the condition of the Mosquito Coast is much the
same to-day as it was in 1882, when Queen Victoria
gave it away. As far as the Honduran Government is
concerned it is probably a great nuisance, for it is obvi
ously impossible to police, and all the bandits of Cen
tral America take refuge there at one time or another.
That is one of the reasons why one is not allowed to go
there without some plausible excuse, and explains the
lack of available scientific data.
In Honduras Mosquitia is regarded as infinitely re
mote, and there must be many Hondurans who do not
realize that it is part of their country. They know that
away to the east, towards Nicaragua, there is wild
country ; but there seems to be little interest in any
thing that goes on outside Tegucigalpa. Civilization
has not yet lost its novelty, and it will be many years
35
MOSQUITO COAST
before the Honduran turns away from the towns for his
amusement. Whenever mention was made of our ex
pedition to Mosquitia a polite silence followed, and
people looked at us in suspicious surprise. There were
two views commonly held ; that we were engaged in
some dastardly business, with or without the consent of
the Government, or that we were simply mad, perhaps
the more charitable view. Certainly the Mosquito
Coast has a far worse reputation in Honduras than it
deserves.
Our project sounded very simple as we sat in the cool
patio of the Legation in Tegucigalpa. Nothing could
be easier ; we would fly down to the coast, where we
would then find it easy enough to hire a schooner to
take us eastward as far as Brewer s Lagoon. From
there we would proceed by boat up the Tom-Tom Cut
off, which connects the Lagoon with the Patuca. At
the junction of the Cut-off and the Patuca we would
make our first base camp, hire porters, arrange provi
sions, and get under way towards the interior. As we
sat lazily sipping our champagne cocktails we could see
no possible difficulties ; it seemed too easy for words.
Many were the times, during the weeks to come, that
we remembered those pleasant quiet days, and thought
longingly of the soothing coolness of iced drinks. . . .
We left Tegucigalpa on July the twenty-seventh, in
a rather decrepit and overloaded aeroplane which we
hoped would take us as far as La Geiba, a small port
on the Caribbean. At La Ceiba one was sure to find
a schooner, we were told, for it was the centre of various
36
PERLA DEL MAR
enterprises connected with schooners, and the craft
from the Bay Islands went continually back and forth.
Most of Tegucigalpa was at Toncontin aerodrome to
see us off. The President himself, an enormous black
figure closely guarded by a squad of machine-gunners,
ventured daringly from the palace to wish us well. A
misguided lady whom we had never seen before embar
rassingly brought us two huge boxes of chocolates.
Someone connected with the military had seen fit that
the army band should be on the spot, and it dutifully
rendered * God Save the King * in a vaguely minor key.
We shook hands for a very long time. The engine
roared ; we clambered into the plane and wallowed,
for longer than seemed suitable, across the field. We
just managed to clear the line of palm trees that stands
annoyingly at the south end of the field. We had
started.
As we flew down towards the coast, bumping uncom
fortably across the mountains, we could not help a feel
ing of regret at leaving Tegucigalpa. We had been
very happy in that gay remote little Capital, and the
thought of the discomforts which we were to tolerate
during the next two months made it seem very civilized.
We had a vague feeling that in reaching Tegucigalpa
we had almost gone far enough afield, without ventur
ing into the jungles and swamps of the Coast. There
seemed to be no justification or even excuse for our
project ; we were neither of us particularly well pre
pared for coping with life in the wilds, neither of us had
the faintest glimmering of any scientific knowledge, and
37
MOSQUITO COAST
the only reason we could give for the journey was that
we felt like making it. I know that nobody in Hon
duras believed that, and I suspect that many explana
tions are still being whispered around the local clubs in
the very confidential manner which is adopted in Cen
tral America for discussing even the most commonplace
news.
It took^well over three hours to reach La Geiba. As
we fell the several thousand feet that separate Teguci
galpa from sea-level it became constantly hotter and the
thick clothes we had been wearing in the mountains
grew oppressive. There was one other passenger in the
plane, a very small Negro with a revolver tucked pre
cariously into the top of his trousers. He shrieked at
us from time to time and gesticulated towards lakes,
rivers and houses. Several of the windows in the plane
were broken so we heard nothing. We grinned and
waved at him.
La Geiba is the biggest and best of the Caribbean
ports in Honduras. It is old, or comparatively so,
unlike the other ports which have been uninterestingly
erected by enterprising fruit companies. In the history
of Honduras La Ceiba has played a considerable part,
for it is a rich town, contains a large garrison and is
always among the first places to be attacked when a
revolution is brewing. There is quite a lot of shipping ;
cargo boats loaded down with bananas sail for England
and Europe, freighters going to and from the southern
ports of the United States call as often as twice a month,
and various small tramps and traders are to be seen in
38
LA CEIBA
PERLA DEL MAR
the bay. When the hurricanes are not blowing num
bers of schooners bustle about, carrying copra and coco
nuts and pineapples to British Honduras and the West
Indian Islands. It was one of these schooners that we
hoped would take us along the coast to Brewer s
Lagoon.
Should we be unable to go by schooner, either be
cause none could be found willing to take us or on
account of the weather, we had another alternative ;
to go along the beach as far as the Patuca mouth. This
we decided to do only as a last resource, as it would
mean a week or more of travel over soft sand, which is
slow, hard work. The coast-line makes a long detour
between La Ceiba and the Lagoons. To cut straight
across country from La Ceiba to the Patuca was out of
the question as it entailed crossing many miles of
swamps, very treacherous and unhealthy. We were
told that on several occasions beachcombers had made
their way to Brewer s Lagoon along the beach, but they
usually took several weeks about it and were in a posi
tion to dispense with the heavy equipment we had to
carry. Much of the stuff we took with us was quite
useless, but we did not know this until later, and we
hoped to take it all with us as far as the Lagoon or
even to our first base camp at the lower end of the
Tom-Tom Gut-off.
We spent several days in La Geiba looking for a
schooner. There were plenty lying idle in the bay, but
no one was to be hurried, and we were regarded with
considerable suspicion. The proprietor of the Hotel
Alemdn had recommended us to seek out a certain Cap-
39
MOSQUITO COAST
tain Macdonald, who was owner and master of the
schooner Perla del Mar. Captain Macdonald was a Bay
Islander, descended directly from some of Morgan s
pirates who had taken refuge among the Islands in the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Although we
put very little faith in advice which came from the hotel
proprietor, we thought with nationalistic conceit that
Macdonald was obviously our man ; he was white and
spoke English, and would be easier and more straight
forward to deal with than the Hondurans and Caribs
who owned the other schooners we had visited. He
was very hard to find, because his boat rarely came to
Ceiba and when it did he spent all his time ashore
buried in the depths of the Cantinas on the waterfront.
It was Nigel who finally discovered that our Captain
was in a certain Cantina Rosa near the wharf. He came
back to the hotel to fetch me, and together we went
down to bargain for our passage. Captain Macdonald
had a great reputation among the Islanders, and those
who misunderstood us used to tell us, cautiously, that
the Perla del Mar was a very good schooner, ready to
undertake any kind of profitable enterprise. . . .
The Cantina Rosa was evidently the fashionable resort
of the waterfront. It was a small wooden house, built
like most of the houses in La Ceiba, supported on
trestles over the water. The front room was a general
clubroom, and at the time we visited it seemed to con
tain several factions in a heated political dispute which
we did not linger to consider. The atmosphere was
chiefly nautical ; numbers of sailors and their women
folk stood about, with numerous small children of
40
PERLA DEL MAR
several colours. Unnoticed by everyone but ourselves
wandered a number of hens, two black pigs and a
goat.
This did not look the kind of place where a man of
Captain Macdonald s stamp would amuse himself. We
pushed through to the back room, where the intellec
tual level was on a less political plane and little was
going on beyond honest drinking. It was a long room,
a wooden shed fitted with an old-fashioned bar which
ran its length along the far wall. Four bare electric
bulbs hung crookedly from the ceiling and threw a
glaring light on the ten or twelve men who were lined
against the bar. At first sight there was nothing to
indicate which of them might be Captain Macdonald.
No one paid any attention to us. Finally an old
Negress, enormously fat probably Rosa herself
greeted us enthusiastically. c Conoces al Capitdn Mac
donald ? 9 we shrieked above the half-drunken din.
Several men looked up and volunteered information
in as many languages. The figure nearest to us de
tached himself from the bar and pointed sombrely to
the other end of the room : he was a coal-black Belize
Negro. c Captain Macdonald, sah ? Yes, sah, him
down dere, dat big feller . . .* We looked along the
line of the bar and saw, towering above the rest, an
enormous man with a vast red face, wearing a singlet
and a dirty blue deep-sea cap. He was drinking Irish
whisky from a bottle. As he heard his name mentioned
he came towards us, and we could see that he was no
more than twenty-four or five years old. He addressed
us in perfectly good English, with what sounded like a
MOSQUITO COAST
slight trace of a Jamaican accent. He slapped us both
on the back with a heavy great hand.
* Fm Captain Macdonald, how d you do ? Jos6 at
the Hotel Alemdn told me you might drop in to see
me . . . what about a drink ? Rosa, set up three
whiskies.
We explained exactly what we wanted to do. He
was to take us to Brewer s Lagoon with our equipment
and provisions, leave us there, and call for us again
some weeks later at a date which we would arrange.
He listened carefully and beamed at us. We called for
more drinks while we discussed our plans and bargained
with the Captain. He agreed to take us, at the same
time pointing out that he took no responsibility for our
return if we were not at the lagoon when he came back
for us. He clearly thought we were mad. We had
another drink and he embarked on his life history and
mdmoires, which lasted for some hours while we stoked
him with whisky and rum. He had done a number of
interesting things, had Captain Macdonald ; he had
fought in every revolution of note in Central America
during the last few years, and had apparently decided
the day on each occasion by his own efforts. He had
run guns and ammunition, and had always managed
to outwit the Government cutters ; he had worked in
New Orleans for a short time on the staff of a small
newspaper ; and finally, by hook and by crook, he had
gathered enough money to build his schooner, the Perla
del Mar, which he now used only for the most straight
forward and profitable purposes. As far as we could
tell, Captain Macdonald might still be talking to this
42
PERLA DEL MAR
day, had not an interruption occurred which broke his
train of thought.
A certain amount of noise had been going on at the
other dnd of the bar, but to this we had paid very little
attention, as we were interested in the Captain s dis
course. But as the noise grew louder, it became appar
ent that some heated point was under discussion.
Shortly before the climax of the argument a man seated
quietly at a small side-table drew his revolver and shot,
with drunken accuracy, at the lights. He gaily smashed
three of the four bulbs. In a country where everyone
carries a gun, however, shooting is apt to be misunder
stood, and trouble started because it was not generally
realized that the shooting was entirely in a spirit of
celebration. Captain Macdonald was delighted at the
sight of a free fight, and amused himself by throwing
bottles nonchalantly into the crowd.
When peace was restored the Captain s mind was,
fortunately, once more turned to our project of going
to Mosquitia, and by midnight we had haggled and
bargained till he finally agreed to take us as far as
Brewer s for five pounds. One thing, however, he in
sisted ; we must sail at the crack of dawn on the follow
ing morning, because he did not want to miss the tide
over the Patuca Bar. He had been caught before on
the Bar, with a hurricane blowing up from the south,
and if we were not on board by daybreak he would lose
all further interest in the expedition.
We escaped his invitation to further revelry by ex
plaining that we had to pack our things if we were to
b$ off by dawn. He went enormously out into the
43
MOSQUITO COAST
night and sang his way to the next Cantina. We won
dered if we should see him again.
The tropical dawn was breaking vividly in a troubled
sky when we boarded the Perla del Mar the next morn
ing. The crew had not arrived and the wharf was
deserted. We jumped into a dory and rowed out to
the schooner. She was dirty and reeked of oil to our
surprise we found that she was fitted with a large Diesel
engine, which the Captain had not mentioned and the
deck was thick with dead banana leaves. From the
hatch came a number of strong mixed smells copra,
and paint, and tar. The light was still dim, so we could
not see very much of her. Forward there was a small
wheelhouse, and behind it a cabin which was the Gap-
tain s ; aft a low deck-house and a hatch, then another
hatch and a cockpit. She was extremely broad and we
could see that she was very strongly built. There were
no other sleeping quarters. If it was fine we slept on
deck, but if it blew up badly we should have to go down
into the narrow hold where the crew slept. We stowed
our things below and sat on the engine-room hatch to
wait for the Captain. The Perla del Mar rose and fell
easily in the morning swell.
It was high daylight before we saw any sign of Mac-
donald. He finally arrived in a small motor-launch,
accompanied by several Government officials in brass-
bound uniforms. It looked, from a distance, as if there
had been trouble ; perhaps he was to be arrested and
the ship confiscated. It was possible from what we had
heard of him. As the launch drew alongside, however,
44
PERLA DEL MAR
it became apparent that the officials were paying more
attention to us than to Captain Macdonald, and by the
time they reached the schooner s side there was no
doubt about it ; Nigel and I were the object of all
their attention. We did not know what to think. The
Comandante clambered aboard and waited, without
speaking, until his colleagues had done the same. They
faced us in an important group. We were ready for the
worst ; the Government had changed its mind, we were
not to be allowed to go ... obviously we should have
to start all over again, and approach the territory from
another direction.
The Comandante cleared his throat. 6 Vengo? he said
with dignity, e para saludar a Yds., en el nombre del Senor
Presidente de la Republica, y para darle su despedida . . ."
We almost collapsed with relief. The President was
wishing us an official bon voyage, and we had thought
that he would stop us . . . Nigel had a bottle of rum
which he had brought from shore the night before, and
we celebrated our departure with Captain and officials.
The crew, which consisted of five islanders, began to
arrive in ones and twos in canoes and dories. The
anchor came up noisily/ sails appeared, and we took
our leave of the Comandante.
A gentle breeze carried us slowly out into the bay and
the schooner s patched old sails began to fill. We were
forced to tack back and forth for nearly an hour in front
of the town, as it was at the last minute found that the
Chief Engineer was not on board.
He eventually appeared, sleeping soundly, in the
bottom of a dinghy which was rowed out to us by two
45
MOSQUITO COAST
Carib boys. Nothing would rouse Engineer Carlos
from his sleep, and getting him aboard was a great
problem. We tried pulling him and lifting him, and
we tried soaking him with buckets of water to wake
him. Captain Macdonald finally hoisted him aboard
on the anchor burton.
The Captain headed her east and as we drew away
from land a fine wind caught us, driving the schooner s
blunt bows through the vivid blue of the Caribbean.
We had started on the second stage of our journey.
Most of the first day on the schooner we lay lazily
under a tarpaulin awning on the deck, sleeping and
talking and occasionally singing. There was little else
to do, and there was always the chance that dirty
weather would blow up before nightfall and we should
get no sleep later. From time to time the cook turned
out meals in the tiny galley that stood, as if built as
an afterthought, hanging far out over the schooner s
counter. Part of the time we studied maps and talked
over our plans, endlessly tracing out the route we meant
to take. There are several maps of Mosquitia, all of
them different and all of them wrong even as far as they
go ; and at this time we did not know which of them
came nearest to being accurate. None of them showed
more than a bare outline with an occasional river or a
ridge of mountains vaguely indicated. Much advice
came from Captain Macdonald and Carlos, who had
quickly recovered once we were away at sea. Like the
people on the mainland they could not decide whether
to believe what we said or not, and were continually
PERLA DEL MAR
torn between trying to show us that they did believe us
and letting us see that they were not quite such fools as
to believe that sort of thing. The Captain always safe
guarded his credulous reputation by giving an enor
mous wink whenever there was any mention of our
purpose in going up the Patuca.
The crew worked without orders and with that per
fect understanding that comes only from long years
together. They had no fixed watches, and like fisher
men, seemed to be a democratic body communally in
command of the boat. Captain Macdonald was the
owner, but all profits were shared among the six of
them, and his Captaincy was only obvious when we
approached land and he took the wheel.
Nothing happened during that long day at sea. We
made our way east with slow determination, most of the
time just out of sight of land. Occasionally the top of
a mountain was visible, and to the north were the low
white lines that marked the great reefs of the Bay
Islands. Carlos kept the Diesel running all day, for
there was hardly enough wind to fill our sails. We lay
on our backs and stared into the vast blue of the sky.
From the forward hatch came the strains of a guitar,
and a deep voice sang :
c Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay,
Canta y no llores,
Porque en cantando se allegren,
Cielito Undo,
Los corazones . . .
47
MOSQUITO COAST
De la sierra morena,
Vienen bajando,
Cielito Undo,
Los Corazones,
a&nque es tamos solo
Cielito Lindo,
Dame un abrazo . . .
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
In the late afternoon, when it was cooler, we took
off our shirts and lay in the sun- The Captain had
brought a sackful of fresh pineapples, and until night
fall we sat around the wheelhouse eating them and
singing. As the wind died away completely the sea
also became quite smooth, and the schooner seemed to
be the only real thing in a vast flat world. Far away
to the south we could just make out a row of tall palms
black against the evening sky. Our wake, white and
phosphorescent, was the only other break in the horizon.
As night closed over us it became apparent that the
weather was not to stay fine. Squalls are sudden and
violent in the Caribbean, and a white squall sometimes
catches unawares a ship that has been lying becalmed
ten minutes earlier. Captain Macdonald thought that
the sky looked bad, and pointed to the cloud flecks,
silver in the moonlight, that were beating up from the
south-east. The schooner was seaworthy and strong
enough to ride through any kind of weather ; but the
danger lay in finding ourselves caught off the Patuca
Bar, which was surrounded by coral reefs. Even in the
calmest weather the passage into Brewer s Lagoon is not
PERLA DEL MAR
easy to find. The Diesel, too, was unreliable, and we
wanted to make sure of having plenty of room off the
land. The Captain changed course slightly and as we
headed away from shore the short seas caught the
schooner s counter and she began to lurch diagonally.
We turned the dory and the dinghy upside down on
deck and lashed them across from rail to rail.
By midnight it became obvious that the Captain had
been right, and we were in for a bad time. The sky
was heavy along the eastern and south-eastern horizons,
and the stars were quite hidden. There was still little
wind, but the sea showed that it was not far off. Cap
tain Macdonald took the wheel. We sat and waited.
The squall hit us suddenly. As often happens in the
Caribbean, it finally came from the opposite direction
to that from which it was expected. We had been anxi
ously scanning the eastern sky, when it hit us astern
with such fierce violence that we scarcely realized what
was happening. The only sign we had of its approach
was the black angry line on the sea, faintly visible for
a moment in the moonlight as it rushed towards us.
The mainsail had long since been lowered and stowed
away, and the only sail we now carried was a small jib
which had been left standing to make the schooner steer
more steadily.
The first quick sweep of the squall did no damage.
We shipped a good deal of water, but nothing on deck
was carried away. Nigel and I made our way to the
wheelhcruse and sheltered in front of it before the squall
struck. Captain Macdonald was at the wheel with the
mate, Carlos and the assistant engineer were below
49 E
MOSQUITO COAST
tending to the engine, and the rest of the crew were
on the foredeck clinging to the hatch coaming.
No sooner had the first gust of wind passed than it
set in to blow steadily from astern, and th.e seas began
to rise higher and higher above the schooner s counter.
We started to plunge, and the schooner buried her bows
heavily in the water. Macdonald rang down to Carlos
to reduce speed, as the seas behind us were curling
threateningly. He called us into the wheelhouse.
There was no use, he thought, in going on. This
might last for several days ; the gales that blow in the
bad season are irregular and unpredictable. We agreed
with him that it would be best to run to the Islands for
shelter while we could. If we went on now, we had no
chance of finding the entrance to the Lagoon> still less
of getting through the reefs to reach it. We should be
blown away east and south towards the South Atlantic,
with no other shelter to turn to. And if the engine
failed, as he hourly expected, we should have a long
hard beat to get back under our short canvas. He
eased the wheel over and for a sickening moment we
were broadside on to the seas, rolling in the lurch.
Then he brought her up into the wind and we began
to cut diagonally across them towards Roatdn.
As dawn broke the eastern sky was a broken livid red
and the whole heavens were tinged with an angry hue.
The wind remained, and we slashed choppily through
the white wave caps. Mountains of spray leapt from
the schooner s heavy bows. To starboard there was
still 110 sign of land ; had it been calm we might have
50
PERLA DEL MAR
seen spray on the reefs or the tops of palm trees on some
of the outlying islands, but we were too low in the water
to discern anything in the distance. It was invigorat
ing and pleasant, after the lazy hours we had spent in
the heat of yesterday s calm, to feel the schooner leap
ing and driving underfoot, and to have the salt spray
beating high over our heads. There was no question
of breakfast, for it was found that the after side of the
galley had been stove in and all the provisions were
soaked ; the primus, too, was smashed beyond repair.
The cook found some biscuits that were partly dry, we
produced a bottle of Jamaica rum, and the Captain
more pineapples, and we called the crew aft to make
the best of it.
Chapter Four
COXXEN HOLE
IT was late afternoon when we sailed up to Roatdn.
The sea still ran high, but the sky was cloudless and
it was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours
earlier we had been running before a fierce squall.
The islanders ashore were crowding down to the beach
as we drew near, to welcome us and find out why the
Perla del Mar should be calling at Port Royal at such an
unexpected time. They danced and shrieked with ex
citement, and those who could not restrain their
curiosity even started to swim out to us, but the Captain
signalled to them that we could not land yet, as we had
first to make our way to Coxxen Hole to get pratique
from the Island Comandante. We sailed in as close as we
dared, then turned to the north-east and started to beat
along the coast. The islanders ran along the sand.
For several hours we followed the line of the great
yellow beach, not a quarter of a mile offshore. Night
fell with the suddenness of the tropics, and after a few
minutes all we could see of Roatdn was the blackness of
the palms against the starry sky. Ashore, from time to
time, there glowed the smoky fires of the black Garib
tribes, who have their villages away from those of the
whites. Some of the Garibs were singing, and an occa
sional wild note reached us across the water. Once or
52
GOXXEN HOLE
twice we caught a glimpse of dugout canoes, riding high
over the great waves, regardless of wind and darkness.
The Caribs are wonderful watermen, and will go any
where in their tiny canoes, which are built to enclose
all but the head and shoulders of their passenger, some
thing like the eskimo kayak. The Carib is more at
home in his cayuka than he is on foot, and if he must
travel along a beach for a hundred yards, he will launch
his cayuka and paddle along two or three yards offshore.
Most of the Caribs live on fish, which they harpoon
with astonishing accuracy.
By two o clock in the morning we had reached
Goxxen Hole, and it seemed, to say the least, improb
able that we should be able to rouse the Comandante
sufficiently to accomplish any official business. As we
approached the wharf, Captain Macdonald began, to
show signs of reluctance to going ashore at all, and we
guessed that he was no friend of the Comandante, who
was, as we were to find out, a drunkard as intolerant
as he was ill-tempered. But he was the supreme
authority in Roatan, and the three cutters of the
Honduran Government (one of which has no engine)
were willing, if not actually prepared, to back him up
if necessary. Captain Macdonald had defied authority
on a number of occasions in his capacity as the wealthy
enfant terrible of the Caribbean, but it appeared that this
particular official had a personal grudge against him,
and among Latin Americans a personal grudge is the
one influence stronger than money. So we anchored
noisily in the little bay opposite the Comandanda and
Macdonald muttered a few choice eighteenth-century
53
MOSQUITO COAST
imprecations, doubtless handed down from his grand
father, in the direction of his enemy. For a long time
Nigel and I were too interested in the island to go to
sleep. We sat on the upturned dory and stared at the
village, where a handful of adventurous souls had
created an isolated and rebel British colony so many
years before. We thought of the agonies they must
have endured when they first realized that they could
never return, and that they had for ever given up hope
of attaining those things for which they had fought and
plundered with Captain Morgan. The island looked
strangely peaceful, but it had about it that air of tropical
decay which clings to all the coasts of the Caribbean.
It was alive, but it seemed limp and lifeless. Morgan s
buccaneers must have found it an island paradise when
they first landed there, suddenly safe from storms and
shipwrecks and the yardarms of the Admiralty : but
before many years had passed they wished themselves
back in the pubs of Plymouth and Falmouth at any
price, and even the hated press gang must have seemed
a menace preferable to the deadly limp solitude of the
Islands. Night in the Caribbean is more noisy than
day, and for anyone unused to the tropics the incessant
strumming and croaking of the jungle is almost mad
dening. There are mosquitoes in swarms that one can
hardly imagine, and it is doubtful if a white man would
live through a night in the open without the protection
of a mosquito-bar. And when the mosquitoes retire at
daybreak they are replaced by sandflies, fat slow insects
that one can squash by the handful but they swarm in
tens of thousands, and a handful makes no difference
54
COXXEN HOLE
PORT ROYAL, ROATAN
GOXXEN HOLE
and their stings are many times more painful than those
of mosquitoes. The island folk of to-day are well used
to defending themselves from insect life, but their
grandfathers must have spent many months of acute
misery before they became at all comfortable in their
romantic isolation.
According to the legends of the islanders, their fore
fathers were all pirates, and no trace can be found for
them of more law-abiding colonist ancestors. Even the
oldest men seem to know nothing definite, although from
time to time one of them embarks, in a fit of scholarly
energy, on the composition of an island history. None
of these works are completed and in any case they con
sist usually of a sequence of malicious gossip about the
parents of islanders not liked by the author. There are
very few surnames to be found the names of Kirk-
connell, Cooper, Eden, McNab, Bodden, Warren and
Woodville, I think, cover almost all the families. Eng
lish is still spoken everywhere, quite pure, but with that
peculiar sing-song intonation that seems to affect all
white colonies which exist in close proximity to negroes.
There is a tremendous colour-feeling, and practically
no inter-marriage between whites and blacks takes
place. For this reason the islanders are inclined to
look down on the Mainland people, who are largely of
mixed blood, and this makes the domination of an
alien government particularly irksome. Until 1859,
let it be understood, the Bay islanders belonged to the
British Crown, although they had never been exploited
or officially colonized. Apart from the outlawed pirate
families there was no one to uphold the honour of the
55
MOSQ1UITO COAST
Union Jack ; but these> who should have been the
bitterest enemies of the King and his great fleet, de
veloped a tremendous loyalty to the Crown and the
weltschmerz which had been growing among them
gradually turned to militant patriotism. By the time
of Queen Victoria, the island folk had forgotten all the
fear of their fathers for England, and had become
almost jingoistically British. They were not officially
recognized, but this did not discourage their loyalty :
and in 1859 when Queen Victoria misguidedly chose to
rid herself of the Bay Islands and the * Mosquito Coast *
of what is now Honduras and Nicaragua, there was
great consternation among the loyalist islanders.
Deputations were sent and petitions made up, pleas and
threats of all kinds were used to impress the Queen
with the unwillingness of the islanders to serve any
throne but her own : but the Treaty of Comayagua
stood, and the islanders were deprived of the sovereignty
which their ancestors had flaunted.
Since the ratification of the Treaty of Comayagua
there has been a continual struggle between Islanders
and Mainlanders. The island families, for many
reasons, consider that their British stock is superior to
the confusion of Spanish, Indian and Negro blood which
populates the mainland, and there has never been the
slightest feeling of subjection. The Honduran Govern
ment, one imagines, must by this time realize that the
old lady was more shrewd than they thought. Not one
effective step has to this day been taken in any direction
to develop the Islands or to exploit the wealth of the
Mosquito Coast.
56
COXXEN HOLE
Upon the assumption of sovereignty over the Islands
by the Honduran Republic, Don Santos Guardiola, at
that time e Captain-General and President of Hon-
_duras, 5 issued a manifesto announcing that the islanders
would continue to have the same rights as they had
enjoyed under the British Crown. Exactly what this
meant was doubtful, for the rights of the island folk
were negative rather than positive. The most that can
be said is that they were left kindly to their own devices,
and from time to time their islands were used as a
repository for rebellious negroes exported from other
settlements of the West Indies. At Port Royal, it is
true, a small fort was established after the arrival of a
large shipload of turbulent Caribs from St. Vincent in
1797, and upon the removal of the British garrison the
one solemn cannon, which was left where it stood, was
put to practical use as a sacrificial block by the Caribs
who joyfully resumed the customs so long forbidden :
but apart from the fort there is no evidence that any
thing was done by the Crown to develop the Islands.
The manifesto of Captain Santos Guardiola was valid,
as far as it went, and for many years the Honduran
Government was too much occupied with internal
affairs and impending invasions to bother itself with a
handful of potential revolutionaries on a group of
islands sixty miles away in the Caribbean Sea. But to
the loyal islanders the ignorance of the Honduran
Government completely eclipsed in undesirability the
inaction of the British authority, and for many years
feeling ran high. Islanders never visited the mainland,
and the mainlanders were too busy fighting the other
57
MOSQUITO COAST
four Central American Republics to make their way
out to the islands. Finally, with solemn British
reason, the islanders relieved their own distress by
formally renouncing the Treaty of Comayagua, and in
conclave overruling the decision of Queen Victoria.
From that day to this they have never admitted to any
other allegiance but the British Grown.
To-day the population of the Islands consists of
Whites, Blacks, a few half-breeds, and a scattering of
Honduran Mestizos who have settled on the islands for
one reason or another. These, too, are mostly of mixed
blood : many come from the Nicaraguan frontier of
Honduras, whence they have fled, for all along the
disputed border-line fighting is almost continuous, and
bandits, too, are numerous, for the province is too far
from Tegucigalpa for any attempt t policing to be
made. Of the original Indian population, which pre
sumably came many centuries ago from some part of the
Ghorutegan mainland, there remains no trace, for in
1650 all the tribes were forcibly removed to Guatemala
by the Spaniards, and since 1502 when Christopher
Columbus visited the islands they had gradually been
depleted by slave raids. The total population of all the
islands together is now no more than 4,000, of which
possibly half are white. The remainder in fact all
those who cannot claim British ancestry are negroes,
some of West Indian and some of Carib stock. Many
of the negroes are the great-grandchildren of fugitive
slaves who escaped from British bondage in the West
Indies. Taken as a whole the island folk seem happy
in their isolation and rarely take the opportunity of
58
COXXEN HOLE
deserting the islands, although they sail their schooners
away, with cargoes of bananas and copra, to the Carib
bean countries and even as far as Tampa and New
Orleans. But they always come back to the islands :
it seems as if the peculiar enclosed life they have led
makes them unhappy in a larger world. They have
something of the inconsequential kind of madness
that, I think, affects all those who live on small
islands.
Economically the Bay Islands are, of course, agricul
tural, although a certain number of the people chiefly
Caribs live largely on fish. Most of the islanders lead
a pleasant and easy life on the fruits of earth and sea :
but those who have inherited something of the adven
turous spirit of their fathers capitalize the revolutions
which occur, with ridiculous regularity, among the
Five Republics. The islanders carry arms and am
munition in their schooners, frequently for both sides
at the same time. In this way, obviously enough, the
Bay Islanders are a continual source of provocation to
the Honduran Government.
Nigel and I sat on deck with the men until nearly
dawn, singing and talking interminably about the
Islands. From the cabin, Captain Macdonald snored.
The Perla del Mar rose and fell heavily in the ground
swell, and there was a continual grinding clank as the
anchor chains strained and slackened. We dragged
badly towards the beach, but no one paid any atten
tion. From shore came the indescribable croaking
throb of the jungle.
Coxxen Hole was considerably surprised to see us
59
MOSQUITO COAST
lying off the wharf the next morning, and as soon as it
was light the shore-line was clustered with groups of
islanders who stared speculatively at the schooner,
waiting for the Comandante to clear our papers before
they paddled or swam out to us.
The Comandante took his time. In a port where a
schooner appears perhaps once in three months, one
must make the pleasures of discipline last. And he
probably recognized his enemy Macdonald. After
breakfast we began to grow impatient. It seemed, for
all the activity that was to be seen in the Comandancia,
as if we were to be kept aboard for hours to come.
Macdonald and the crew were not impatient, for they
were used to the delays of the tropics, and they were as
happy doing nothing aboard the schooner as they would
have been doing nothing on the beach. For us, how
ever, it was different. Our time for the whole expedi
tion was limited, and we had no idea of the delays that
might still lie between us and Mosquitia. We were
anxious to be off again.
At ten o clock nothing had been done, and much of
the best part of the day had slipped idly by. Captain
Macdonald refused to go ashore and approach the
Comandante, and insisted that it was the strictest of
local practices for advances to be made in the reverse
order.
Luckily we had a card up our sleeve which promised
to relieve the situation with astonishing speed. Nigel
and I jumped into the dory and rowed ashore, to the
consternation and surprise of Captain Macdonald and
those on the beach, who had come prepared to see at
60
GOXXEN HOLE
least some display of unfriendliness between the Perlu
del Mar and the civil authority.
We knocked loudly at the rickety wooden door of the
Comandancia. The Comandante was having breakfast.
An enormous dish of red beans stood in the middle of
the table, surrounded by smaller plates of rice, meat and
obscure vegetables. The Comandante and his family
each had a large spoon with which they attacked the
communal board. As we came "in they turned for a
moment and stared woodenly at us with solid Indian
eyes.
I produced the letter which General Carias had given
us, commending us to the care of all his officers civil,
naval, and military. The envelope was a very large
one, and in the top left-hand corner there stood out
boldly emblazoned the arms of the Republic.
As the Comandante took it from me, we could see that
he could not read, and his wife whispered the message
into his ear as she read over his shoulder. Clearly the
signature at the end was enough to perform miracles.
He sprang to his feet and with a gesture sent the
children flying out of the house. Chairs were pushed
forward, breakfast was forgotten, and a large bottle of
colourless liquid appeared. We explained, without
much conviction, that we were in a great hurry and
could not stay. This was regarded merely as a form of
good manners, and obviously we had no chance of
escaping for some time. Perhaps, we began to feel, we
should have been wiser to lie low in the schooner and
let matters take their ponderous course.
As we had feared, the bottle contained Aguardiente,
61
MOSQUITO COAST
the local form of liquor. It is the only form of refresh
ment which appears to give pleasure to the people of
the Honduran coast. The name is perhaps derived
from Agua and Diente, meaning c the water with teeth/
and perhaps from Agua and Ardente, which would mean
c the water that burns. In either case it is excellently
named. I shall never forget the raw searing taste of
that drink, taken at ten o clock in the morning from a
cracked glass which bore the deceptive legend * Odol *
in faded blue letters around the side. No sooner had
we managed to finish a glass each than the Comandante
poured out a second round. It was probably our look
of acute misery that prompted him to produce his
cigars, perhaps the only thing imaginable less pleasant
than his Aguardiente. They were native Puros, long,
thick, and black, and they burned with a heavy greenish
smoke. They sizzled continually, like those allegedly
humorous cigars that are designed to explode when the
victim has politely smoked an inch 9r two. There
was no refusing them.
We sat there for nearly two hours, Nigel and I in our
dirty singlets and dungaree trousers, the Comandante in
a delicate lavender shirt and a pair of tight black
alpaca trousers supported by a pair of crossed cartridge
belts. His revolvers were stuck, one on either side,
into the top of his trousers. He wore no shoes. He
told us about the Islands and groped feebly towards
some understanding of what we wanted to do and where
we came from. From the doorway his children and
other children stared silently, sloe-shaped eyes never
leaving us for a minute. The Senora in her flattened
62
COXXEN HOLE
bare feet bustled back and forth about the room,
ineffectually trying to make it tidy in our honour.
When the ritual of Honduran politeness had been
satisfied, the Comandante accompanied us back to the
schooner and commandeered two Garibs to row for us.
His name, we had by now discovered, was Don Tomas,
and the effect of the Aguardiente had been to make his
affection and esteem for us eclipse his dislike for
Captain Macdonald, which was a feud of many years 5
standing. He came aboard and waved the schooner s
papers airily away. Such things, it seemed, were for
ordinary people, not for those who bore letters from
General Garias and were invited to drink Guano with
the Comandante.
Don Tomas had himself taken several glasses to each
one of ours, and now showed no signs of wanting to
break up the party. We looked pointedly at our
watches, and Captain Macdonald scanned the sky with
histrionic anxiety, but he showed no signs of intending
ever to go ashore again. Finally we gave him a bottle
of rum, to which he was not accustomed, and it was
only a question of time before we were able to lower
him back into his boat. The Garibs rowed him home
and we started out to sea again.
When we had cleared Goxxen Hole and were a little
way out to sea, Macdonald declared that the bad
weather had gone, and that we might now make for
Brewer s Lagoon without danger of meeting with a
squall or finding ourselves in difficulties off the Bar.
We were both pleased and disappointed. Our time
63
MOSQUITO COAST
was very short, and we had many miles to go before we
reached the head waters of the Patuca. But there was
something fascinating about the islanders which made
us want to linger there and see more of their lost
community ; we wanted to go ashore and see for our
selves how the island folk lived. It was with regret
that we saw the great palms of Roatan sinking below
the horizon astern. Twelve miles off shore the
cylinder-head blew off the Diesel. We went about and
made for Port Royal under mainsail and jib.
Chapter Five
ROATAN
PORT ROYAL, too, was glad to see us. There
were no formalities, for Port Royal is an entirely
c British 5 settlement, and such Honduran officials as
must live on the islands find it pleasanter to live in
peaceful isolation slightly removed from the scorn of
the island aristocracy. Port Royal is the capital and
social centre of the Archipelago. We limped into the
harbour under the clumsy old mainsail, which had
never been intended for more than an auxiliary to the
Diesel. It was patched and torn in a dozen places and
half the reef points were missing.
No sooner had we touched the wharf than we were
invaded by islanders, some coming in frank curiosity to
see the strangers, and some being friends and relations
of Captain Macdonald and his crew. Macdonald with
unpatriotic honesty had locked all our equipment in the
cabin. Before long it was impossible to move on the
schooner s deck, and still more people swarmed on
board, jumping from the wharf or clambering up from
the sea. They showed no signs of shyness and timidity,
but came up and shook us warmly by the hand. On
the wharf someone was playing a guitar, and two or
three voices sang.
Port Royal is built on wooden stilts, the whole town
65 F
MOSQUITO COAST
precariously poised over the water of the lagoon. Each
little house has its four legs driven deep down into the
mud, and in addition to bearing the weight of the houses
these piles also support, communally, the planked gang
ways which run from door to door. The settlement is
entirely nailed together in a wooden tangle of planks
and logs that is a triumph of architectural socialism :
each house supports the next and the burden of the
public way is shared. Beneath the paths and under the
floor of the houses there circulate freely canoes, dinghies,
and dories, which are usually moored beneath their
owners cabins. Getting from place to place for an un-
guided stranger is very difficult, for the planked gang
ways run this way and that in an incredible wooden
maze, which is particularly difficult at night because
many of the planks have rotted away and fallen through
into the sea. Since most of the commercial activity of
the island waterfront is best left uninvestigated, Port
Royal is an ideal harbour and an eternal thorn in the
side of the Honduran Customs office. Every house
is a potential warehouse, and it is quite impossible
for the clumsy black police of the Comandancia to keep
any kind of watch on the activities that go on beneath
the village.
Smuggling and gun-running in the Caribbean are
lucrative occupations and do not seem to be fraught
with any particular dangers. Central American gov
ernments are usually far too busy with internal affairs
to devote^ships and men to the suppression of smuggling.
When ^T revolution is in the wind among the Five
Republics, schooner after schooner steals away from
66
ROATAN
Roatan, and it sometimes happens that for several months
most of the men are gone. The leaders of the island
have many contacts, in the outer world, with those who
are interested in the supply and demand for arms.
They always maintain a strictly neutral viewpoint
themselves, for the politics of Latin America do not
affect their lives.
Captain Macdonald, in fact, declared that it was not
uncommon for a schooner to carry contraband weapons
for both sides in the same shipment, leaving half at one
rendezvous and sealing on to deliver the other half
somewhere else. Even during the rare months when
there is complete peace in the Caribbean and no one
is as much as thinking of a revolution, an atmosphere
of contraband, which is justified by observation, seems
to linger about Roatdn. Schooners appear and dis
appear in the night, carrying no cargo and no pas
sengers : cargo is discharged, as far as one can see, for
years on end into tiny warehouses from which nothing
is ever taken. In addition the islanders are for the most
part far too well off to have earned their money entirely
by the selling of their half-hearted banana crops and
copra.
Until the repeal of prohibition in the United States
many of the schooners occupied themselves with run
ning rum from the Mexican coast, but in time this be
came too dangerous, and only the most adventurous
were not discouraged by the accurate marksmanship of
the American Coast Guards. There are still one or two
craft lying near Roatan which were specially built when
rum-running was at its height fast launches with
MOSQUITO COAST
powerful engines but they are too expensive to run
for other purposes. Captain Macdonald told us also
that a certain amount of money was made every year
by smuggling Chinamen into the United States. Only
a small number of immigrant Orientals are allowed into
America every year, and many of those who are turned
away find their way south to the Caribbean Islands,
where they are willing to part with as much as thirty
or forty pounds to be landed secretly on the coast of
Florida. A certain Captain Noah Eden, who recently
lost his schooner and his life in a hurricane, specialized
in this kind of smuggling, but was particularly unscru
pulous in his treatment of the Chinamen. If the
weather to the northward showed signs of turning nasty,
he would stow his passengers below, sail twice around
the island, and land them in a deserted inlet on the far
side. Here he would generously give them a packet of
food each with a warning to lie low in the bush for a
day or two before showing their faces. By the time the
Chinamen had discovered where they really were, the
Captain and his schooner were well away for Belize or
the Caymans.
It was decided that we should remain for several days
on Roatdn. There was no available schooner to re
place the Perla del Mar, and we had no alternative but
to wait till the Diesel was replaced or repaired. To
attempt our entry into Brewer s Lagoon without an
engine would have been ridiculous, for the Patuca Bar
is tricky and dangerous, fully exposed to the force of the
Atlantic, In addition it is surrounded by reefs, which
lie barely visible beneath the water, and a boat sailing
68
BAY ISLANDS
BARBURATA
ROATAN
through them must answer more accurately to her helm
than one could expect the Perla del Mar to do under her
tattered mainsail.
To remain on the schooner for the night was out of
the question. She was tied up alongside the wharf, and
as night fell over the island we could hear the rising hum
of the mosquitoes. To sleep safely we had either to
make out to sea again or to protect ourselves by getting
indoors and rigging up mosquito bars. There is a kind
of guest house at Roatan, a large wooden shanty that
is kept for occasional visitors, and since Captain Mac-
donald lived at Port Royal and was anxious to go home,
we were encouraged to stay in the guest house for as
long as we chose. A dozen or more jboys fought to
carry our bags ashore, and the rest of the population
trooped behind in friendly curiosity as we made our
way along the wharf. We picked our way precariously,
in the half-light of evening, over irregular wooden
planks and over great holes where the timber had rotted
away and there was nothing underfoot but the water
of the lagoon.
From the first there was nothing that the islanders
did not do to make us comfortable. We were treated
royally, with the most insistent and lavish abundance.
Our house was piled high, day by day, with pineapples
and guavas and avocado pears, and as each meal-time
drew near a messenger arrived with an invitation for
us to a different house. That first night we dined with
Captain Dick, a swarthy pirate, one of three brothers
who were the chief planters, navigators and ship-
69
MOSQUITO COAST
wrights of the island. We never knew his surname ;
for in Roatan when one has achieved a measure of dis
tinction one becomes, automatically, a Captain, and
nothing but a Christian name is used with the rank. It
was an enormous noisy meal, and the fourteen islanders
who sat at the table never tired of firing at us unex
pected and usually unanswerable questions about Eng
land. The loyalty of their interest is astonishing ;
nearly every room in Captain Dick s house was decor
ated with a picture of the King, and in the dining-room
a large Union Jack served honourably as a dignified
and decorative tablecloth.
As we sat around in the twilight after dinner our
expedition to the Mosquito Coast seemed infinitely re
mote, and it was hard to remember that less than two
months ago we had been in England. Around us the
ring of sturdy sunburnt faces stared intently, never miss
ing a word, endlessly questioning and wondering.
Until late into the night we sat looking out over the
water, answering questions and listening to their high
sing-song voices that seemed to have no consonants.
The islands and the island folk seemed very unreal.
. . . Here were some four thousand men and women,
more than half of them white, who played so little part
in the affairs of our world that one had barely heard of
them in England.
Perhaps it was the rum they gave us that put us in
a platitudinous mood.
In appearance there is little to distinguish the Bay
islander from his seaman counterpart in any British
70
ROATAN
port, except that in the general run he is taller, better
built, and healthier. Almost any of the white island
folk could pass unnoticed in Portsmouth or Southamp
ton, but I think that it is in Cornwall that they would
find themselves most at home, for they are strikingly
like Cornish fishermen. A certain amount of new
blood has been brought in by the women, but many
of these come from Belize in British Honduras and
are themselves British in origin. There is a constant
struggle on the islands to get hold of new blood, for
the stock is beginning to show faint signs of inbreeding.
Great efforts are always made when the schooners are
away in foreign ports to bring new brides to the islands.
For some reason there is a great shortage of girls in the
recent generations of islanders, and the men outnumber
them by about five to one.
From talking to Captain Dick we gathered that the
smouldering resentment against the mainland govern
ment had been slowly increasing during the last few
years, and, he hinted darkly, if occasion arose the flame
of revolt could easily enough be kindled. But if a break
were made with Honduras, the problem would remain
unsolved ; for such tentative suggestions of return to
British allegiance as have been made have been re
garded in official circles as merely frivolous, and the
islanders are hardly in a position to set up for them
selves as an independent state. Ever since the Treaty
of Comayagua, the Honduran Government has made
efforts towards a rapprochement with the islands, but
their advances have been met with such scorn that dur
ing the last few years misguided but more forceful
MOSQUITO COAST
methods have been put into effect. It is forbidden,
although one would never know it from a visit to the
islands, to post notices or signs in any language but
Spanish ; Spanish must be used in all official com
munications, and English has been banned from the
school. Since very few of the islanders know any
Spanish at all these dictatorial methods merely add
humour and confusion to the situation. Latin Ameri
cans are not colonizers.
The rising heat of anti-mainland feeling on the islands
is due, in common with so many political disturbances,
to taxation. The Honduran Government, it is held,
does not keep its promises. For a number of years sums
of money have been voted and set aside for public works
in the islands, and aerodromes, power stations and vast
highways have been planned. With magnificent reck
lessness the Government, knowing well enough that it
will no longer be in office in three months time, draws
up plans for town halls, schools, public libraries and
roads wide enough for four cars abreast. Weekly
steamer services and hotels are talked of. But to this
day no constructive step has been taken to spend any
Honduran money on the islands. And, worse still from
the islanders point of view, even the money they pay
out themselves in taxes is spent on the mainland.
The nationalization of the islanders, if it takes place
at all, will be a long slow process, and it is eternally
delayed by the frequency with which the reins of autho
rity change hands in Tegucigalpa. There is no common
ground : islanders look down on mainlanders, and the
Hondurans are inclined to regard the island folk as
72
ROATAN
pirates or half-savages on a par with the wild Garib
tribes. The differences of race, language and religion
militate strongly against the formation of any kind of
bonds. Recently the Government has redoubled its
efforts to enforce a rapprochement. Trade of one kind
and another has been encouraged, and the Governor
of the islands, until recently an islander of British des
cent, has been replaced by a Spanish Coronel from
Tegucigalpa.
It was six whole days before the schooner s Diesel was
repaired and refitted in the shipyard at Port Royal.
During that time we saw most of the islands : we
paddled and sailed among them freely, sleeping and
eating wherever we happened to be. We watched Gap-
tain Dick and his relations as they shaped a new
schooner from great logs of red mahogany and Santa
Maria, and we excavated ignorantly among the ruins
of ancient Indian offertories ; we harpooned fish with
the Garibs and we bathed, early in the morning and in
the cool of late afternoon, from the long sandy beaches.
As each day passed the urgency of sailing for Brewer s
Lagoon and the Patuca seemed less and less important.
There was a fascination in the peace of this forgotten
community.
The shipbuilding craft of the Bay Islands is unsur
passed anywhere in the Caribbean, and from all over
equatorial America craft are ordered from Roatan.
There is no wood stronger than the island Santa Maria,
and no scientific naval architect knows better than Gap-
73
MOSQUITO COAST
tain Dick how to build a vessel that is to ride safely
through squalls and hurricanes. The island boats, like
the Perla del Mar ^ are enormously broad, and are ribbed
internally with natural crooks. Captain Dick never
made any plans on paper. His first step was to carve,
in bold clean strokes, a beautifully shaped half-model
from a block of Santa Maria. This he measured and
shaped and shaved till the curves up the hull satisfied
himself and the critical eyes of his brothers. Once the
model was finished and approved, the full-sized boat
was laid down directly from it in great beams and blocks
of seasoned wood. The Captain was an artist with the
adze, which he used for all the shaping of the hull. We
watched for hours, fascinated, as he swung the blade
like lightning through the air in a wide arc and brought
it diagonally against the schooner s side, to send a flimsy
curled shaving flying across the yard. Everything was
done by eye alone. His family contributed in lesser
ways to the building : the women cut sails and the
men were riggers, fitters and painters. Like the sea
men on our own schooner, they worked in silence and
without confusion. Slowly the new craft took shape,
and before we left Roatdn the blocks of rough-hewn
wood had taken a shape that was alive and beautiful.
I am not an archaeologist, and Nigel is as ignorant.
It was with a feeling of sacrilegious trespass that we
scraped away sand and earth from the site of an ancient
Indian offertory which Captain Dick had shown us.
Much had been done among the islands some years
before by a learned American excavator, who had
74
ROATAN
shipped his trophies to a museum in Chicago : but this
shrine had been uncovered only a few months earlier
by a Carib boy. No one had bothered to dig farther
down. Old and broken pots are of no interest to an
islander.
The offertory stood, high up on a ridge above Port
Royal, in a rocky little clearing flanked by palms.
Over the port it commanded a view of the clear blue
Caribbean, scarcely darker, in the sunlight, than the
sky. On each side was the almost impenetrable thick
ness of the bush, so that it gave the impression of a
three-walled chamber open only on the seaward side.
A narrow path led, deviously, to the village below.
Here and there the earth had been disturbed. We
burned away the scrub in the clearing and began to
scrape at the soil with flat stones. It was slow, hard
work. The offertory was apparently about fifty feet
square and there was a thickness of about two feet for
us to penetrate, but luckily the earth was soft and
crumbling. It was fiendishly hot in the full blaze of
the tropical sun. After three hours of digging and
scraping we had found :
1 . A three-foot length of iron piping.
2. A small wooden barrel (empty).
3. Seven very rusty eight-inch nails.
Below these archaeological treasures the soil promised
to extend, undisturbed, for a distance downwards of
many yards. But if we did not find votive pots, metates
and mace heads, we started a discussion that was of far
more interest in Port Royal. Our trophies were evi
dently a group of recent origin, but by their nature they
75
MOSQUITO COAST
gave very little key to the activities of whoever had taken
the trouble to bury them. And in a community where
every enterprise is supposed to be strictly communal,
this could only mean one thing : someone was double-
crossing the others. For the rest of the time we were
there, Roatan was charged with an air of intrigue and
suspicion, and the only topic of conversation was the
evidence of treachery we had unwittingly unearthed.
And, as far as I know, the mystery of the iron pipe, the
barrel, and the seven rusty nails still remains unsolved.
But the Bay Islands can boast of more serious archaeo
logical excavations. Among the houses of Port Royal
there are scattered, as curios of no particular interest,
odd pieces of ancient pottery, and Captain Dick had a
collection of small votive articles copper bells, pend
ants and tiny figurines which had been found in a
large vase at the site of a shrine on Roatdn. There was
also a large coloured jug, with three short legs and a
pair of handles, decorated exotically with a dark-red
serpent. It is hard to deduce, from the scant evidence
that has been found, what were the origins of the
original Indian tribes of the islands, and the report of the
Smithsonian Institute after their excavations in 1933
does little to settle the question. Perhaps it will be
best, for the benefit of the anthropologically minded
reader, to quote the conclusion of the Smithsonian
report.
As a whole the material from the islands is surprising.
In many things it agrees with the adjacent Ghorotegan
mainland, but there are also many traits showing more
76
ROATAN
distant connections. Much of the pottery, especially the
thin polychrome ware (predominantly from the upper
layers), certain greenstone carvings, and the mace heads,
are more characteristic of the Nicoya peninsula on the
Pacific. The copper bells, stone knives, plumed heads,
and some of the ceramics point to the north and west.
Particularly striking are a number of vessels closely
duplicating, in pottery, beautiful marble vases from the
Ulva valley (on the mainland). Finally in lugs and
incised decoration on the unslipped pottery are certain
Antillean resemblances. As to the ultimate derivation
of this rather heterogeneous composite, preliminary study
suggests South American rather than northern origins.
There is still a vast amount of research to be done by
an enterprising archaeologist, in a dozen known sites on
Roatdn, in the gloomy mangrove swamps of Helena,
and high up in the rocky hills of Barburata. But it is
a task for an expert, a serious scholar who can take his
learned time about it. We were too busy to attempt
any serious archaeological work, even had we known
how to proceed, and in addition there would have been
no way for us to bring such relics as we found back to
England. We could hardly encumber ourselves in
Mosquitia with cases of potsherds and fragile vases,
and we had no intention of returning to the islands
after leaving the Mosquito country. The origins of the
ancient Indians, we decided, were less important than
our expedition to the headwaters of the Patuca. They
remain a mystery.
Six days was, we felt, the ideal length of time to stay
on the islands. Less would have left us with a feeling
77
MOSQUITO COAST
of unsatisfied curiosity, more would have allowed
tedium to eclipse some of their charm. The strange
ness of the place could not have made up after another
day or so for the pestilence of insect life. The kindness
of the islands had already begun to seem less important
than a change of diet. We were saturated.
As we drew away from Port Royal the islanders
paddled with us far out into the bay, for the sea was
as flat as glass and the sky cloudless. Our mainsail
hung limply against the mast. We shouted last fare
wells and one by one the canoes dropped away astern.
Captain Macdonald rang for more speed and Roatdn
sank slowly below the rim of the horizon.
There was nothing memorable in our passage from
Port Royal to Brewer s Lagoon. The Diesel never fal
tered and the weather remained perfect. We sailed on
interminably. For all that happened during those two
empty days we might have been on a steam yacht in
the Mediterranean. It was too regular and orderly to
be interesting : and we had had in the last week a long
enough rest in which to enjoy the merely pleasant. We
were anxious, once again, to reach the Patuca without
further delay. We busied ourselves with last-minute
checking and re-checking up our plans, all of which we
were to find, in a day or two, to be quite useless. We
covered the deck with antiquated and incorrect maps.
We packed and repacked our kit and provisions.
On the second morning the clear flatness of the sea
was broken, a few yards off the starboard beam, by
triangular fins cutting their way through the blue
parallel to our course. They twisted this way and
78
ROATAN
that, disappeared and appeared again first on one side
and then on the other, sometimes ahead and sometimes
astern. Pale bellies showed a sickly green through the
water. All day the sharks were with us, and in the
evening we shot at them with revolvers as they rolled
over to show their great maws. It was poor sport, for
they were almost at point-blank range, but it was
strangely unpleasant to see their grey fins continually
alongside and we wanted to get rid of them. Before
nightfall we had killed them all or driven them out of
range, and the only sign of life in the sea was the inces
sant scurry of the flying fish as they took to the air when
the shadow of our bows fell across them.
No other craft appeared until just before dusk. Far
away on the silver rim of the horizon we suddenly
caught sight of a tiny smoky blur, a black speck in the
north-west which gradually grew until we could see,
with binoculars, that she was a Honduran Government
cutter from La Geiba. She had evidently been on a
course that would have taken her well astern of us, but
when we came in sight she altered helm to converge
with us and black smoke began to pour from her funnel
as she increased speed. There seemed to be consider
able excitement on her crowded deck. Presently we
saw that she was crammed full of soldiers. They wore
broad-brimmed straw sombreros, blue denim tunics, and
no shoes. Each had a canvas bag slung across his
shoulders for ammunition* Their flat faces were of a
hundred shades of black and brown.
Captain Macdonald viewed the approach of the
Government cutter with misgiving. He stood in the
79
MOSQUITO COAST
cockpit and glared, but refused to slow down until some
signal came from the other boat. He had no idea what
it was all about. Living under the authority of a Cen
tral American Power cures one of any tendency towards
astonishment or surprise. As a signal ran up on the
Government cutter he shouted resignedly to Carlos and
the Diesel stopped with a splutter. The mainsail and
jib flapped idly.
Two generals in full dress clambered over our rail
when their boat had finally been lowered away after
several unsuccessful attempts. One of them was jet
black, an enormous Negro who topped his colleague by
head and shoulders. The smaller one, however, was
the more important, and after glancing shrewdly around
the schooner with beady Indian eyes it was he who
came up to question Macdonald.
* Como te llamas tu ? De donde vienes ? *
The use of the familiar second person was insolent.
Captain Macdonald shook his head and put on his
stupidest expression.
* Buenos dias, General ; me no savvy no EspanoL*
As a matter of fact he was one of the few islanders
who spoke very good Spanish, but he had in the past
found a policy of ignorance most likely to succeed in
dealing with inquisitiveness. So used was he to being
on opposite sides of the fence with authority that it
never occurred to him that he was now engaged in a
perfectly legitimate enterprise.
The Generals soon gave up trying to communicate
with the Captain and retired into a huddle at the side
of the schooner. Alongside, the cutter s sea boat, with
80
BAY ISLANDS
BAY ISLANDS: Oven
ROATAN
a guard of soldiers, waited to take them back. They
shouted to one of the soldiers who was supposed to
speak English and he jumped aboard.
The generals had decided, the interpreter informed
us haltingly, that we were to put about and accompany
them in pursuit of a launchful of Nicaraguan bandits
who had just made their way up from the south and
were now heading along the Honduran coast. It is the
custom for Government officials to commandeer any
Honduran craft as they please, if there is a need to do
so ; but this was obviously nothing but a display of
pomposity. The Generals wisely nodded their heads
in confirmation as the soldier explained what we wei*e
to do. There could be no reasonable purpose in doing
what we were told. The cutter was already loaded
down with soldiers and rifles, and the Perla del Mar was
considerably the slower boat. Our presence could only
delay the chase. When the soldier had finished we
explained this in detailed Spanish. The Generals
looked surprised and suspicious at our interference, but
it made no difference to their orders. And in any case,
their look implied, what could ignorant islanders know
of important affairs of state such as these ? We had
not shaved for over a week, and wore nothing but dirty
dungaree trousers. They turne d* away and stared im
portantly over the schooner s rail.
Now to chase bandits around the Caribbean might
have been amusing at a different time and under other
circumstances, but we were badly behind time and also
we wanted to make sure of reaching the Lagoon before
the Diesel broke down again. The main bearings had
81 G
MOSQUITO COAST
begun to show signs of running hot, and a full-speed
chase would certainly have finished them off. We were
particularly anxious to make straight for Brewer s.
There was nothing for it but to produce the Presi
dent s letter again. As the Generals caught sight of the
magic word c Garfas * in the signature all their import
ance vanished in a flash, and even the gold braid in
their uniforms seemed to grow duller. They apolo
gized and stood, like embarrassed schoolboys, not know
ing what to say. We gave them a drink and within the
half-hour turned south again. As the cutter steamed
away there was a puff of smoke and their salute rolled
across the water to us.
82
Chapter Six
BREWER S LAGOON
TIREWER S LAGOON is one of the ends of the
-Dearth. There can be few places, in the great
jungles of Asia or in the vastness of the Polar regions,
that give such an impression of lost desertion. It is
utterly remote. It lies along the sandy north coast,
some two hundred miles of water varying in depth from
a few inches to six feet, and the land around it is so low-
lying that for most of the year it is a mass of marsh and
swampland, treacherous and unhealthy. On the north
side it is almost cut off from the sea by a broad sandy
spit, lined with palms, which leaves only one narrow
gap through which the swollen waters of the Patuca
make their way out to sea. The Patuca has two main
outlets, one through its original course, which with
time has spread so widely that the river-bed is now lost,
and the land east of Brewer s Lagoon is one great
swamp, and the other through the Lagoon by way of the
Tom-Tom Cut-off, which joins the main river some
hundred miles higher up. There are only three men
who can find their way through the narrow channel of
the lagoon, and we were to find that one of these, even,
had considerable difficulties with his navigation.
In spite of its remoteness, there is activity around the
mouth of the cut-off, for Brewer s Lagoon is the final
83
MOSQUITO COAST
end of the fringe of civilization, and all enterprises
which chose to operate farther afield in the Mosquito
territory must use it for a base. There is a Garib
village, there is a small house which is the residence of
an Assistant Comandante, and there is a white man who
chooses for his own reasons to live on the Lagoon.
There are usually several cayukas andpipantos to be seen,
being paddled or poled across the water. When the
weather is fine a schooner calls every two or three
weeks, but without some special reason it never
ventures across the Patuca Bar, but remains outside in
the open sea to unload its cargo into the Garib boats.
Occasionally a crop of bananas which has escaped the
hurricanes and floods is sent down the Patuca by the
determined German planters who fight a continual
desperate battle with the river.
It was just after four in the morning when we reached
the mouth of the lagoon. The sea was still as flat as
glass and there was no sign of wind. A foil moon
showed up the long sandy spit that stretched away as
far as one could see, and the tiny gap which led to the
lagoon looked extremely narrow. The Perla del Mar
drew five feet ; over the Bar there was usually about
six inches more than that. To get across the Bar itself
should not be in any way difficult, but the danger lay
in approaching it. It was surrounded by reefs, some
of which were just visible, but most of which lay a few
feet below the smooth surface of the water. With no sea
running at all it was impossible to know where they lay.
After sailing up and down several times outside the
lagoon Captain Macdonald decided to make out to sea
84
BREWER S LAGOON
again. It was ridiculous to attempt an entry in a flat
calm and by moonlight, so we were to wait and see if
daylight brought wind with it. Dawn was already
beginning to break, and as the morning grew the sea
seemed, if possible, flatter and calmer than before.
The sky was an unbroken blue and there was no sign
of wind. We nosed our way in towards the passage and
gathered in the bows to look out for reefs. Carlos set
the Diesel to run as slowly as possible, and Macdonald
steered from the wheelhouse according to our signals.
The reefs were strong and sharp : a graze would be
enough to do damage to the schooner s hull.
As we made our way in, the sea darkened in colour
and presently it was so sandy from the spate of the
Patuca water that we could see nothing, and Captain
Macdonald dared go^ no further. We were in the thick
of the reefs. To go back would be slow and difficult,
and there was little room in which to turn. The only
thing to do, he decided, was to lower the dinghy and
let us row ahead, feeling out the passage for the
schooner. Nigel and I and the Mate, who had been
through the channel before, took the boat and with long
bamboo poles felt laboriously for the reefs. The
schooner followed as we reconnoitred each bend.
After nearly three hours of rowing and sounding we
were over the Bar and safely in the channel inside the
lagoon. The noise of the anchor chains running out
brought Caribs paddling to the schooner from all over
the lagoon.
It was evident as soon as we arrived that a familiar
85
MOSQUITO COAST
farce was to be replayed. The Comandante of Mosquitia
was coming aboard to question us*
A tiny village on stilts stands to starboard inside the
lagoon. It is no more than five or six native huts,
clustered dose together, and a slightly larger hut,
standing apart, which is the Comandancia. The Coman
dante was an old man, white-haired and bent. He
hurried down to the beach buckling on his ammunition
belt, jumped into a cayuka and was paddled out to us in
state by a Carib. But he was different to the other
officials who had delayed us in the early stages of our
journey. He was glad to see us and as he clambered
over the schooner s side his lined Indian face was
wreathed in smiles. He wore a broad-brimmed straw
hat, a khaki shirt and a pair of bell-bottomed blue serge
trousers. Around his waist were the inevitable crossed
cartridge belts.
He shook hands all around and started off immedi
ately in a chatter of Spanish that was to last for over
an hour. Ship s papers were waved aside and he did
not even glance at the great letter from General Garfas.
It appeared that he was the only Spanish-speaking
person on the west side of the lagoon : the rest were
Garibs, so he had had no one to talk to for several
weeks. And as he pointed out, a little unnecessarily,
he was fond of conversation. We were given news
about the state of the river, the banana crops and the
Garibs, the weather and the sea. He gave a list of all
the schooners that had visited the lagoon since his term
of office began, with the details of their affairs and
intentions : and he was so busy and happy making the
86
BREWER S LAGOON
best of this golden opportunity for c conversation 5 that
he never once expressed interest or surprise at our
presence in Brewer s Lagoon. This form of red tape,
we thought at first, was possibly more boring but less
unpleasant than the other. Perhaps we were unwise to
think about such things at all, for there was evidently
something which prompted Don Miguel to send his
Garib boy back for a bottle of the very best Aguardiente
made in his own house as much as a whole month ago.
Once again we went through the ordeal which we had
undergone in Goxxen Hole : raw spirits and vile cigars
in the middle of a sweltering hot tropical morning.
This time Macdonald was in for it too, but it seemed
to have less effect on him than on us. We sat around
on the edge of the cockpit and looked out over the
Lagoon while Don Miguel rambled on about every
subject under the sun. For the first twenty minutes
we had listened, for his attention had been turned to the
affairs of his territory and we were eager for any news
that might help us when once we started up the river.
But when he left first Mosquitia, then Honduras, then
Central America altogether, and started to tell us that
Parece que hay guerra civil en Espana we began to lose
interest in him and left Macdonald to do whatever was
necessary to keep up the passive end of the conversation.
Long before the Comandante left us Caribs had arrived
alongside from all over the lagoon and the schooner was
the centre of a cluster of canoes and dories. Some
brought fish to sell, some fruit, some came to offer their
services if we wanted porters, and a great many came to
stare and ask questions. Among the characteristic
87
MOSQUITO COAST
Carib faces there began to appear also a different type :
rather smaller and with a more Indian cast of features.
These were Zambus, Indians of mixed blood from the
Patuca country. All along the Caribbean coast there
is a scattering of Zambu Indians among the Caribs and
other negroes, and the lagoon seemed to have attracted
a good many of them away from the higher reaches of
the Patuca. Some of them had made their way along
the coast to the west and had even worked as stevedores
for the fruit companies, but most of them were un
interested in white men in general and soon came back
to wilder country. English among the people of the
lagoon was far better understood and spoken than
Spanish, for throughout the territory there is a lingering
British influence which has been more or less isolated
and preserved by its remoteness.
In the middle of Brewer s Lagoon, at the western end,
there stands a small round island, shaped rather like an
inverted tea cup and not more than a hundred and
fifty yards in diameter. It was closely covered with
tropical scrub, and in a small clearing stood a solitary
native hut made of plaited leaves. This is Cannon
Island, which derives its name from the fact that it is
the site of an ancient cannon placed there by British
soldiers in the days when Mosquitia was a colony.
The cannon is still there, covering the mouth of the
lagoon with a rusty barrel that is now full of earth and
leaves and rubbish. In La Ceiba we had been advised
to consult a certain Robert Trapp who lived on Cannon
Island, and who was supposed to know more about the
Patuca river than anyone else.
88
A
J
* v *m ^ j ** ,m>:/
Don Miguel Ramirez, Gomandante of all Mosquitia
BREWER S LAGOON
While Don Miguel continued to give his opinions on
the Spanish situation as it was reported in the six-weeks 3 -
old copy of a Nicaraguan newspaper which was his
most recent link with the greater world, Nigel and I
took a canoe and paddled over to Gannon Island which
was not more than two hundred yards away. We were
more than lucky to find Robert Trapp at home, for he
spent most of his days hunting alligator a long way up-
riven It happened that he had come down again only
the week before. He was a Belize Negro, enormously
broad and tall, and his shock of kinky hair was white,
giving him that deceptive air of venerable respectability
which age gives to negroes.
Robert Trapp was willing to hire boats for us and
arrange for our expedition to be given its initial
momentum. Like the people in Tegucigalpa and La
Ceiba, he was intensely suspicious of our motives. He
put on an enormous pair of gold-rimmed spectacles to
read our credentials which finally convinced him that
we were merely mad. It was just possible, he told us,
that he would be able to start up-river again himself
within the next few days, but of course the demand for
alligator skins was not what it used to be ....
We made a satisfactory arrangement with him that
made the alligator market less important, and agreed
to start after two days, during which time we would
unload our things from the schooner and he would send
for boats and men from settlements of Zambus inland
and along the coast. Meanwhile we would go back to
the schooner and sail across the lagoon to Brewer s
Village, which stands at the mouth of the Tom-Tom
89
MOSQUITO COAST
Cut-off. Everything was arranged and settled, and at
that moment I think we were convinced that within a
week we should be well up in the head- waters of the
Patuca. We were wrong.
At four o clock in the afternoon Carlos started the
Diesel and we turned eastward towards the Tom-Tom
aid of the lagoon. At some time in the past Captain
Macdonald had driven a number of stakes into the
muddy shallows of the lagoon to mark out the narrow
channel, which twisted and turned continually, but his
stakes had mostly been washed away or put to more
practical uses by the Caribs. Here and there an
isolated stick showed above the water, leaning crazily
to one side, but since he had originally placed the sticks
in pairs, with those to starboard identical with those
to port, these were not of much help. All one could
tell from them was that four years ago, when Macdonald
had last sailed through, the channel had been situated
on one side or the other of them. Macdonald, however,
seemed full of confidence, and rather resented the
suggestion that he could not find his way across. He im
mediately pooh-poohed the idea that we should unload
immediately, and ferry our gear across to Brewer s
Village by canoe. A contract was a contract, he de
clared, and he meant to do for us what he had originally
agreed to do. On the strength of this burst of confi
dence in his navigation he shouted to Carlos to increase
speed a little. We ran aground. There was a sickening
thud, then the schooner remained quite still, her bows
and forefoot held fast in a great bank of sand and mud.
90
BREWER S LAGOON
The Caribs and Zambus had by this time gone home,
so it was left to us to unstick the schooner as best we
could. For a long time we tried driving her forward
and then back, alternately running the Diesel full speed
ahead and then full speed astern, hoping to widen the
cleft in the mud and free the schooner s bows. The
only effect of this was to churn up the water all around
us and if anything to drive the schooner farther into the
bank. We tried shifting weight and we tried running
up and down the deck ourselves. Nothing was any
good. Night began to fall, so we decided that we might
as well stay in the middle of the lagoon as on the far
side. The only method of refloating the schooner which
we had not tried was going overboard ourselves and
digging her out. This was bound to free her, but we
only wanted to use it as a last resort since it would be
hard, dirty work. But at night even this was out of the
question, for the lagoon is thickly populated with
alligators, and in the dark no one in the water would be
safe from attack. There were also sharks.
So we stayed the night in the middle of Brewer s
Lagoon, stuck ignominiously fast on a mud-bank.
But it had its advantages : had we been ashore we
should have been entertained, doubtless, by the
Assistant Comandante who lived at Brewer s Village.
And here in the middle of the Lagoon it was cooler,
and there were no mosquitoes. That was the best
night s sleep we were to have for some time to come.
The following morning we were up early, all of us
stark naked in the water, hard at work to refloat the
MOSQUITO COAST
schooner. The mud was soft and slimy underfoot and
clammily warm. In places one s feet sank deep down
into it. Only Carlos remained on the schooner standing
with a rifle on top of the wheelhouse to watch for alli
gators. It was not at all likely that any would venture
near such a commotion, particularly in the daytime,
but we thought it as well to take no chances.
We dug for hours at the soft red mud and it seemed
that as fast as we moved it from under the schooner s
full bows it caved in again from the sides, and she
wallowed deeper. We started at the first sign of light,
to try and get free before the sun s full power made it
impossible to work in the open, and by midday we were
no better off than we had been the previous night.
We climbed wearily up over the side again and scraped
the red mud off ourselves on deck.
We did not know what to do ; we had tried every
known way of floating the schooner without result.
She had no cargo that we could jettison, and every bit
of her ballast was on the outside. Our own equipment
was not heavy enough to make an appreciable differ
ence to the schooner s weight.
It began to look as if we should have been wiser to
have ferried ourselves along the lagoon in canoes, but
this would have been dreadfully slow. An expanse of
unprotected water as long and broad as Brewer s can
become very rough, and it is no place to be caught in a
squall. Had we unloaded our things and taken a
number of small boats, we should have had to follow
the edge of the lagoon so as to be within easy reach of
shore all the way. We had three outboard motors
92
BREWER S LAGOON
with us, stowed away in the hold, but not a drop of
petrol : that we hoped to get on the river, from the
planters* trading station a few miles above the Tom-
Tom junction.
In gloomy consultation we sat around the cockpit
and stared into the churned water. All the sails in the
schooner s scanty locker had been set, in the hope of
catching even the lightest airs to help roll us out of the
mud. They hung derisively in limp folds.
Suddenly we became conscious of a faint sound, un
expectedly familiar : it was the high-pitched beat of a
small outboard motor, from the direction of Brewer s
Village. We scanned the distant water anxiously with
our glasses. There was only one boat in sight. The
Garibs and Zambus, having satisfied their curiosity,
were now leaving us strictly to our own devices.
Apart from the long canoe with the outboard motor
that was chugging towards us, the lagoon was de
serted.
We stood and watched the canoe for a very long time
before it was near enough for us to make out who was
in it. Even the Assistant Comandante would be welcome
enough, for with a little luck and persuasion he could
be sent off again to fetch petrol, and if he used an out
board motor himself it made it probable that he had a
petrol store of his own at the village.
But our troubles were far from over : the lagoon
seemed anxious to prevent our reaching its eastern end.
When the canoe was still a quarter of a mile away we
heard the motor splutter for a minute and then roar,
and then there was silence. No one said anything.
93
MOSQUITO COAST
There was nothing to say. The man in the big canoe
started to paddle laboriously towards the shore.
I am not going to bore you with a detailed account of
how we refloated the Perla del Mar and finally reached
Brewers Village, with the Diesel running and three
outboard motors clamped to the schooner s counter to
help drive her out of the mud. Let it suffice the reader
to know that this was probably the least pleasant and
most tedious part of the journey, and that we finally
reached Brewer s Village after a further sweltering
delay of a day and a half- We paddled a canoe for a
great many hours, coming and going with petrol : we
worked in the sun, up to our waists in muddy water.
We sweated and swore.
94
Chapter Seven
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
T>REWER S VILLAGE was called Pueblo Brus on
JDour map, which was over sixty years old and had
been drawn, with a great deal of imagination, in Spain.
The Segundo-Comandante was drunk, when we arrived and
still drunk when we took our leave two days later. He
was neither amusing nor aggressive in his cups : he was
merely in a condition of profound coma. For all we
could tell he might have been lying dead in his blue
and white Nicaraguan hammock when we called for his
official permission to start upstream. Only the empty
Aguardiente jars that lay around on the earthen floor gave
any hint that his unconsciousness was only temporary.
We left him a note.
But if the Segmdo-Comandante was no help to us he
refrained from hindering, and we were fortunate enough
to find someone else at Brewer s Village whose aid was
to be invaluable.
His name was Clayton Cooke. He was an American,
. a slight sharp-faced man so deeply tanned that he looked
like an Indian. He had pale-blue eyes, deep set among
tiny criss-cross lines, and when he smiled his eyes dis
appeared, leaving nothing but a wrinkle-gashed brown
patchwork. He did not tell us why he lived on the
Lagoon, the only white man for many miles, and we
95
MOSQUITO COAST
never asked him. At any rate he liked it, for I have
rarely seen anyone so obviously happy.
We saw him first on the beach as the schooner drew
in towards shore. He wore a pair of grey shorts and
a wide-brimmed straw hat and nothing else. As the
anchor splashed into the water he raised a hand list
lessly in the tropical gesture of greeting that is actually
indicative of some enthusiasm. There was a week s
growth of beard on his chin.
We went with him to his hut which stood on a small
swampy island near the mouth of the Tom-Tom. He
showed it to us with pride : he had built it, from drift
wood and petrol tins and palm leaves, entirely alone.
Around the house stood a few acres of bananas and a
small crop of the red native beans called frijoles. But,
as he told us, we hadn t seen anything yet. We made
our way through the hut to the back, which faced the
jungle. On a clear patch of soil that must have taken
him years of labour to wrest from the sea and sand and
prolific tropical shrub, were orchids, set neatly in
orderly rows. They were the most beautiful flowers I
have ever seen in any country, and they struck me so
in tropical America where orchids are a weed and grow
wild. The sudden sight of that mass of voluptuous
colour, standing grotesquely in orderly lines, is the one
moment of our time in the Lagoon which stands out
most clearly in my mind. Clayton Cooke stood look
ing out over them and told us something of his passion
for orchids. We began to understand part of his reason
for living a hermit life on the Lagoon.
Cooke did everything for us. With Robert Trapp,
96
Zambu House near Brewers Lagoon
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
our Belize Negro from Gannon Island, he helped us buy
canoes and such extra provisions as would be of any
use. He sold us gallons of petrol from his own store :
(he had been the man in the long canoe with the out
board motor who had started out towards us across the
Lagoon) . We found out a great deal of valuable infor
mation about the currents on the Patuca, and he taught
us a few words of Zambu dialect to help us with the
boys. We slept in hammocks in his house until we
were finally ready to start up the Tom-Tom Cut
off.
On what must have been the hottest day in August
we stood beside Cooke s house, ready to make upstream.
Even at eight o clock in the morning the sun was fierce,
and the air hazy with heat. The sky was cloudless, a
clear blue broken only by the buzzards which hover
eternally overhead.
There were five boats, three of which were of the type
called c pipantos 9 rather like punts, but considerably
longer, and the other two dugout canoes or c cay-
ukas. 9 The e pipantos * we loaded with our equipment
and the provisions ; the guns and ammunition were
placed in the c cayukas * with us. Nigel took one and
I the other. Robert Trapp, beaming benevolently over
gold-rimmed spectacles, took the lead in the first pipanto
with another Negro, and the other pipantos were each
manned by two boys. There was a great deal of noise
and a last frenzied check to make sure that everything
necessary had been packed in the boats. Finally we
were off, paddling and poling out into the stream.
97 H
MOSQUITO COAST
Clayton Gooke waved a long farewell to us until we
had rounded the bend.
It is no easy matter to arrange the commissariat of
an expedition of unknown composition for an indefinite
time in unknown territory. We were faced with a
number of awkward details of staff work owing to the
fact that we knew so little of what we were to find :
what food would be available, how many mouths we
should have to feed, and how far we would be able to
go. Most of the questions that faced us were left, like
practically all the details of the expedition, inefficiently
to chance. We were incredibly optimistic and solved
all problems by merely telling each other, with con
vincing frequency, that everything would turn out
right when the time came. And for the most part
it did.
The backbone of our food was starch, contrary to all
the best principles of Doctor Hay. We had as many
large sacks as could be carried of rice and native beans,
because these are durable and are locally the cheapest
food there is. Besides this there was an enormous
quantity of flour, most of which was to fall overboard
long before it could be put to any practical use. Apart
from this we took practically nothing, except such
necessaries as salt, lard and baking powder. All the
odd corners in the boats were filled with tins of Ameri
can food, which we originally intended to keep and eat
sparingly as a change from the perpetual rice and beans,
but which in fact were all eaten almost immediately.
Fruit and meat we hoped to get as we went, but in one
98
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
of the canoes we included a large supply of limes to
tide us over such time as we should not be able to
get fruit.
It took us three days to reach the Patuca junction
from Brewer s Lagoon, three days of uneventful and
fairly easy travel. The Tom-Tom is wide and deep,
and has nothing like the speed of the Patuca. We
paddled along without hurrying, lingering through the
last fringes of civilization. Here and there along the
banks were huts, occupied by Indians who had wan
dered away from their territories, or by occasional stray
Garibs and Negroes like Robert Trapp. The country
around the Tom-Tom is fertile and can support a great
many people in lazy luxury. Bananas grow very well,
and there is always a supply of coconuts ; fresh- water
fish can be harpooned in the river, and fat wild turkeys
provide good meat.
There are also a few straggling banana plantations
on the Cut-off, run by persistent and enterprising Ger
mans. It is remarkable that throughout the tropics the
last drop of blood is squeezed not by the English or the
Americans, but by Germans ; they plant fruit in places
condemned by others as impossible, and they live in
apparent happiness in swamps and fever jungles de
serted even by the Indians. The planters on the Tom-
Tom have a hard life and a very unprofitable one.
Their crops are menaced, every rainy season, by the
great river. It is unusual for a year to pass without
serious floods. When the water has subsided and the
fruit is again full on the trees, the hurricane season
99
MOSQUITO COAST
begins and their trees are blown down, often carried
bodily away in a muddy torrent. And as an additional
danger, the Nicaraguan frontier is menacingly close and
always provides the probability of fighting* Bandits
from all over South America and the tropics take refuge
in the Patuca country, and make their headquarters
along the conveniently vague frontier.
The growing of the crops, however, is not the most
difficult of the problems which face the planter. Once
the fruit is ready for cutting, it must be shipped to the
Atlantic ports for sale : and since bananas, unlike citrus
fruit, continue to ripen long after cutting, the transport
must be organized with great efficiency to ensure that
the fruit reaches its market at the correct stage in its
development. Load after load is wasted, dumped into
the river as useless because a raft ran aground and
delayed shipment for half a day, or because a schooner
was late at the Patuca Bar.
But when things go well the banana business can be
profitable enough. A stem costs between sixpence and
ninepence to grow, and in La Ceiba it is sold to the
fruit companies for about half a crown, which leaves
a considerable margin to cover the cost of shipping.
But it very rarely happens that it is enough to cover
the ravages of hurricanes, floods and fever.
We called at several farms on the way up the Cut
off, leaving letters that had lain waiting for weeks at
the Lagoon. The Germans were pathetically eager for
news from the outside world. Some of them had not
left their farms for eighteen months, for there had re
cently been a bad blow-down and all their time was
100
TOM-TOM CUT-OFF
taken up in replanting. They lived crudely, in native
huts reinforced with petrol tins and oil drums and
strongly surrounded by barbed wire. Each settlement
had a store of useful or attractive articles which were
used instead of currency to pay the local casual labour
mirrors, scent, knives and so on. They had no
luxuries and few comforts. Only one of the planters
had a wireless.
We wasted too much time among the planters, but
they were desperately eager for news and conversation
and we found it difficult to leave.
In the evening of the third day after leaving the
Lagoon we reached the great fork where the Patuca
joins the Tom-Tom. Both streams were wide and fast,
and the running together of the waters had widened
the banks to such an extent that there was almost a
lake at the junction. In the centre were the tops of
rocks which had been driven down by the floods and
were now embedded in the sand. A sort of whirlpool
was formed by the currents, so that we had to keep our
boats close to the bank to avoid the rocks.
Since it was late and the mosquitoes would soon be
out, we decided to camp at the junction for the night
rather than risk finding a suitable pitch higher up on
the Patuca. We ran the boats ashore on a sand
bank.
The technique of sleeping in Mosquitia is involved.
The country is named with singular accuracy. By six
o clock one must be protected, by some means or other,
from the swarms of mosquitoes that appear suddenly
101
MOSQUITO COAST
from nowhere. As dusk falls, a high-pitched humming
rises faintly : for a few minutes it quavers and grows
louder, then the mosquitoes are upon you, filling the
air and covering every inch of exposed skin in torment
ing swarms* Of all the equipment we had with us,
our mosquito-nets were the most valuable and were the
only things we could not have done without. We
rigged them double, slung between trees, with water
proof groundsheets on the sand.
But even the best mosquito-nets are far from infal
lible, and on a number of occasions we were woken up
in the pitch black of the tropical night to find that feet
were protruding under the nets, holding them invitingly
open. And every night before going to sleep there was
a furious scramble inside the nets as we chased the mos
quitoes that were already inside. Sleeping under a net
is not on the whole pleasant : but there was nothing else
for it. We made tentative attempts at sleep without
them, after smearing ourselves with various commercial
preparations, falsely claimed to be mosquito-proof,
but quickly lost hope of success.
Later on, when we were well up the Patuca, we
developed a better plan for night camps. A line was
strung across the river from tree to tree, and we fixed
the boats to it so that they floated through the night
in the middle of the river. This was cooler than the
shore, and in addition we avoided the possibility of
snakes and insects. And the mosquitoes seemed slightly
less persistent. The only thing that disturbed us was
the occasional bumping of inquisitive alligators. We
used to practise shooting, with revolvers, at the pairs
1 02
Lagoon Zambus
BREWERS LAGOON
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
of eyes that slid quietly over the water. We rarely
hit them.
The Patuca junction is desolate and remote. There
is not the faintest sign of human habitation, for even the
Indians have been driven away by the regular floods.
Thick vegetation reaches down to the sand-banks along
the water, impenetrable and black. It is one of those
places, which can be found all over the civilized and
uncivilized world, which are strangely and unreasonably
depressing. It struck us vividly as the last landmark
of c civilization/ and the first bourne of unknown lands.
When we left the Tom-Tom and found ourselves in
the Patuca, our progress became slower and a number
of difficulties arose annoyingly to hinder us. The
Patuca runs faster than the Cut-off, for it is very shallow
and rocky. Robert Trapp and the Zambu boys poled
the pipantos while Nigel and I paddled in the cqyukas.
We travelled on endlessly, for days a journey unbroken
by the sight of anything but the river and the jungle.
The heat grew intolerable, and we contrived awnings
over the boats from tarpaulins and canvas. Most of
our serious travel we accomplished in early morning
and late afternoon, sleeping through the scorching
middle day.
There was so little to do in those first days on the
river that we took refuge in the disciplined routine of
our lives. With the apparent stupidity of an army we
delighted in making a great fuss over the smallest details
of equipment. The Zambus did their work in silence,
sullen and Indian*
103
MOSQUITO COAST
During the daytime we sat continually with guns
across our knees, waiting for the chance of a shot at
wild turkey or Muscovia ducks. When they appeared
we shot them easily enough, for they were unaccus
tomed to men and not afraid. They were cooked over
a primus, a welcome relief from rice and beans.
Usually we took our meals without stopping. One
of thepipantos had for some reason become the kitchen,
possibly because one of the Zambu boys in it, called
M Tsu, had the best claims to the position of chef.
The other boats drew alongside in turn and collected
their lunch.
Those days were boring. There was nothing to see,
the heat was intolerable, and we slugged along at what
seemed a snail s pace. The only diversion was pro
vided by running aground, which happened with regu
larity to all the boats in turn. We vented our bad
temper on alligators and vultures, wasting valuable
ammunition in impossible shots.
On the fifth night away from the junction we met
with misfortune which might easily have been calamity.
In the late afternoon we had drawn up as usual, strung
our line across the Patuca from bank to bank, and
settled down in the boats for the night. There was no
moon and as soon as the quick tropical night fell it
became impossible to see a yard. We were on a bend
of the river in a narrow and fast-Honing reach. The
pipantos were fastened close to the shore-line, and the
cqyukas in which Nigel and I slept lay astern, some ten
or twelve feet downstream.
104
TOM-TOM CUT-OFF
It must have been well after midnight that it hap
pened. I awoke in a tearing crash ; a blinding light
shone at me and I felt my cqyuka lifted by the current
and carried clumsily broadside on down-river. One is
not at one s best to deal with an emergency when rudely
woken up in a sweltering night and a very narrow canoe.
I grappled fiercely with my double mosquito-nets,
brought them down on top of me and tore my way
through, for some reason not upsetting the canoe.
From the shrieks it seemed that the whole party was
in chaos. The Zambus, shaken out of impassivity,
were in full tongue. Nigel was making the night horrid
with oaths. I gave up guessing what had happened
and concentrated on getting the cqyukcts head to the
current. My torch was nowhere to be found and the
aforesaid blinding light which had appeared imme
diately after the accident had disappeared again. I
paddled cautiously upstream towards the confusion,
making for what I hoped was the middle of the river.
It was too dark to see the other boats or the bank. An
incongruous voice broke thickly through the night,
c Verftucht nock einmal ! *
I had no time to consider the import of this remark
before the light flashed on again, and the whole catas
trophe was floodlit and explained. In the middle of
the river was a flat-boat, a sort of elongated tug with
a small wheel-house amidships. Beside the wheel-
house stood a tall fair-haired man in blue dungarees,
obviously as surprised as he was cross. Clinging to the
side of his barge were Nigel s cqyuka half-full of water,
and two pipantos. Robert Trapp was there, his white
105
MOSQUITO COAST
curb and gold-rimmed spectacles catching the light and
standing out against his startled ebony-black face. A
vague number of Zambus gesticulated and shrieked
noisily in the boats. But where was the third pipanto ?
As the German turned his light we saw it downstream,
drifting swiftly with the current, bottom-up. There
was no sign of the two boys who had been in it, and as
we watched it was carried out of sight, twisting and
turning until it rounded the bend. We made fast all
the boats to the flat-boat and clambered aboard.
It was obvious enough what had happened : although
we had been told that the German planters from up-
river would not journey to the Lagoon for several weeks
yet, they had obviously changed their minds and run
foul of the line we had put across the river. The flat-
boat had rammed M*Tsu*s canoe, throwing him and
his companion into the river and eradicating our kit
chen. We were a little worried about the two Zambus,
for although they could swim like fish they had been
taken very much by surprise and alligators were plenti
ful and hungry at night. We took our guns and blazed
them off, hoping to Brighten the alligators away, for
alligators are timid and not particularly dangerous
unless they know that they have their victims at their
mercy.
Later on it became evident that the accident was to
prove exceedingly awkward for us. M Tsu and his
friend, who had safely reached shore, were ferried back
to us intact, chattering and dripping. But our big
primus was gone, the flour was all at the bottom of the
river, and the drums of petrol we had bought at Brewer s
1 06
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
Lagoon had disappeared irretrievably downstream.
When the German had recovered from his shock he was
volubly apologetic*
But the loss of stove and provisions was not the only
misfortune which followed upon the collision. M 9 Tsu
and his friend had lost faith in the expedition and loudly
declared their intention of returning at once to the
Lagoon. What could happen once, they argued, could
happen twice : and they had no desire to be drowned
or eaten alive by alligators. They poured Zambu scorn
upon our inefficiency.
There was nothing for it but to let them go, although
they would have been very useful later on. As the
German started his engine they stayed aboard and went
downstream with him. Not until daylight did we dis
cover the loss of a pair of binoculars, two torches, and
about a hundred rounds of revolver ammunition from
the other boats.
Above us now there lay two more white settlements
before we finally reached the wild Indian territories.
There was a small German plantation, owned by the
fair-haired man in the flat-boat, and farther on another
banana farm run by an American planter to whom we
had letters of introduction. Exactly a week after leav
ing the Lagoon we reached his hut at Brauvila creek.
We spent two days and nights with the planter, rest
ing and reorganizing, and we bought food and petrol
from him to replace what had been lost. Unfortu
nately he had no spare stove to give us, so we had to
make the best of the two small primuses.
107
MOSQUITO COAST
He lived an odd life, alone for a year or eighteen
months at a time, save for the company of Indians and
Zambus who worked for him. His house was sur
rounded like a machine-gun emplacement by great
barbed-wire entanglements designed to discourage
jaguars, tiger-cats and human marauders. On a shelf
inside the door lay two repeating shot-guns, sawn off
short and loaded with buck-shot.
Two days we wasted at Brauvila, talking and making
plans with the planter. He had never gone more than
five or six miles upstream from his camp, and could give
us little advice. Like the planters on the Gut-off he
was desperately anxious for news from the outside world,
and wanted us to stay longer. We played interminable
games of cards with a greasy pack, gambling for revolver
ammunition by candlelight.
When we started upstream again we broke out the
two outboard motors and clamped them to the pipantos.
Nigel and I took charge of one each and the cqyukas
were towed astern. In front of each pipanto lay a
Zambu boy, flat on his front, clearing the bows of
sticks and driftwood that might foul the propellers.
The next few days were uneventful and identical.
The only break in our laborious progress was the inter
mittent misbehaviour of the motors. There were three
troubles which recurred and which seemed incurable.
Of these the most frequent was a merely temperamental
stopping, with no apparent mechanical reason. One
motor or the other would splutter and cough, then sud
denly die away. Upon examination of plugs, feed and
108
TOM-TOM GUT-OFF
points nothing would appear out of order ; but pre
sently, after much spinning of the infuriating piece of
string provided to set the motor in motion, it would
start up again, and run perfectly for hours. I have
since been told that all outboards do it. The second
trouble was more serious and in fact led, several weeks
later, to our jettisoning both motors. The propeller
bearings, running at full speed and a few inches above
a sandy bottom, continually absorbed sand in spite of
elaborate filters. The third trouble was also luckily
infrequent : it happened only when whoever was steer
ing failed to lift the engine over rocky patches. The
propeller of an outboard motor is fixed to its shaft by
a plug of soft metal called a shear-pin, designed to give
way if the propeller hits anything under water. This
arrangement is admirable in that it prevents damage
to the motor : but it means that the propeller sinks like
a stone to the bottom of the water. And in an expedi
tion that carries only one spare propeller this is just as
bad as losing the whole motor. The first time that it
happened I dived overboard at once and was lucky
enough to find the propeller ; but less than half an
hour later Nigel ran over a shallow patch and lost his
irretrievably, since we were among rocks and in no
position to stop. He took a line from my stern and I
towed him until that night, when we fixed the spare
propeller.
Now that we were above all the plantations there was
no chance of another midnight collision, and we slept
as before in midstream. We ate rice and beans, cook-
ijig them in as many fantastic ways as we could. Occa-
109
MOSQUITO COAST
sionally one of us potted a turkey, and for one enormous
meal there was fresh meat.
The river grew monotonous as we chugged upstream
through sweltering dull days. It was eternally the
same ; long rocky bends, sand-banks, and the thick
black jungle on either side. The heat grew worse.
Since we had long passed the last landmarks, we
were making for no definite objective, and it seemed
that we were getting nowhere. The river flowed shal
low and treacherous, always beating us back. We
fought on wearily.
no
Chapter Eight
PATUGA
Patuca, like another far-better-known river,
JL runs deep and wide. But it is treacherous, alter
nating deep reaches with patches of rocks and great
banks of red mud. At all times of the year the water
is thick and dirty and not at all transparent, the heavy
colour of raw umber. It sweeps on swiftly through the
jungle and savanna land in long bends fringed with
yellow sand. In places there are clearings along the
bank, but for most of its length the jungle grows dense
and dark to the water s edge. It is the only channel
through miles of tropical forests, and an air of quiet
mystery lingers along its shaded banks. The noise of
our troublesome outboards carried for miles over the
water and sent parrots and cranes and tropical birds
we did not know high into the sky. Ashore there was
an incessant chatter of monkeys. Occasionally we
could see them swinging from tree to tree, white-faced
baboons and ring-tails, as they followed us up the river.
During those days we kept our eyes constantly on the
banks, eagerly watching for signs of life. There was
little chance of surprising wild tribes, for they were well
warned by the noise we made ; but we were already in
the Zambu territory and the sites of their winter villages
should be visible.
in
MOSQUITO COAST
For a week and two days we struggled on unevent
fully. The course taken by the river is in length nearly
double the distance as the crow flies, but cutting across
country to eliminate the bends was out of the question.
The jungle was infernally thick and we had no map to
show which way the Patuca curved. The river began
to grow shallower and daily we noticed that the banks
were closer to us. The sand and rocks became more
troublesome, and our progress grew slower.
On the ninth day after leaving Brauvila creek we first
saw signs of life. A patch of tall grass on the left bank,
standing hemmed in by the forest on three sides, had
been beaten down and we could see the new grass
growing through the old. We beached the boats on
the sand and went ashore to examine the clearing.
But if we had hoped to find a Zambu settlement we
were to be disappointed, for there was no more than the
trace of a former occupation. A little patch of flattened
earth, a few broken branches, a pile of dead leaves ;
this was all we found to show that the country was alive.
During the winter months the Zambus flock to the
river, building grass huts and earthen ovens which are
abandoned again in the rainy season. At this time of
year, in the full heat of summer, most of their villages
would be high up in the hills that lay hidden on either
side of 4iie river. We did not hope for much in the
lowlands. But the sight of that clearing, many miles
from the nearest settlement of the lower river, encour
aged us immensely and the river lost its tedium. We
were in the Indian territories.
112
PATUGA
For another week we made lazily upstream, taking
our time and watching the river banks. From time to
time we came upon more clearings that showed where
Zambu camps had stood, but still there was no sign of
human life. Evidently the tribes were up-country, and
such stragglers as might have remained were frightened
away by the strange roar of our motors. It was not our
aim to find the tribes only of this part of the Patuca, so
we did not bother to stop the outboards to investigate.
We wanted to reach the highest possible point in the
river, pitch our camp, and from there make excursions
into the hills.
Now that we had reached the headwaters of the river
we began to make plans for a return journey by a
different route. To drift back along the Patuca would
be easy enough but monotonous, and we wanted to see
something of the country that lay between the Patuca
and Garatasca Lagoon, which was said to be thickly
populated with wild tribes. Some miles above Brau-
vila we had paddled past a creek which led off to the
south-west, and which at the time we had thought
might lead off as far as the Guarunta or one of the other
rivers which drain the swamp-lands south of the Patuca
into Caratasca Lagoon. (See Map, page 34.) But
if on our return we decided to try this, we should not
have enough provisions ; making across country would
mean a journey of many days, and might entail a long
portage. It was too much to hope that the creek would
lead straight into the Guarunta, Accordingly we
decided to send Robert Trapp back to the Tom-Tom
to buy more rice and beans and to wait for us at
113 i
MOSQUITO COAST
Brauvila. We took the outboard off his pipanto and
fixed it alongside the other motor on ours, and the two
cqyukas we towed. Robert turned his pipanto^ the cur
rent took it broadside on for a moment, then he dis
appeared downstream around the bend, drifting far
more quickly with the current than we had been able
to travel upstream with the motors.
We now had three boats, and there were three of us
Nigel and myself and a half-bred Zambu called Tomas.
We sat in the pipanto, for it took all our energy to keep
the motors going, and Tomas sat in front clearing the
bows of driftwood and watching for submerged rocks.
On the ninth day one of the cqyukas split in two, and
we were only just able to rescue its contents before it
sank and we had to cut it adrift. Some time during the
same night the other cqyuka disappeared and so did
Tomas. All we knew was that when we woke up in
the faint light of dawn and threaded our way out of our
mosquito-bars, Tomds and the boat had gone. We
never found out what became of him : nothing had
been heard of him in Brewer s Lagoon when we re
turned some five weeks later, and none of the planters
had seen a cayuka drifting downstream. Probably he
reached his own tribe, and with the cayuka for a peace-
offering was reinstated.
We were alone with our one remaining boat.
It was something of a relief to be entirely on our own.
As we had penetrated farther into the Zambu territory,
our own boys had grown increasingly nervous and were
114
PATUGA
obviously disinclined to go on. Tomas had told us,
in his rare articulate moments, that the tribes were very
timid and peaceful, and that Nigel and I ran no risks
in paddling through their lands ; but for himself, he
thought, things were different. A Zambu who deserts
his tribe for the coast settlements is considered wicked
and lacking in pride, and if he were caught by families
that knew him, there would follow a certain amount of
unpleasantness. Exactly what would have happened
we could not find out : but he insisted that it was Mvy
Mai. On the way up we had pointed out fairly fre
quently that he should have thought of things like that
before, and that we were in no position to engineer his
return to the Lagoon until we were ready to come back
ourselves. Robert Trapp, being a Belize Negro, had
no sympathy with Tomas, and disciplined him firmly,
which Nigel and I were apparently unable to do.
And now we were alone : the work we had to do was
doubled, but there were less mouths to feed and we
were glad to rid ourselves of responsibility for the
Zambus. There is nothing in any country more
infuriating than the half-breed s stupidity, and Tomas
in particular had frequently come very near to being
murdered. One s temper is inclined to be short after
several weeks of rice and beans and mosquito bites.
As the river narrowed the jungle grew less dense, and
the patches of savanna land appeared more frequently.
We watched the banks intently.
It is hard enough to put down on paper anything
that expresses the feeling of those weeks on the Patuca.
We both kept diaries, and at the risk of being a bore I
MOSQUITO COAST
am going to quote from mine. We wrote laboriously
in the stuffy evenings, with broken pencils on damp
sheets of paper.
Thursday. Only one motor all morning. I dis
mantle the other one while Nigel works at his map of
the river, which seems to cause him considerable
annoyance. Wherever he starts on his sheet of paper,
the river manages to curve in such a way that it goes
over the edge. Sand-flies very thick again. We swat
them continually, but the handfuls we kill make very
little difference. At about midday a turkey flew over
suddenly and I missed it badly with a twelve-bore,
having my lap covered with the inner workings of the
outboard. A little later another one appeared and
Nigel potted it without difficulty. In the afternoon
both motors run again, five whole hours without a sign
of trouble. Very few rocks, and we make good time.
Unbroken night in the middle of the river.
Friday. We decide to make an early start, which is
always fatal. Neither motor shows any sign of interest
in the expedition until nearly half-past seven, when
much of the best part of the cool morning has been
wasted. However good a mechanic one may be, out-
boards are temperamental and obey no mechanical
laws. The only thing to do is to take them apart care
fully and put them together again in exactly the same
way, which usually sets them off at once. They are
dirty things at the best of times and make a disgusting
row. We begin to dislike them intensely as the days go
on. At this stage in the journey we both begin to feel
116
PATUCA
a strange sensation of unreality. The river unfolds
with such steady and unbroken regularity that we find
it hard to remember the date, and how long we have
been going. When the Zambus were still with us it was
different, and their presence kept us constantly occupied
in telling them what to do and in stopping them from
doing whatever they were doing. There was little
chance of forgetting, with Robert Trapp and Tomas,
that we were very far away from home ; but now that
Nigel and I are alone and have seen only each other for
nearly two weeks, the river begins to look very ordinary
and we can imagine, with a little effort, that we are
punting up the Thames in a rather hot summer.
Saturday. At ten o clock a little clearing on the left
bank, and a few broken tree-stumps. On the sand in
front of it lay two alligators sleeping in the sun. I took
a shot at one with a revolver from about fifteen yards,
quite without effect, and they both slid slyly into the
river and disappeared. Whether I missed or whether
the bullet bounced off I do not know. The alligator is
wonderfully armoured, and at anything more than
point-blank range you have to hit him at right angles
or the shot bounces off. All the alligators we come
across are rather timid in the daytime and we can see
them wallowing off the mud into the water all along the
river as the noise of the outboards disturbs them.
The clearing was disappointing, but it serves like the
first one we saw to show that we are on the right track,
and that the Patuca country is still populated. Beyond
the flattened earth and broken branches there is
nothing. Evidently no one had been here for some
"7
MOSQUITO COAST
months, for the undergrowth had sprung up consider
ably and was undisturbed.
In the late afternoon we ran aground. It was entirely
our fault, as we were talking and paying no attention
to the river. There was no danger of being unable to
refloat ihepipanto, as a strong current had been against
us and we had had to go fairly slowly, but we were
afraid that the boat s bottom might be damaged. As
it was late we pulled in to shore to examine it and
spend the night.
Sunday. Ran aground twice, but the boat seems to
be still sound. It is incredibly hot, one of the hottest
days we have had, and we are both bad-tempered.
As a last straw the propeller on the left-hand motor
struck a rock just before lunch-time, the shear-pin gave
way and the propeller disappeared. As we had already
lost the spare one this was serious, so we made fast to
the right bank and waded out to look for it. As luck
would have it most of the river at this point was fairly
deep, and we were up to our chests. The water was
completely opaque, red and muddy. After about five
hours search Nigel found the propeller twenty-five
yards downstream, half-buried in the sand. We went
ashore and spent the rest of the day hammering in a
new pin as best we could.
I repeat that it is impossible, by anything I write
now, for me to give the reader an idea of those long
days and weeks in which we worked our way up the
Patuca. But for the heat and the mosquitoes it would
have been quite pleasant : but in barring those two
118
PATUGA
factors one eliminates the two most important essentials
of the river. Every move we made was governed by
the thought of avoiding them, and unfortunately pre
cautions prejudicial to the one favoured the other.
There is nothing that makes night stuffy more effec
tively than a fine-mesh mosquito-net, and in the
sweltering daytime we were forced to wear long clothes
to protect ourselves from bites. Whether we preferred
heat or mosquitoes was an eternal question which we
continually tried to solve by compromise. During the
daytime we amused ourselves by abortive attempts at
mapping the course of the river, but beyond proving
that all the existing maps were wrong we achieved
nothing of geographical importance. In the early days
we had wasted round after round of ammunition in
shooting at cranes, alligators and buzzards, but now
that we were alone with only one boat we grew more
careful of our supplies.
It was an odd collection of equipment that we took
with us. The loss of the other boats had completely
disorganized our careful staff-work, so that we were left
with a number of comparative luxuries at the expense
of things more important. We had two primuses and
several small drums of petrol : an enormous quantity
of beans, rice and flour ; several bags of raw tobacco
leaf, to be given to the Indians, and salt for the same
purpose. These things were necessaries and were the
integral parts of our expedition ; but they contrasted
wildly with some of the other odds and ends in the
pipanto. When we left Tegucigalpa and again before
we sailed from La Geiba various people had given us
MOSQUITO COAST
presents ostensibly for use on the journey, an improb
able assortment of impractical luxuries. In a her
metically sealed case were fifty Coronas, a connecting
link with the advantages of civilization, and with them,
carefully preserved in a wicker basket, was a bottle of
very old brandy from the . cellars of His Majesty s
Legation. We decided not to touch them till we
reached the highest point of the Patuca. In addition
to all this we had cameras, binoculars and compasses,
and Nigel who is mildly insane on the subject of
navigation had a sextant, with which he had many
hours of quiet fun in spite of being unable to see a
horizon. But the oddest piece of equipment was the
flute. It was a large silver flute, which was pressed
upon Nigel before he left England by an elderly gentle
man of his acquaintance. Whether he had misunder
stood our destination or whether he thought that a flute
was an ideal toy to keep us amused when we got tired
of the Patuca, we never knew. At any rate Nigel had
brought the flute, and every time we made lists of what
we would take when we finally reached the river, the
flute was unhesitatingly dismissed. But by some means
or other it was still with us in La Geiba, then on the
schooner, then in Brewer s Lagoon, finally now high up
on the Patuca. It lay silently in its velvet-lined case,
a silver flute which neither of us could play, while we
were lacking spark-plugs and quinine and ammunition.
And I am ashamed to say that when we returned to
La Ceiba many weeks later neither of us could play a
recognizable tune on it.
In the cool dawn of one early morning we rounded a,
120
PATUGA
long bend and found a small Zambu village standing
along the water s -edge. Instinctively I cut out both
motors, but too late : the seven huts were deserted.
We had camped the night before not more than a
quarter of a mile downstream, and the wind had been
blowing up-river. Evidently the Zambus had fled.
The huts were new, fresh ashes lay strewn on the
ground, and the undergrowth had been recently cut
away. We went ashore and found tracks leading off
at right angles to the course of the river, back into the
hill. But it was obviously useless to follow, so we
unshipped the outboards and stowed them away inside
the boat, resigning ourselves to paddling from that day
on. It was hot, slow work, but we did not want to
frighten the tribes higher up the river.
The Zambus are one tribe of the race of Indians
known originally as Misskito Indians, now by corrup
tion (and with the accuracy of coincidence) called
Mosquito Indians. The history of the Mosquito Coast
is worth noticing briefly.
In 1630 the Earl of Warwick formed a company
which occupied two small cays a little way south of
Gape Gracias a Dios, established friendly relations with
the Indians, and did a certain amount of trade with
them in mahogany and minerals. This, as far as any
one knows, was the first white settlement in Mosquitia,
and as a result of its success Great Britain in 1655
claimed a protectorate over the Indians which lasted
until as late as 1850. But this protectorate was un
successful and provocative, for it led to continual
121
MOSQUITO COAST
disputes with the United States, Spain, and the other
republics of Central America ; chiefly owing to the fear
that Great Britain would somehow obtain a privileged
position in the proposed inter-oceanic canaL During
these years the Coast was a bone of considerable con
tention between Great Britain and the United States,
and in 1848 an event occurred which narrowly escaped
leading them to war. The Indians rose and seized the
town of San Juan del Norte, having been incited and
abetted by the more enterprising British settler. In
1850 the danger of Anglo-American conflict was
avoided by the Clayton-Bulwer treaty in which both
countries pledged themselves not to fortify or occupy
any part of Central America. Nine years later Great
Britain ceded her protectorate over the Mosquito Coast
and the Bay Islands, an action which apparently led to
immediate dissatisfaction among the Indians, and in
1860 the Treaty of Managua transferred the suzerainty
of the whole Caribbean coast from Cape Gracias a Dios
to San Juan del Norte to the republic of Nicaragua,
granting autonomy only to the Indians in the pro
scribed Mosquito reserve.
This new state of affairs was accepted by Black
Ralph, a half-educated Zambu who was King of the
Misskito Indians, and his apparently presumptuous
stipulation that the Nicaraguan Government should
pay him an annual fee of 1,000 was also accepted
without demur. But in 1864 Black Ralph died, and
Nicaragua refused to recognize his successor ; where
upon the Indians refused to recognize the authority of
Nicaragua, and a guerilla warfare was started which
122
PATUCA
lasted until 1880, when the dispute was by mutual
consent submitted for decision to the Emperor of
Austria. Why the Austrian Emperor was chosen as
arbitrator I do not know : but he supported the
Indians and upheld their right to autonomy, which was
accordingly exercised until 1894 when they voluntarily
surrendered it and the Mosquito reserve became the
province of Zelaya in the republic of Nicaragua.
Since those days little has happened. The Honduran
frontier has moved south to title River Wanks, so that
much of the reserve that was once in Nicaragua is now
part of Honduras : but the Indians remain in the same
condition as they were a hundred and fifty years ago.
The territory is no more explored, the Zambus are
considerably less educated. At best it was only the
few who lived along the Caribbean that came into con
tact with the English influence ; and now the distorted
traces of that influence have been grafted into the
religion and tradition of the Indians till it has become
a wild mixed ideology including Black Magic, Voodoo
and all the extravagances of primitive superstition.
The seeds of Christianity planted in early days by enter
prising but ineffective missionaries have produced
varied fruits which would probably surprise them very
much.
The Zambus are the Indians who live nearest to the
Coast. They are the darkest in colour, for during the
last century the whole of the Caribbean seaboard was
flooded with the Negro blood of escaped slaves, as
prolific as they were numerous. The result is that the
Zambus are very dark, almost as black as the Caribs ;
123
MOSQUITO COAST
but their Indian blood has^^feserved their typical
features and it is only the colour that has been much
altered. As one works farther back into the territories,
the influence of Negro blood diminishes and the Indian
grows stronger, till one reaches the Colon mountains
where the Vicentino tribes are quite pale but high-
cheeked and stolidly Indian. It is noticeable that as
the Negro strain disappears the people become smaller
in stature. Nowhere, away from the Coast, is either
English or Spanish spoken. The tribes have their own
dialects which resemble neither the one nor the other.
That was the sum of our knowledge of Mosquitia
when we reached the upper waters of the Patuca. We
had studied the evasive and contradictory scraps of
information contained in reference books and we had
obtained all the available maps. That was all there
was to know.
124
Chapter Nine
MTSAMU
THHE Zambu greeting is Naksaa.* But the word is
-L also used, with the verbal economy of primitive
people, to signify compliance, pleasure, or agreement.
You say * Naksaa * several times upon meeting a Zambu,
and you say it when you take your leave ; and you
repeat the word during any lulls in the conversation
to show that you are still in a friendly and contented
state of mind. It is a universal expression of satis
faction.
When we paddled round a long bend in the river
to find a bevy of Zambu women in the water we were
as surprised as they. They watched us stolidly from
black eyes, standing startled and naked. There was
nothing for it but to shout * Naksaa * a great many times
with varying inflection, to convince them that we
meant well. But unlike the tribes we had driven from
the earlier reaches of the river with the terrifying roar
of our outboard motors, these Zambus were unafraid.
After the first few moments of startled scrutiny, a great
mirth seemed to strike them and they were convulsed
with paroxysms of raucous laughter. They shrieked
and giggled, they slapped each other s wet backs, they
were completely doubled up with Indian glee, but
apparently it never occurred to them to be afraid. We
MOSQUITO COAST
stood in our boat looking rather foolish. This was not
at all the reception we had expected. During the last
few weeks we had continually pictured to ourselves the
first moment of encounter with the Zambus ; we
wondered how difficult it would be to overcome their
timidity, and whether they would attribute super
natural powers to us. Now that the moment had
actually arrived it became apparent that the only part
of the expedition which inspired awe was the noise of
the outboard motors. We clambered ashore, drew the
boat up on the sand, and as a sort of preliminary peace-
offering handed out some legs and wings of turkey that
we had left from lunch. These were very well received,
and for a few minutes distracted all attention from
ourselves.
But when the women led us back to their village and
the men, in a clearing standing slightly back from the
river bank, things were very different. We were
objects of suspicion and alarm. We stood in the
middle of the clearing while a conclave was held,
The general opinion of the men seemed to be that the
women had acted rashly in bringing us ashore and that
they were treating the affair with undue levity. No
attention was paid to us at all, and we were rather
reminded of those charming terminal functions at
Oxford in which one is impersonally and often rudely
discussed by the body of one s tutors, who ignore one
and use only the third person.
Before long the whole of the village had assembled in
an inquisitive chattering ring around us, and the
elderly Zambu who took the chief part in reproving
126
Kkkonnell and Osgood (Bay Islanders)
TvVlincr*i* rvmantn in
&TTSAMU
the women began to realize that the proprieties of hos
pitality had not yet been observed. He waved his
arms and shouted at the gaping Zambus. The collec
tion was dispersed, but they lingered in the background
and in the doorways of their huts to watch us.
The old man motioned to us to follow him and led
the way to a large hut which was his own.
Nigel and I were very much encouraged. We had
successfully made our way into the middle of a Zambu
village without alarming the Indians, and as far as one
could tell this was completely untouched ground. On
the way to the hut we saw no single sign of civilization
or white influence. But once inside the hut we were
to be disillusioned. The scales fell suddenly from our
eyes. On the far wall, occupying a place of dignity
and importance, was the red and green legend c Lucky
Strike * : and on one of the side walls this was matched
by a more modest sign, * Coca-Cola. 5 The old man
(who later introduced himself as M*tsamu, or a name
most closely approximated by those letters) grinned
toothily at us and pointed to the signs. We hoped for
an explanation from him : but he contented himself
with a reverent murmur of c Naksaa, naksaaS
Exactly how those two signs came to be in the Zambu
village I do not know, and although we made every
effort to find out, no clues appeared. When we offered
the Zambus cigarettes, they were surprised and evi
dently had never seen such things before. Certainly
they were not familiar with tobacco in that form.
Finally we decided that the signs, which had evidently
been cut from paper cartons, must have been aban-
127
MOSQUITO COAST
doned somewhere by prospectors ; or possibly a stray
Zambu had come by them on the plantations nearer the
coast, and had brought them triumphantly home to his
tribe. We searched carefully for other signs of white
influence, but there were none. Not a word of English
or Spanish was understood.
I cannot remember ever having had a greater sur
prise than in that moment when we first went into the
hut with M tsamu. We knew that we were in the heart
of the wildest Indian territory, yet there hung two
glaring advertisements for the most modern American
products. They were as astonishing, in those pre
sumably virgin tropical surroundings, as the macabre
incongruities of a surrealist picture. And they gave
far more pleasure. M*tsaiwi looked at them with a
devotion that bordered on worship, and throughout the
meal of fried bananas that he gave us he kept casting
proud covert glances at the walls.
The most striking thing about that Zambu village
was its complete lack of organization and order. The
primitive tribes of our imagination, laboriously built
up during the last six weeks from odds and ends of early
learning, novels and films, lived in a regular and well-
run hierarchy controlled by Chiefs and medicine-men.
But the Zambus, at first sight, lived rather at random
and in complete democracy. Apart from M tsamu
who had received us and decided that we were desir
able visitors, there was no Authority. The whole
village was in continual chaos and for ever working at
cross-purposes.
By various devious methods of mimicry M tsamu
&TTSAMU
invited us to stay with him. His meaning was obvious,
and he went as far as having our bags carried from the
pipanto to his house. But here in the jungle, on the un
mapped reaches of the Patuca, we were faced with a
familiar problem ; How long were we expected to
stay ? Try as we would, we found it difficult to express
the words * A very short time * in any kind of language.
It was a great opportunity, but we were still anxious to
push to the real headwaters of the Patuca. Actually
we stayed four days with M*tsamu y and they were well
worth it. Bice and beans and turkey had become
incredibly tedious : he fed us with bananas, bread
fruity avocados and venison. Most of the Zambu food
is good, or at least it tasted good to us, but some is
impossible. They have in particular several peculiar
ways of dealing with bananas, such as burying them
unripe for several weeks in damp earth, which produces
a very smelly fermentation called waboul, and mixing
the pulp of the fruit with the blood of a deer. Eating
this for the first time was probably the greatest hard
ship undergone in the course of the expedition, beating
the ordeal of the Comandante s Fire-water and Cigars by
a short head. At the risk of offending M*tsamu we very
firmly refused second helpings.
The Zambus of the Patuca are polygamous. But
their polygamy is not the orderly marital pluralism of
most primitive tribes ; it is little more than sanctioned
promiscuity* Wedding ceremonies take place four
times a year, and in these the whole of the tribe takes
part. Enormous dowries of gold dust and ornaments
129 K
MOSQUITO COAST
are prepared and there is feasting and revelry for three
days, after which there follows a matrimonial General
Post. The young are married for the first time, and
only those girls who have proved themselves capable of
child-bearing are allowed to compete. Among the
senior members of the village wives are exchanged and
bought and sold, on the quarterly wedding-days,
according to the whims of the husbands and the prices
they are able to pay for their friends wives. And, let
it be understood, exchange of wives at any other time
but the four appointed c wedding-days " is regarded as
extremely immoral. As far as we could see the system
was satisfactory, and caused no trouble.
The occurrence of a Zambu wedding-day depends
upon obscure calculations based upon the movements
of the moon, which is regarded with a great deal of
awe and reverence. We could not find out from
M tsamu exactly what the calculation was ; our sign
language was limited to expressing the more simple
functions of life. But it was he who decided, on behalf
of all the elders of the tribe, when it was time for a
change. And luckily he saw fit to have one while we
were with him.
There is nothing more impressive than the sight of a
primitive people in a frenzy of ritual ecstasy, a group of
human beings completely uninhibited and governed by
instinct free from the warped temper of reason. There
is nothing ludicrous about the wild natural force that
moves them, so much stronger than the half-hearted
passions of civilization, and it is a little frightening.
130
MTSAMU
M tsamu not only allowed us to watch the wedding but
encouraged us, as he said the Zambus would be
honoured to have us present. When we agreed he
did his fairly intelligent best to explain the customs and
rites of his people.
I think I have already pointed out that both Nigel
and I, from the point of view of exploration, were
extremely ignorant and had no scientific knowledge
whatever. For that reason it is impossible for me to
set down in orderly fashion those facts about the Zam
bus and the other tribes we were to meet later, which
would be of use to ethnographers. The best I can do
is to give a faithful account of the people as we saw
them, and hope that among our random observations
something intelligent will appear.
When we finished our evening meal with M tsamu the
village was already deserted and an indistinct rhyth
mical chanting was in the air, echoing faintly through
the trees so that it was impossible to tell from which
side of us it came. As we stepped from M tsamu s hut
into the circle of the other huts it grew louder,
lifted, and then faded again into a silence that was only
broken by the throb of the jungle itself. M tsamu led
us slowly out of the village picking his way care
fully over the great roots and vines that crossed the
path. For twenty minutes or half an hour we made
our way through the undergrowth with our backs to
the village and the river, twisting this way and that
until we had completely lost all sense of direction*
M tsamu never hesitated although neither Nigel nor I
could see any trace of a path or trail. Before long the
13*
MOSQUITO COAST
singing started up again and grew continually louder.
By the time we reached the clearing, where the grass
had been burned away over about twenty-five square
yards, it seemed to fill the air completely, but it was
still hard to tell from which direction the sounds came.
When we stepped out of the shadow of the trees into
the ceremonial clearing the chanting died away quickly
and the Zambus who had been sitting around a large
fire in the centre rose to their feet and greeted us with
e Naksaay c naksaa * ! There must have been thirty or
forty of them altogether, men and women, all from the
seven huts of the village. M tsamu told us that there
were no other villages very near at the moment, for
most of the Zambus were up-country, but that usually
guests came from other tribes and entered the matri
monial market.
The arrival of M*tsamu was obviously the signal for
the start of the wedding ceremony. We stayed on the
fringe of the gathering, unnoticed, while he took the
position of honour in the centre. The fire burned
fiercely, red flames from the dry Santa Maria wood
licking up into the night and giving a coppery red
tinge to the Zambus, They were naked save for the
skins of tiger-cats and deer, reserved for the more
solemn ceremonials, which hung around their waists.
Their black bodies were oiled, muscles shining smooth
and strong in the firelight. It was the night of the full
moon, but the sky was oyercast and clouds covered the
moon. M tsamu held a consultation with the men
around him in which we gathered that they decided to
wait till the clouds parted, for the moon plays an
132
M* TSAMU
important part in their ritual. For a long time nothing
happened, and we saw rows of flat black faces turned
impassively upward. The silence was broken only by
the sharp crackling of the fire. We waited.
After the arrival of M tsamu the Zambus had grown
much quieter, and there were no more of the wild
lilting shouts that had carried to us through the jungle
as we left the village. During the interval of waiting
for the moon they remained silent, but there was a con
tinual shuffling of bare feet upon the dry burnt grass,
and we saw that they were arranging themselves in
orderly circles around the central fire, women in the
middle and men surrounding them in two rings.
Finally they were quiet, and the depth of that expectant
silence is a thing that I cannot describe. From miles
around came the occasional noises of the tropical
jungle, carrying crystal-clear through the hot night air,
A raucous chatter from a baboon, the grunt of a boar
and the flapping of heavy wings stood out vividly upon
the incessant throbbing background croak of frogs and
insects. The mosquitoes were swarming thick, but
apparently the oiled bodies of the Zambus were
immune.
I do not know how long we stood in silence watching
the clearing and waiting for the moon to appear. It
seemed like hours. We stood motionless and quiet,
occasionally rubbing oil on our faces to keep the insects
away. M tsamu stood in the centre of the circles next
to the fire, his face like the others turned to the sky.
The rift in the clouds came suddenly, and the pale
rays of the moon broke through, giving a frigid tone to
133
MOSQUITO COAST
the red lights of the great fire. M tsamu threw his arms
upward in a gesture of embrace. The men rose to
their feet and began a wild chant.
There was nothing Indian in the sound of that song :
it was pure African. At first it rose and fell slowly in
a long lament, gradually growing quicker as the full
disc of the moon appeared, till finally it was quick and
rhythmical and the men stamped their feet in time as
they sang. The chant itself was a monotonous theme
on about four notes, but the words seemed endless.
From time to time a solo voice broke in with a few
high-pitched words, then came the chorus again. As
the song went on it grew faster and more animated,
and the stolid reserve which is so characteristic of
Indian tribes gave place to the spontaneity of their
black blood. Gradually they were working up to a
frenzy, and from their faces we could see that the men
were quite oblivious of everything but the song.
Finally the gentle shuffling of feet became a dance, and
the two circles moved around the fire in opposite direc
tions, tossing their heads back and waving their arms.
The skins of their loin-cloths, dull yellows and browns,
contrasted vividly with the polished jet of their naked
muscles.
During the development of the ritual dance around
the fire the women sat silent and still, eyes fixed on the
ground. Like the men they wore loin-doths, and
above the waist nothing. For the ceremony, M tsamu
had told us, they were forbidden to wear any kind of
ornament or decoration.
Now that the first part of the ceremony was approach-
134
M TSAMU
Ing its climax, we began to wonder what was to come.
M tsamu had told us nothing, beyond the fact that
wives would be taken and exchanged. The dancing
and singing were obviously no more than preliminaries.
As the excitement grew we came forward into the edge
of the clearing, since we were by now accepted in the
village and M*tsamu himself had invited us to the
wedding.
When the dance was at its height M tsamu threw
several handfuls of salt on the fire. As the flames
turned yellow and leaped high into the air, the singing
ceased suddenly and the men fell panting to the ground.
Only M*tsamu remained standing, and there was silence.
He held up his hand.
c Naksaa, a moia ncto naksaa ? 9 (Greeting, O why do
you come here ?) In chorus came the answer :
f Naksaa) a na nyakaa moo 1 9 (Is it not the time of
the full moon?)
M tsamu threw another handful of salt upon the fire.
c Na a nyakaa mao I * (It is the time of the full
moon !)
At the end of this ritual of question and answer came
silence again, then M*tsamu rose to his feet once more
and made a very long speech of which we understood
nothing. At first there was general approval, but after
a few minutes the Zambus grew tired of listening and
hushed conversations were started all over the clearing.
By the end of the speech there was a considerable
chatter, and M tsamu, in common with many distin
guished old gentlemen in more advanced parts of the
world, found himself addressing an audience as restless
135
MOSQUITO COAST
as it was bored. The Zambus were impatient for the
next part of the ceremony to begin.
What happened next was very hard to follow, for our
knowledge of the Zambu dialect was practically nil,
and such information as we had received from M tsamu
had been imparted slowly and carefully with frequent
excursions into sign-language and complicated repre
sentations made of pebbles and bits of stick. It seemed
that there was from that moment no order about the
ceremony. All the men began to shriek and gesticu
late, holding varying numbers of fingers aloft to indicate
what they were prepared to sacrifice from their own
property in exchange for the wife of someone on the
other side of the circle. It rather reminded one of a
busy day on the stock exchange, and some of the trans
actions involved were suitably complicated : for
instance, a man might be willing to buy another man s
wife for his own plus a certain stipend, or he might wish
to get rid of his own wife to some third party to get hold
of enough salt to buy the bride of his fancy. The
women, with maidenly modesty, sat in the middle with
bowed heads. Apparently the Zambu woman has
nothing to say in the disposition of her affections : but
one hates to think of what happens to a Zambu who
does his best to get rid of his wife, only to find that he
must go back to her because he is short of money !
A woman once married cannot be put aside unless a
new husband is found for her : but there is nothing to
stop the Zambu man, if he is rich enough, from having
a dozen wives reserved for himself. Young brides are
bought for the first time (often at an incredibly early
136
AfTSAMU
age) by negotiation with their fathers, who adjust their
prices carefully according to the supply and demand.
There is almost always a considerable shortage of
women in any Zambu community.
The frenzied bartering went on steadily for a long
time, while M tsamu stood in the centre of the clearing
looking benevolently patriarchal. He took no active
part in the market, but occasionally shouted a few
words to one man or another. There were a great
many jokes made and a great deal of raucous laughter.
Little by little, as the men reached satisfactory agree
ments about their women-folk, couples began to steal
away from the fire and disappear into the jungle.
Presently even the disappointed men had made off
towards the village, and we were left alone with
M^tsamu.
There was still apparently work for him to do. In
the strange vague ritual that is the religion of the Patuca
Zambus, it is decreed that the ground upon which a
wedding ceremony takes place is unclean and must be
purified. It is for that reason that the full-moon-tere-
monies take place away from the villages, otherwise
the impurity of the ground might blight the fruits of
the weddings made upon it. M tsamu scraped the
ashes from the edge of the fire and scattered them wide
over the clearing, chanting quietly to himself. He
went about his business slowly and methodically,
making sure that ashes had fallen on all the ground
that had been within the circles. When it was done
he pulled out his bag of salt and emptied the remains
of it into the dying embers of the fire. For a few
137
MOSQUITO COAST
minutes he stood staring into them, still chanting his
prayer of purification. The ceremony was over, and
the marriages made that night must last for three more
months,
We had plenty of reason to suppose, from what we
learned during our days with M tsamu, that the Zambus
took their quarterly weddings very seriously indeed.
Of religion they had none : but the constant fear of
evil spirits and hoodoos kept them singularly moral.
We found it hard, with no means of fluent or accurate
conversation, to learn much of the nature of their ideas :
but certainly the African influence in the Zambu blood
is enough to make them tremendously superstitious.
M tsamu never mentioned the existence of any kind
of Good Spirit in his theology : everything he did in
his capacity as spiritual leader of the community was
done to keep away bad spirits. 9 Compared to tribes
we were to come across later on, where the Indian
blood was the stronger and the legends of the country
were alive, these Zambus had few ceremonies and fewer
religious ideas. The greater the proportion of Negro
blood, the more stupid are the tribes, and the more
open to purely blind and unreasoning superstition.
As the Indian influence grew stronger we found the
natives far more intelligent, and their religions more
advanced.
The Zambus had by this time begun to regard us as
permanent peculiarities and lost some of their inquisi
tive interest in us. The wedding ceremony we had
watched from beginning to end without protest or
138
M TSAMU
question from them. They seemed pleased to have us
with them, but it struck us forcibly that they had no idea
of where we came from, and showed very little curiosity
on that point. The gifts of salt and tobacco leaf we
had given them established our bona fides far better than
the passports and visas of civilization*
139
Chapter Ten
MEDICINE MAN
r T 1 HE ritual of the Negro is joyful, a spontaneous
-L expression of natural wonder, but the Indian brings
in a mystic note of superstitious gloom. In the Patuca
tribes where African blood has been freely mixed with
Indian stock, the contrast of primitive rejoicing with
primitive mysticism is very vivid. There is still, after
several generations of mixture, a continual conflict
between the traditions and natural tendencies of the
races. During the wedding ceremony there was little
sign of Indian influence : the dancing and singing and
the character of the ritual had been African, showing
nothing but the spontaneous cheerfulness of the Negro.
But we were to find that Indian influence was stronger
in other parts of Zambu life, when black blood fades
into the background to make way for the obscure
mystic mythology that is the heritage of the Indians.
It so happened that on the day following the quarterly
wedding an old man of the village died, and in the
funeral rites which we were fortunate enough to attend
it struck us forcibly that the Negro influence had almost
entirely disappeared.
Zambu custom decrees that a man must be buried
not before the first moonrise after his death and not
after the second. In the interval no one may enter
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MEDICINE MAN
his hut except to bring fruit and meat for the dead man,
and provisions are piled high around him* M tsamu
was at a loss to give us a reason for this custom, and he
quickly rejected our suggestion that it was in order to
provide food for the dead on the journey to another
world. He made us understand, with unusual vehe
mence, that there was no life beyond the earth, and
that when one died that was the final end of all things.
The supply of food seemed to be no more than a mark
of respect, and we later noticed that there was no non
sense about burying good food with the body. The
man s personal property was divided among his neigh
bours, since he seemed to have no living relations, and
the provisions that had lain in his hut from the time of
his death to the time of the burial were soon put to their
natural uses by the whole community after the cere
mony. There is practical common sense about the
superstitions of the Zambu.
M tsamu was from the first anxious that we should
accompany the funeral party to the burial ground, and
seemed a little worried that we might not care to do so.
He thought that our presence might have some influ
ence with the evil spirits, which according to Zambu
belief are automatically invoked by the vital functions
of birth, life and death. To avoid the evil effects of
these spirits upon the village, all ceremonies are held at
some distance : and for many months after a wedding
or a burial no Zambu will venture near that part of
the jungle that has been used. The powers of evil are
collectively known as the Mafia, and are incredibly
involved and frequently contradictory. But there is no
141
MOSQUITO COAST
doubt that It is the Mafia who make the Zambus stick
religiously to their customs and conventions.
There is no grief at a Zambu funeral. Life and
Death are natural functions, expected and inevitable.
Both are regarded with the same philosophical equa
nimity. The Indian rarely expresses violent emotion,
and considers it rude to do so. Nothing would be in
worse taste than to weep for the dead. As M tsamu
pointed out, with an almost Oriental resignation, only
the unexpected can be truly a misfortune, so why grieve
upon the occurrence of a commonplace event that for
generations has been known to be inevitable?
A great deal of ritual, however, never fails to accom
pany a burial, and it is regarded as extremely provoking
by the Mafia if one does not adhere to certain details.
A corpse, for instance, must be carried feet first from
his hut : before the stiffness of death has set in his
knees must be bent and brought up to his chin, and his
arms must be folded across his chest. A complicated
mass of ritual surrounds a burial ; but it is interesting
to notice, from what M tsamu had told us about the
Zambu belief in the finality of life, that none of it is
altruistic. It is performed religiously for the protection
of those still living.
At the time appointed by M*tsamu y which was about
four hours before sundown, the men of the village
gathered in front of the dead man s hut. The women
had to stay indoors and out of sight, as for some reason
they were not allowed to watch the body being carried
out of the village. The burial was to be performed
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MEDICINE MAN
well away from the village, where the spirits could
make mischief by themselves without causing any
trouble. The men stood around the hut with expres
sionless faces as the four pall-bearers went in with
the palm-leaf bier.
When the procession left the village ATtsamu took
the lead, and after the body came the rest of the men
in single file, shuffling heavy feet through the grass.
As the last of the men fell in line, the women began to
appear in the doors of huts all around the circle, and
led by the eldest they followed on behind the men.
Apparently they were to attend the rest of the ceremony
in spite of not being allowed to watch the departure of
the corpse from the village. We followed the tail end
of the procession at a little distance.
M tsamu led the way on for nearly an hour, twisting
this way and that through the undergrowth. Like a
game of follow-my-leader, the rest followed closely in
his footsteps. Often we could see the long trail of
black naked bodies snaking through the trees not far
away from us, but no one diverged from the circuitous
path chosen by M tsamu. It began to grow dark, and
as the quick night fell a high-pitched hum in the dis
tance told us that the mosquitoes were out. The note
rose steadily until it seemed to fill the air around us,
and suddenly the swarms were there, humming angrily
around the greased bodies of the natives. In all the
weeks that we spent up the Patuca we were never able
to get used to those sudden furious attacks of mos
quitoes, although they took place every night as soon
as darkness started to fall. It is impossible to describe
MOSQUITO COAST
the sensation of first hearing that menacing hum, then
of finding the air thick with swarm after swarm. Dur
ing the lazy days of travel up the river, we had con
trived a sort of mosquito-proof headgear to wear at
times like this, although it was rarely enough that we
were outside our mosquito-bars after sundown. To
our broad hat-brims were sewn cheese-cloths which
hung down round the face like a voluminous veil, tied
tightly round the neck. Every other inch of our
bodies was protected, and although long trousers and
long-sleeved shirts were infernally hot it was well worth
wearing them. The heat was further increased by the
heavy snake-gaiters which we wore over our ankles and
shins when ashore.
The slow procession marched on in silence. There
was no moon, for the sky was heavily clouded. Some
of the men and a few of the women carried burning
torches to light the way, and now and then we caught
sight of eyes glinting green in the jungle, as the glare
startled them. Once a little deer rushed headlong
across the trail between the women, dazzled and terri
fied, and went crashing noisily into the undergrowth on
the other side. There was something about our solemn
progress, with the red glare of the torches, that was far
more impressive than the beginning of the wedding
ceremony with all its rhythmic chanting. Instead of
an air of expectancy and joy, there was an atmosphere
of impassive mystery. It seemed as if the Zambus had
inherited some of the mystic legendry of the ancient
Mayas and Incas.
The place M*tsamu chose for the grave was on the
144
MEDICINE MAN
edge of the savanna, and as the leaders came out of the
jungle into the tall grass they beat it down with sticks.
Some of the tropical grasses that grow along the Patuca
stand higher than a man s head and if the soil happens
to be good the savanna is as thick as the jungle itself.
As we left the jungle it became cooler, and a light
breeze, very unusual at night, began to blow from the
south, rustling noisily over the grass. We strained
our ears to catch sounds from the front of the line, but
the procession moved on in silence.
We did not halt till the whole file was well clear of
the jungle and the tall grass surrounded us on all sides.
Those in front stood fast while the last men and the
women broke the single line and moved up so that
they all stood together in a close compact square.
Nigel and I stood in the shadow of a patch of grass
that had not been beaten down.
With much shuffling of feet they arranged them
selves so that the torch-bearers stood on the outside,
the rest of the men and women enclosed by them in
the square. Where M y tsamu was we did not know :
there seemed now to be no need for leadership, as all
the movements of the Zambus were carried out in
orderly silence. The body was in the centre of the
square, but we could see very little of what went on
behind the blinding glare of the torches. For some
minutes they went on shuffling naked feet, and the
square grew tighter. The torch-light danced on the
black bodies, now so close that the square was one solid
mass. After a little while the movement stopped.
M*tsamis voice broke the silence, bursting out in a
145 L
MOSQUITO COAST
high cracked register. We did not understand what it
was he said : but evidently it was an order rather than
an oath or a prayer, for the Zambus immediately set to
a rhythmical stamping of feet. It was not the slow
shuffle with which they had formed the square, but a
heavy and regular beating of feet against the earth.
Gradually we saw that the square was spreading and
the torch-bearers were being gradually pushed out
wards. At the time we had no idea of the purpose that
lay behind this part of the ceremony. Later M tsamu
explained to us, with some difficulty, that it was to
destroy the grass around the grave, for at the time of
burial there must be no growing thing alive that could
come between the body and the earth ; the dead man
must go into the ground unhindered and unencum
bered. For the same reason he is buried naked, and it
would be regarded as very rash to bury any useful
object of clothing with him. There is little logicality
but much common sense in the pattern of Zambu
superstition.
When M tsamu judged that the vegetation in the
funeral clearing had been sufficiently destroyed the
stamping was stopped and the Zambus sat down in
circles around him, men outside and women inside as
at the wedding. The pall-bearers put the body down
beside M tsamu in the centre. Again there was a long
silence.
It may be easy enough to give a faithful description
of physical events, but to put down on paper one s
impression of a ceremony in which silence played a
major part is difficult. Where the ceremony of the
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MEDICINE MAN
wedding was a ritual of real things, this Zambu funeral
was one of atmosphere and mystery. For the same
reason it was correspondingly more difficult for us to
make any mental contact with M tsamu on the subject,
and it is possible that the ideas we formed are quite
wrong. The difficulties of discussing theological ques
tions in a primitive language one does not know are
hard to imagine.
When the silence grew tense the Zambus sat around
as if carved from stone. M tsamu rose to his feet and
mumbled an incantation which we could not begin
to catch. From time to time he stopped short and
there was a pause, as if he was waiting for responses ;
but the others remained quiet. After some minutes of
this he sat down again on his haunches, and the four
who had carried the body came forward from the circle
of men and drew the bamboo poles from the palm-leaf
bier.
The whole ceremony went on in silence and at the
same slow pace. After a series of signs and passes the
pall-bearers began to wander about the clearing prod
ding the dry earth with the sticks : it was necessary to
find the softest place, where the ground was most will
ing to receive the dead. Only there would he lie with
out arousing the powers of darkness. There was some
discussion about which part really was the most suit
able, but M tsamu who had the deciding vote chose a
sandy patch a few yards from where we stood. The
bamboos were thrust into the earth one at each corner
of the grave, and the four pall-bearers started digging
with small trowel-shaped wooden spades. The soil was
147
MOSQUITO COAST
sandy and dry, and it was not long before a large pit
was hollowed out. A plain square grave, however, was
not enough : Zambu custom decrees that a far larger
and deeper hole must be dug at one side of the actual
grave, so that the body in fact lies on a ledge in a much
larger chamber. It took about an hour for this to be
constructed to the satisfaction of M tsamu, and when it
was done three women came forward and lined the
inside with palm leaves. Finally everything was ready :
nothing remained but the actual burial.
Since the centre of activity had moved from the
original position of the body to the newly-dug grave^
there followed a renewed shuffling and pushing as the
Zambus formed circles around the grave. Apparently
there was something vital about the circles, and I think
that they kept the evil Mafia inside so that they should
not escape and harm the village "; but I am not sure
of their significance, and put that forward very tenta
tively. It was a point upon which we could reach no
understanding with M tsamu.
The shifting of the centre of interest had brought us
very close, and as the torches were brought to our side
of the clearing we stood brightly lit up against the
savanna grass behind. M*isamu had until now ignored
or forgotten us, in spite of his pressing invitation to
attend : but seeing us there he came forward and
motioned to us to sit down near to the grave. This we
were not particularly anxious to do since we knew
nothing of their ceremony and did not want to inter
fere. A burial is a depressing sight at any time and we
had been quite content to watch from a distance. But
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MEDICINE MAN
now it would seem rude to hesitate, for we had been
offered a place of honour, so we came into the ring and
sat down on the sand. The Zambus around said
nothing, and there was no sign of expression on their
stolid faces.
It was left to the four men who had carried the body
to perform the rest of the burial. The mat of woven
palm leaves, limp without the bamboo poles, was still
apparently strong enough to bear the dead man s
weight. They lifted it by the four corners and half-
carrying, half-dragging it, brought the body across the
clearing, then lowered it carefully to the ledge at the
side of the burial-chamber. M tsamu like the rest
looked on in solemn silence.
The disappearance of the body below ground was
the signal for general activity. The audience rose
stiffly to their feet, for they had been squatting motion
less in cramped positions for several hours, and M*tsamu
burst into a long chant, a monotonous high-pitched
dirge that cut shrilly through the night. After so many
hours of silence his voice sounded very loud in the
quiet savanna-land. Baskets of flowers, which had
been brought from the village by the women-folk,
were now produced and piled beside the grave.
M tsamu had explained to us that everyone must throw
a flower upon the corpse before the roof was constructed
and the grave finally sealed : but he had not warned
us that we should be expected to participate in the
flower throwing. He motioned to us and made ex
pressive signs, pointing first at the flowers and then
at the grave.
MOSQUITO COAST
No one can deny that to be unexpectedly called
upon to take part in a strange burial ceremony in a
savage country is a trying experience and one apt
enough to encourage stage fright. Luckily we at least
knew what was expected. I was nearest so I went first,
throwing a large orchid accurately on to the dead man s
chest. Nigel followed me quickly but was less fortun
ate : his flower missed the body altogether and sailed
down into the side chamber, which caused a consider
able sensation. M tsamu looked very shocked, and the
other Zambu men who were waiting with more flowers
began to murmur among themselves and there seemed
to be some doubt as to whether Nigel should be allowed
a second shot. After standing foolishly on the edge of
the grave for a moment we retired again to the shadows,
and the long procession of Zambus began to file past,
every man and woman droppng a flower till soon
there was nothing visible of the body. When it was
done everyone sat down again and returned to sullen
silence.
The last part of the burial was the placing of the lid
upon the funeral chamber. Thfe bamboo poles from
the bier, which had also served to find the softest place
where the earth would receive the body, were placed
horizontally across the top, with shorter bamboos
across them, so that soon the grave was neatly covered
by a close network of sticks. When this was done the
women came forward again with large palm leaves to
spread : and the whole thing was covered over again
with loose earth and sand. The funeral was over. A
Zambu had ceased to exist : and because the ritual
150
MEDICINE MAN
had been meticulously performed the evil spirits which
were aroused by the presence of Death were harmless.
It is impossible to arrange the superstitions of the
Patuca Zambus in logical or symmetrical pattern. At
least Nigel and I were too stupid or too ignorant to do
so. Their whole philosophy is strangely mixed, and
the Zambu mind has merged the traditions of three
races without question or arrangement. A few of their
customs can be traced among other primitive tribes :
the habit of folding the limbs of the dead, for instance,
is almost universal among aborigines, and many
African tribes have correspond ing ideas about carry
ing a corpse feet first (or head first) from his hut.
Supplying a dead man with provisions, I am told, is
also quite common, but I have yet to hear of another
people who remove the gifts at the critical moment.
Let it be understood that the Zambus are very back
ward, even among wild tribes, far less developed than
the more intelligent Payas and Secos we were to meet
higher up the river. The Zambus had no musical
instruments, no artistic expression of any kind, and
only the very crudest weapons. Their life is easy ; and
the country is so rich that nothing ever really arouses
their interest. Neighbouring tribes are peaceful and
even timid. The climate quickly dissipates any sort
of energy, and although the Zambus are so used to
it they nevertheless feel the full strength of the tropical
heat and spend most of their days in dignified
relaxation. As far as we could see they were a very
contented people, although signs of joy never actually
MOSQUITO COAST
appeared. There was no disease, no question of having
to work, no food shortage, and no knowledge of other
things. They lived a quiet life of disinterested apathy.
Those were full and interesting days that we spent in
M tsamufs village. We had seen a wedding and a
funeral,, and as far as we could find out from him the
Zambus of the lower Patuca have little else in the way
of ritual. The question of birth he dismissed airily :
it happened daily and no notice was taken of it by
anyone. The life of the village was disorderly, quite
unfettered by custom or politeness. Crime scarcely
existed for there was nothing to steal that was not free
for all on the ground or in the trees, and the general
attitude towards any kind of misbehaviour was a safe
policy of laissez-faire. Certainly there was no concep
tion of an offence against the community as a whole.
We stayed longer than we had intended, but from
the fuss that was made by M tsamu it was evident that
he had wanted us to stay far longer. In a country
where events occur in decades, three days is a minute,
but we had far to go and were dreadfully short of time.
The Zambus had entertained us well, and in return we
had given them quantities of salt, which is the most
popular commodity, and handfuls of the raw tobacco
leaf which they love. We promised to stop with them
again on our way down.
As we pushed off from the river bank into the swollen
Patuca the Zambus gathered to stare at us and bid us
a polite farewell. They were still emotionless, standing
silent on the sand as we paddled away upstream.
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MEDICINE MAN
Fifty or more pairs of eyes followed us till we were out
of sight round the next bend.
Alone again on the river we began to wonder
whether our good luck would hold farther upstream
in the hill country. It was too much to expect that
we should do as well with the Vicentinos and Secos, and
it seemed a little stupid to waste the opportunities that
had already appeared among the Zambus. But we
were determined to reach the highest navigable point
on the river and as yet we had not gone far. Also there
was something a little disappointing in the Zambus :
they were more primitive than we had expected. From
an ethnographical point of view they might have been
the most interesting, but we were not scientists, and we
looked forward to finding tribes that might carry traces
of ancient Indian civilizations. The Zambus were
altogether too lifeless and lackadaisical, probably on
account of the climate along the flat coastal plain. In
the interior were mountains ; and it seemed probable
that the tribes there would be more vigorous and less
swamped with Negro blood.
For many hot days we paddled and poled our labori
ous way against the current. It was hard, slow work,
and at times we had to tack diagonally across the river
when it was narrow and the stream ran strong. But it
was more interesting than the earlier reaches, perhaps
because we rarely had spare time for boredom. We
were glad to be rid of the infuriating outboard motors,
and working our way up-river without their clatter
became quite pleasant. Also we were wiser : we knew
how to protect ourselves from heat and mosquitoes.
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MOSQUITO COAST
On several of the days that followed it is no exaggera
tion to say that we were comfortable. There was only
one thing that was a little annoying ; we had no way of
filtering water, and when we both had to work all day
there was no nonsense about boiling it. In the pipanto
that we had lost in collision with the German flat-boat
there was a pair of elaborate stone filters, but they had
disappeared with the other things in the boat as it sank.
Since then neither of us had drunk anything but the
muddy water of the river, a tepid yellow liquid that
may not have been particularly dirty but certainly
looked it. We drank it daily in hurried gallons between
spells of paddling. There was nothing for it but to
drink it as it was, and after the first day we forgot the
prophesies of typhoid and amoebic dysentery that had
been made for us in Tegucigalpa. During all those
weeks it did us no harm.
154
Chapter Eleven
MAFIA
"TXURING the next days we saw snatches of tribes,
-L brief glimpses of black skins in the jungle and dug
out canoes hurriedly dragged from the water. Along
the bank there were frequent signs of winter villages.
But we did not linger ; this was still Zambu territory
and whatever we found here would be something of an
anti-climax after our success with M tsamu.
There were a few things that stood out in those days.
In a spirit of destruction I shot an alligator neatly
through the head with my thirty-eight from a distance
of some twenty yards, probably the luckiest shot that
has occurred in any country. As a rule we shot nothing
that we did not eat, but alligators are a sly unpleasant
people and we had no compunction in killing them
when we could. Wild turkeys were providentially
plentiful, and it was rarely that a day passed without
fresh meat. Unfortunately, a good many were shot
that were never found, or that fell into the river and
disappeared downstream.
Taking a high shot at a covey of Muscovia, Nigel lost
his balance and very nearly put an end to the expedi
tion by falling overboard. Luckily he had the presence
of mind to jump clear without overturning fhepipanto,
which would have meant the loss of at least a large part
155
MOSQUITO COAST
of our food and ammunition. The water was shallow
and standing upright he was well in his depth, but the
sand underfoot was soft and treacherous. Fortunately
he had not lost hold of his gun.
There was nothing of real moment, and we found it
increasingly hard to keep track of the days as they
passed. For miles the river was the same, twisting end
lessly through the jungle. Gradually we left the Zambu
territories for those of the Payas, who are only very
slightly lighter in colour. If anything the Payas seemed
more elusive than the Zambus, and we had great diffi
culty in coming to close quarters with them. We knew
that the jungle on both sides of the river was alive, but
we pushed on upstream without wasting time. The
river was becoming daily shallower and narrower and
the thought of the brandy and cigars we had reserved
to celebrate our arrival at the highest point spurred
us on.
But although we had intended to carry on without
another stop, there came an opportunity that was too
good to miss. All along the Patuca the river banks are
broken by little creeks, usually very shallow and over
grown, which lead off on each side. In these we some
times tied up for the night, as they were well protected
and the river itself became very rocky and rough.
Some five or six days after leaving M tsamu we came
upon a creek in the left bank, wider than most and
apparently quite deep, so we paddled into it and pre
pared for the night. The jungle was thick on both
sides, almost meeting overhead, and only a narrow
ragged strip of blue could be seen above. As night fell
156
MAFIA
the blue faded into a star-flecked black. The creek was
larger than most of those we had passed, and from its
width gave the impression that it led to something more
than the stagnant sandy pools of the jungle. We settled
down fitfully for a hot night. There was not a breath
of air and the mosquitoes were in full spite. It was
impossible to sleep, so we lay in the boat talking and
smoking strong native cigars.
It must have been about midnight when we first
caught sight of a reddish glow in the sky shining faintly
over the jungle, far down the creek away from the river.
We stared at it in wonder. The Patuca Indians make
bonfires only upon ceremonial occasions and the fire
that could turn the whole sky red above the high black
line of the trees must be enormous. The jungle is con
stantly dank and sodden in Central America so that
forest fires are almost unknown. We packed our things
away hurriedly and started to pole slowly up the creek
by the rHm light of a small and uncertain torch. It
was infuriatingly slow. We made hesitant and dodder
ing progress with our flickering light and three minutes
rarely passed without hitting a bank of sand or a lurk
ing rock. It was a nightmare journey, but we were
determined to satisfy our curiosity. As we made our
way along the creek the light of the fires grew brighter,
and in places where the top of the jungle was thin it
shone through in a strip of vivid red lace. The black
walls of vegetation on either side of us were alive with
the indescribable noises of the tropical night, the con
stant beating croak of animal and insect life, but as we
drew away from the Patuca it seemed as if a new sound
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MOSQUITO COAST
was added to the voices of the jungle. It was a long
time before we could isolate it. It rose and fell alter
nately, and sometimes reached us in a sudden burst as
we rounded a bend. Sometimes it rose to the pitch of
a song, sometimes it fell to a heavy mumble, and as
we made our tortuous way along the creek it grew
gradually louder till the air was filled with it and
the throbbing of the jungle fell into the background.
After three and a half hours poling upstream the
singing was louder than ever and there was no sign that
the fires were dying out. We beached the pipanto and
tied it up, covering it over lightly with leaves and sticks
to hide it from stray Indians. To make a way through
the jungle was hard enough but probably less tiresome
than poling the heavy boat up a shallow and rocky
creek. We took a sack of tobacco and another of salt,
buckled on our revolvers and struck a line towards the
light.
At first we could not make out what was happening.
There were far more Indians than we had expected,
and they stood in a rough semicircle around what
appeared to be a large flat clearing. But after a minute
or two, when our eyes were accustomed to the glare, we
saw what it was : the creek had doubled around in a
sharp left bend and suddenly widened out into a small
circular lake. Along the edges of the lake, on the far
side, were the Indians standing in crowded rows on the
sand. Behind them there was a clear space where
jungle or savanna grass had been cut away, and in
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MAFIA
the clearing burnt the great fire whose glow we had
seen from the Patuca. It was an enormous pyre,
bigger than all the bonfires of Guy Fawkes* Day, and
it burned with a fierce crackling that echoed sharply
across the water. Red spits of flame leaped upwards
into the darkness as the Indians added fuel to the blaze.
They stood heavily in sullen rows, and only their high
voices occasionally raised in song told us that there was
something unusual in this ceremony. The naked bodies
glowed red and bronze in the flickering light. It was
a weird sight and it struck us at once that there was
present the same atmosphere of suspense and significant
silence that we had found at the Zambu funeral farther
down-river.
The Indians were so numerous, and the difficulty of
making our way across the lake in a dignified manner
was so great that we decided to stay where we were,
comfortably hidden in the jungle on the far side of the
water. We did not want to frighten them or disorgan
ize the ceremony, and we were not too sure what kind
of reception we should get. We came forward to the
sandy fringe of the lake and watched them.
It was hard to follow what was happening across the
lake. There was little order and no leader and none
of the sounds that reached us were familiar. These
were Indians, and only the faintest traces of Negro
blood could be seen. There was nothing African in
their solemn chanting. It was pure Indian, ancient
and mysterious. There was no dancing, no celebra
tion, no fantastic masks and head-dresses, but only an
endless beating incantation. It was impossible to guess
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MOSQUITO COAST
the significance of the ceremony. For all we could tell
it might be a funeral, a wedding, or some fantastic in
vocation to the gods of harvest. Their high-pitched
voices chanted on without emotion or expression.
Until early morning, when the first pale rays of dawn
broke through the jungle, they continued their solemn
hymn and we watched in silence from the other side
of the lake; As the eastern sky turned to an angry red
the fires died away and the Indians turned and made
off into the jungle.
When the far side of the water was deserted and the
fires fell to flickering embers Nigel and I waded across
through the thick mud of the creek to examine the
ground. There was nothing to tell us the nature of the
ritual ; no graves had been dug, and the sand had
been disturbed only by the heavy tramping of feet.
No sign of life remained except the smouldering
fires.
As the day broke we made our way back again to
the boat and slept for three fitful hours in the com
parative cool of early morning.
When we woke up again there was some question
about what should be done. The scene that had kept
us from sleep the night before had fascinated us and it
seemed stupid to go on up the Patuca without finding
out more about the Payas. They were obviously dif
ferent enough from the Zambus to justify investigation,
but on the other hand time was getting extremely short
and we were far behind schedule. It was impossible
to tell how far into the jungle we should have to go to
find their villages. If they had the same idea as
1 60
MAFIA
M?tsamu?s people their ceremony would have taken
place some way from where they lived. Finally, with
typical indecision, we drifted back into the main Patuca
and poled slowly upstream close in to the left bank. If
we saw no more of the Indians, we would go on : but
if, as seemed probable from the fact that they had made
off on a line parallel to the river, we saw signs of them,
we would stop and try to make friends.
In the evening we found the village, a ring of palm-
leaf huts standing close to the water s edge. As we
drew up to the sand the Indians came running from
their huts and clustered around our boat.
The Payas, I t^^Ic I have already said, are rather
lighter in colour than the Zambus of the coast and the
lower waters of the Patuca. They are the second stage
in the varying Indian-Negro ratio which can be seen
throughout Mosquitia. The powerful black blood of
Caribs and fugitive African slaves from Jamaica and
the West Indian Islands has penetrated to some extent
but has still left much of the Indian intact. As the
years go on, we learned, the Payas grow gradually
darker, for the coast Negroes are innumerable and pro
lific. But there is still enough Indian in the Payas to
make them silent and to give them that false expression
of sullen bad-temper which is so characteristically
Indian. They are quicker-minded than the Zambus,
but for this, apparently, physique has been sacrificed,
and many of those we saw in that first village were
obviously consumptive. Like the Zambus they are
peaceful and have nothing but the most primitive hunt-
161 M
MOSQUITO COAST
ing weapons. Life is easy enough in the Mosquito
jungle, and the climate does much to discourage any
kind of violent activity such as attacking the tribes of
neighbouring territories.
Their lives are bound up and ordered by a great mass
of complicated Indian legendry which we could only
begin to understand. We found them much shyer and
more timid than the Zambus, although they accepted
our presence without any fuss. Oddly enough, al
though their lands were farther up-country than those
of the Zambus, they were already slightly familiar with
the phenomenon of white men, for some ten years be
fore two prospectors had lost their way (very badly)
while travelling in Nicaragua, and had found them
selves wandering in the Mosquito territory. There
seemed to be no central patriarch like M tsamu to take
the lead in tribal affairs, and there was no one among
them particularly anxious to explain things to us. We
got the impression that we were accepted but not
encouraged*
The dialect of the Payas is incomprehensible, and not
apparently related to any other known tongue. Among
the people of the lower waters a few distorted English
words can be heard and there is also a smattering of
Spanish, but above Bratislqya there is nothing but the
staccato vowel-less dialect of the Indians. .Their vocab
ulary is small and to the point, for their ideas are few
and simple and they never waste time and energy (or
rather energy, for that is scarce and in Mosquitia there
is always plenty of time) in talking unless there is some
thing of immediate moment to say. The Pay a uses one
162
MAFIA
set of words when speaking to a man and a completely
different one when speaking to a woman, which con
siderably complicates the question of language ; but
women are regarded as very unimportant and while
we were there it was rarely found necessary for anyone
to speak to the women-folk, who outnumber the men
by about two to one.
The Payas believe in two Gods who are in eternal
conflict to control the destiny of mankind. Unfortun
ate events, such as floods and hurricanes and babies
being eaten by alligators, are blamed alternatively upon
the unusual activity of the Bad God or the laxity of the
Good God. It is left to the medicine man, called the
Suquia, to decide which cause lies at the root of the evil
and to prescribe appropriate remedies by feasting,
revelry or prayer. The Suquia is the chief figure in
the village : he is judge and doctor and almost king.
Each village is led by a Suquia, and we noticed that
although the general body of natives were well disposed
towards us and usually rather inquisitive about our
affairs, the medicine men were inclined to be a little
cool in their welcome. Their leadership is founded on
a prestige of mystery, and they are supposed to under
stand those things which are hidden from the rest of the
tribe. The presence of white men, with strange tricks
of noise and fire, was a menace to them, for although
we did not seriously rival their power we could not help
demonstrating that the Suquia were not omniscient.
They looked at us with an air of rather hurt and
embarrassed anxiety.
The principle of Paya ceremonies is celebration. If
MOSQUITO COAST
the provident deity is to be pleased, an atmosphere of
revelry is obviously statable ; and every Paya Indian
knows that if a ceremony is directed towards the Gods
of Evil there is no hope of placating them anyway, and
one might just as well drown one s sorrows in strong
drink. An abundance of liquor is brewed as a pre
liminary to all religious functions, from yucca and
oranges and cassave. It is a particularly powerful
drink, spiced and fermented, and in the damp heat of
the tropics it takes very little to set the party going.
The Powers of Darkness are called the Mafia, and are
shared with the theology of the Zambus. Their paci
fication, frequently necessary, provides a reason and
excuse for the wildest orgies. We could not begin to
understand the significance of all the phases in the cere
mony, since our position among the Payas was insecure
and we could not make any efficient lingual compro
mise. But we could watch, and the significance of part
of the ritual was easy enough to follow.
The Payas show originality in holding certain cere
monies at midday instead of in the middle of the mos
quito-infested night. Usually Indians prefer darkness
for the functions of their religion, for it adds a mysteri
ous and sinister note which they love, after the manner
of children who are frightened of the dark and rather
enjoy it ; but the Payas are for some reason (probably
their lighter skin) more susceptible to mosquito-bites
than the Zambus, and they choose the full burning heat
of noon as the lesser evil.
The placation of Evil Spirits is a long business. The
ceremony itself starts when the sun reaches its fierce
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MAFIA
zenith, but for days beforehand the womenfolk are en
gaged in brewing and distilling potent concoctions
designed to help the spirits on their way. Fruits and
berries, herbs and roots are brought from the depths
of the jungle and for thirty-six or forty-eight hours on
end there is a constant boiling and stirring of pots.
The production of liquor is the monopoly of women :
and my suggestion that men might engage in this task
was met with great scorn and disdain. They stand
around in happy circles expectantly sniffing fumes from
the cauldrons as their wives go about the work. But
when the time comes for the ceremony to begin, as we
were to see, the women are sent quietly home and are
even forbidden to taste the drinks they have mixed. It
is typical of the Indian division of labour, and the
Payas in particular prefer bachelor parties.
The first part of the ceremony is drawn out intermin
ably to make sure that those participating are properly
thirsty. Since the object of the affair is to please the
Mafia, there is no need to move away from the village,
which is not unduly afflicted by the presence of
the Powers of Darkness when they are in a good
temper.
Nigel and I sat in a hut at the edge of the village
circle. Above us the heavy roof, bamboo and thatched
palm leaves, was alive with the rustlings of great beetles
and fantastic spiders. As the ceremony began, a little
red snake dropped to the floor and slid away into the
tall grass.
The centre of interest was the middle of the clearing,
165
MOSQUITO COAST
where the Suquia had been preparing the ground for
the festival. The liquor which the women had been
making during the last few days was placed there in
large earthenware pots, and each pot was surrounded
by a pen of bamboo stakes, brightly painted and care
fully sharpened. These sticks must have had a sym
bolical importance in the ritual, perhaps showing that
the Chicha liquor was reserved for the Gods ; for they
were very light, and had not the Indians reverence for
the ritual been so strong, they would have provided very
poor protection. There were seven bamboo pens alto
gether, each one enclosing some eight or nine square
feet of sandy earth. Of the womenfolk there was no
sign : they had gone off, according to their custom,
several miles away into the jungle, where they had to
stay until the pacification of the evil spirits was over.
In eager expectancy the men stood around just in
side the line of the huts. The Suquia stood in the ring
near to the bamboo pens, an old bent man with a large
stomach and a cascade of kinky white curls falling over
his ears. From the far side there arose, suddenly, an
irregular insistent beating which brought silence upon
the Indians. We could see the drummers, three young
boys sitting cross-legged on the ground anci pounding
their staccato music upon small deerskin drums. For
a number of endless minutes there was complete silence,
broken only by the drums. Once again there came to
us, vividly, that impression of ominous and expectant
silence while the Payas stood as if carved from rock,
faces blank and expressionless.
Gradually the pace of the drums grew faster and
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MAFIA
faster, and a shrill wail arose from a chorus of bamboo
whistles that had joined the drummers. There was
nothing melodious about that sound, and it rarely hap
pened that the notes of the whistles combined with any
thing approaching harmony, but the effect of the whole
scene and the music was one of pregnant mystery. It
typified all the blind grotesque power of ancient
savagery.
The tempo rose from pace to pace till it reached a
fanatic frenzy and the drummer boys were throwing
arms and legs about in frantic ecstasy. But the circle
of men remained dumb and motionless : for it is con
sidered very bad taste for an Indian to show emotion
of any kind except on certain occasions, and the time
had not yet come for them to abandon the carefully
cultivated composure of their race for the free expres
sion of instinct. As the music reached a discordant
fever-pitch the old Suquia stepped forward and held up
his hand. Immediately the drums and whistles stopped
short in their climax. We wiped the miming perspira
tion from our eyes and waited*
I have no idea what it was that the old man said to
his tribe. In a high cracked voice he spoke for several
minutes, apparently addressing the assembly and not
the spirits. He spoke slowly and without excitement,
and his words seemed to arouse no interest in the con
gregation. It was probably a fixed formula, part of
the prescribed ritual for the occasion. He stopped
abruptly.
Following upon the Suqidcts speech there was relaxa
tion. The men shifted their feet and wiped their faces
MOSQUITO COAST
and began to chatter among themselves. They were
still standing without cover under the full searing heat
of summer sun.
After a short while the drums began again without
warning, in a slow heavy beat. But now the atmo
sphere, in a flash, had changed : there was talking and
shouting, and the men began to stamp their bare feet
in time with the drumming. They laughed and occa
sionally raised their voices in high Indian falsetto.
Soon the boys with the whistles joined the drums again
and the circle started to move around, stamping and
shuffling, in slow rhythm. From that moment it
seemed as if the first part of the ritual was to be repeated,
with the difference that reserve and dignity were for
gotten. As the men dropped their solemn Indian masks
their Negro blood came to the surface and they let
themselves go in wild abandon. The music grew faster
again and the circle danced around in a fierce fandango,
naked bodies running wet in the sun.
It was a very long time before the climax was reached,
and only the strength of ecstasy kept many of the men
from collapse. Finally the music stopped short and
there was a sudden heavy quiet. The Indians fell to
the ground exhausted and panting.
Now came what was obviously the most important
part of the ceremony. Until that moment there had
been nothing to distinguish it from countless other
affairs intended for various purposes : now the atten
tions of the Suquia were directed towards the Mafia.
Purpose had appeared in the ritual. The Indians be
gan to recover and squatted on their haunches around
1 68
MAFIA
the circle. Again there was a long pause in which
nothing happened.
We had thought, at the beginning of the ceremony,
that all the huts were empty and that the women and
small children were well away in the jungle where they
could not prejudice the Suquicfs efforts at appeasing the
spite of evil spirits, but this was not quite true. During
the pause that had followed the last stages of the ritual
dance, several women had been brought from one of
the huts. As they were led into the clearing we saw
that they were blindfolded, and were all strikingly thin,
which is remarkable in Mosquitia where the Indian
women nearly always run to fat. The thinness of these
women would have been noticeable anywhere : they
wore no clothes and their ribs stood out like fish-bones.
The Suquia took them and led them to the bamboo pens.
With much mumbling and incantation they were
arranged so that there was one thin woman in each
square. Once inside the protection of the stakes they
took the bandages from their eyes and stood blinking
in the dazzling sunlight.
At the time we had no idea what part the women
were to play in the pacification of the Mafia, and it was
not till considerably later that we found out ; but from
the reader s point of view it will perhaps be best if I
explain their presence before going on to describe what
followed. They were mediums, who could establish
contact with the Evil Spirits and pass their wishes on
to the Suquia. Why thin women in particular were
chosen we could not find out, but it seemed that ex
treme thinness was connected in the Paya mind with
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MOSQUITO COAST
chastity and virtue, and that the women were hence
able to know things that were hidden from the others
of the tribe, and even from the Suquia himself.
The mediums squatted on their haunches and the
drum-and-whistle band started up again. The men sat
around staring at the thin women. Their communion
with the spirits was about to begin.
This time the music lingered for a long time in a slow
tempo , the women rising and gyrating in time to the rhyth
mical drum beats. Every now and then they stretched
their arms aloft in supplication and occasionally a voice
was raised, high and thin like the wails of the Shee, as
contact was made with the Mafia. The medicine man
stood watching intently and at his signal the circle of
men rose again and closed in, stamping and clapping
their hands to the music. After ten or fifteen minutes
the thin women began to shriek questions above the din,
questions of importance to the tribe and concerning
calamities and misfortunes which were in store for
them. When would the river rise again ? and when
would the great winds (the hurricane season) blow
again ? As the ceremony went on the questions came
faster and some were repeated several dozen times.
Meanwhile the drums had quickened pace again, and
the men were swaying back and forth in a close ring.
The mediums, who had at first gyrated slowly in their
squares, now whirled furiously and threw their scrawny
limbs around in incredible contortions. It could hardly
be called a dance, for there was nothing of rhythm or
grace in their steps : but it was very fast, a fantastic
ritual of acrobatic frenzy. Their eyes stood out in
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MAFIA
ecstatic fervour and as the music approached its third
climax they too were on the point of collapse in the
fierce heat. The sun beat down steadily, a burning
golden ring in the sky.
The third climax was the last. At the Suquicfs word
the drums and flutes were silent, suddenly and finally.
The thin women stepped from their wooden pens and
gathered around him, and he led them off together into
the jungle, where they would make their report to him
and give him the messages from the evil spirits.
The departure of the Suquia was the signal for the
more festive part of the celebration to begin. Instead
of falling to the ground as before, the men stood expect
antly in a close ring, edging towards the bamboo stakes,
and as the old man stepped out of the circle they surged
forward in an eager wave. The pens were trampled
underfoot and the earthen jars of Ctdcha were emptied
down parched black throats. The effect of that fiery
liquid upon men who had been dancing for hours in
the full heat of a mid-summer tropical sun must have
been terrible, but it was poured down like so much cold
water and an enormous quantity had been prepared.
The formal part of the ceremony was over.
Later we made friends with the Suquia. We gave him
matches, and half a bottle of Fruit Salts (an impressive
fountain of magic) and a leather belt, and he tried to
explain to us about the Mafia.
The Mafia are nothing more nor less than the Devil,
except that they are expressed in the plural. They are
of indefinite and infinite number, a co-operative society
171
MOSQUITO COAST
of mischief-makers who are eternally at war with the
corresponding Powers of Goodness. In strength and
number the two sides are approximately equal, and the
world (or at least the Mosquito Coast) is their chess
board. But since the Gods are equally divided into
those who are Good and those who are Bad, it is obvi
ous that Man, who is admitted to have a will of his
own, holds the balance of power and can influence his
fate not inconsiderably by its judicious use. We sat
talking to the Suquia while the Indians drank the bowls
ofChicha. As it took possession of their senses the noise
grew and from the jungle all around us came wild
shrieks. Their Indian reserve disappeared, and for the
rest of the day and all through the following night there
was a drunken uproar around the village. Occasion
ally the drums took up their beat, no longer close at
hand but off in the bush, where their note was menac
ing and compelling. The Suquia left us sitting alone,
and all through the night we sat in the hut listening
to the wild voices of the Payas in the jungle as they
screamed and sang.
172
Chapter Twelve
TZOCAL
HHHE Payas had performed so well for us on the
JL previous day and through that wild night, that
when dawn broke we were not anxious to leave them.
They did not welcome us ; but they were tolerant.
On the following morning there were few signs of life
and Nigel and I were tired from our watching. We
decided not to push on up-river but to sleep a few hours
and investigate the village. As the women came out in
ones and twos we stumbled down to the river-bank and
the boat. We had been tired even the day before, and
we slept all through that day and the following night.
When we approached the Payas again they were more
responsive. We had watched and even taken part in
their ritual ; we were friends. The medicine man who
had led the ceremony took us up to the village and
offered us a meal, the first we had had in over thirty-six
hours. Well before the sun reached its hot zenith we
were squatting in a circle in his hut for lunch. It was
an enormous meal. There were alligator pears and
papaya, venison and malanga plantains, all laid out in
order upon great filigree leaves of Yucca, and to drink
we had cassave wine, strong and bitter. The medicine
man was called Tzocd or its equivalent. He was an
old bent man with a pendulous stomach and long silver
MOSQUITO COAST
rings of hair, very unusual for an Indian. He ate in
silence and we followed his example. The meal lasted
for a very long time. When the last of the fruit had
disappeared his women-folk, flat-footed slatterns with
drooping breasts, came in from the neighbouring hut
and cleared the sandy floor.
I had brought a handful of black Honduran cigars
from the boat and we showed them to Tzocal. He had
never seen tobacco in that form, but only in the raw
leaf which the Payas grow for their pipes. We lit them
and his joy was tremendous. He sat on his haunches
and puffed steadily, without a word or a pause for
breath, until the hut was filled with the peculiar
greenish smoke that emanates from Honduran puros y
and there was nothing left but a sizzling black stub.
Reluctantly he threw it away as it began to burn his
fingers. He rose to his feet and danced with joy, plead
ing for more cigars. Clearly this was an opportunity
to learn all we wanted of the Payas. We told him that
he could have plenty more if he would answer our
questions and try to understand what we wanted. It
must be remembered * that with these people our
language difficulty was enormous : the only common
ground was the smattering of Zambu we had picked up.
Apart from that we could do no more than make signs,
weird elaborate devices which frequently conveyed
erratic meanings. It was a game of patience and
ingenuity and intuition, but it was never very accurate.
I have no right to put down the facts that we gathered
as relevant pieces of tribal ethnography, because nine
sentences out of every ten are founded on guesswork.
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TZOCAL
For all we know Traced may have been doing no more
than tell us Paya bed-time stories or a series of local
jokes. But these are the things we understood and
deduced from what he said.
The native medicine man is not so much a physician
as a sorcerer. He deals in magic more than in drugs,
and among the Payas it is regarded as rather ludicrous
to put one s faith in the natural properties of barks and
herbs. Most medicine men have but one drug, a monu
mentally powerful purge which is prescribed for any
illness that is obviously too unromantic to be caused by
the persecutions of the Mafia. I think I am right in
saying that this panacea, brewed from the bark of a
tree, is the only piece of materia medica in use at all.
Other more serious complaints are dealt with and driven
out by magical amulets and charms, and mystic incanta
tions. The faith of the Paya is in the spirit and not in
the flesh. But disease is rare, as a variable reason for
ill-health : there is one disease only, tuberculosis. To
an unskilled eye it seemed probable that three out of
every ten Payas were consumptive. Tuberculosis is .
regarded more as an unfortunate event than a disease
and there are a great many charms to keep it away.
Very few Payas are rash enough to go without a deer s
tooth hidden somewhere about them to protect their
lungs* There are charms against fevers and charms
against snake-bites and charms against the dangers of
the alligators that swarm in the river, for these are the
common perils of life in Mosquitia, and are thought to
be the chief weapons of the Mafia*
Snakes throughout the river country are very poison-
175
MOSQUITO COAST
ous and common, yet the natives take very few pre
cautions against them. They go barefooted through
the jungle, relying only on their own quickness to avoid
snakes and dangerous spiders. A great many of them
die every year from bites.
When we were ashore we always wore thick boots and
leather gaiters which protected us well. The dangers
of snakes are apt to be overrated by people who have
not lived among them, and it is not usually realized that
most snakes will move away as quickly as possible when
they hear someone coming. They are chiefly danger
ous when startled, and it is asking for trouble to step
clumsily over a fallen log without first beating around
it with a stick. Snakes only strike downwards so that
the most exposed part of one s foot is the top of the
instep ; the other parts of the leg can usually receive
only a glancing blow, which is effectively averted by an
ordinary thickness of leather.
The most deadly central American snake is the Rabo
de Hueso or bonetail, more commonly known as the Fer
de Lance, a thin snake that grows to as much as five
feet in length without being any thicker than a man s
finger. The Fer de Lance is lightning quick and fre
quently fatal. Commoner than the Fer de Lance but
almost as deadly is the Coralito, a tiny snake, vivid red
with black rings.
The Payas ascribe magical properties to the skin of
the CoralitOy and many of the women wear them as
gaudy necklaces around their black necks. A Paya
who wears a Coralito skin protects himself from other
kinds of snake-bite. Tzocal rummaged in his hut and
TZOCAL
brought out an ancient skin, almost turning to powder,
with the warning red rings merging dirtily into the
black. He mumbled to himself, spat on the skin, and
rubbed first Nigel s forehead and then mine ; now we
were safe from all poisonous bites, for the CoraKto was
strongest of all snakes, and its protection shielded us.
But we did not take off our hot leather leggings.
Tzocal thought that we came from very far away,
perhaps even as far as the end of the great river, where
there was no more land and nothing but an eternity of
water. He knew of the ocean ; but it had not entered
his head that there was something beyond the water.
The end of the river was the end of the world. With a
lime and an avocado for a planetarium we explained
about the rotation of sun and earth, and how the land
from which we came lay on the other side of the globe ;
he nodded intelligently and stared in wonder, waiting
for more. But he did not believe us, and made us
understand that had that been true, we should long ago
have fallen off. We left it a moot point : to explain
why one did not fall off the far side of the earth was
beyond possibility. And in any case I do not think
either of us really knew.
From Tzocal we discovered that the Payas are even
less formal than the Zambus in their marital relations.
It was hard to find out exactly what family system was
in use, and we came to the eventual conclusion that
they followed nothing more binding than a happy
policy of connubial laissez-faire* The family as such
did not exist : the smallest unit of community was the
177 N
MOSQUITO COAST
village, and the segregation of groups of people into
various huts was a geographical rather than a social
division. The medicine man was a benevolent despot
who settled all questions of communal life, and arranged
the eugenics of the village. Like many Indian tribes
the Payas are not highly sexed. To them the problems
of marriage are unimportant and a little boring. This
lack of organized family life rather took the wind out of
our exploratory sails, for it had been firmly impressed
upon us in England, by learned friends, that this basis
of the community was all-important, and that even if
we discovered nothing else we were to investigate the
family systems of the Mosquito tribes. TzocaVs frank
revelations at once relieved our minds of a burden and
left us without an immediate objective for inquisitive-
ness. As far as relations were concerned the Payas
were singularly unencumbered ; and those that existed
were ignored.
The village, it seemed, was at once the smallest social
division and the only one of any importance. Al
though the Payas recognize their tribe, and can dis
tinguish themselves from Zambus and Vicentinos and
Secos, this distinction is not really significant as the tribes
never trespass on neighbouring territories. Inter
tribal warfare never occurs ; it is much too hot and
there is, after all, nothing to provide any attractive
casus belli within the Mosquito preserve. Occasionally
a Zambu wanders up-country from the lagoons or the
Tom-Tom Cut-off, or a Vicentino makes his way down
from the hills. If he arrives in a Paya village he is
well received and treated with courtesy ; but his wel-
TZOCAL
come is cool, and almost British in reserve. This
custom probably accounted for part of the Paya s
hesitancy in accepting us when we first drew our boat
up in front of TzocaTs village* They were obviously
wildly interested in us, but it was contrary to the
strictest principles of Indian policy and etiquette to
make a fuss over us.
Tzocal held the same views upon the subject of death
and immortality as those we had found among the
Zambus. Death was final : and beyond it there was
neither reward nor punishment. He recognized no
thing as morally wrong, and as far as we could see the
only act that was unpopular among the Payas was
murder, which in any case was a very rare event.
There was no other crime. In TzocaFs village (and I
believe in all Paya villages) property was communal,
jointly owned by the members of the village, so that the
question of theft did not arise.
It is hard to explain the enormous apathy of the
Mosquito tribes, that complete lack of incentive to do
anything, that is part of the tropics. There is an
abundance of natural foods, plenty of room, and a fierce
climate that destroys the seeds of energy ; so one lives
in peaceful inactivity, an almost vegetable existence that
is disturbed only by the periodical religious ceremonies.
The Payas are not creative, nor are they artistic.
The only form of native music is the harsh discordant
flute-and-drum improvisation which we had heard for
so many hours on the night of the ceremony. Apart
from that there were a few songs, bawdy jingles on two
179
MOSQUITO COAST
or three notes with endless repeated verses, and nothing
more. Never did we see a stringed instrument of any
kind. The Payas are naturally silent, and when they
raise their high voices in song it is always with a rather
self-conscious air.
The graphic and plastic arts, too, are almost absent,
and Tzocal knew of no way of expressing an idea except
by speech or gesture. Unlike the Guatemaltecan
Indians, the Mosquito tribes seem to have no creative
urge. They do not paint, they do not weave or make
pots, and even wood-carving is rare and utilitarian. It
seems that in the fusion of Negro and Indian blood
something of each has disappeared, and the modern
tribes are left without any of the natural manual cun
ning of primitive folk. Only in the ecstasy of religion
or wine can the Payas rise to an expression of feeling,
and then for a few brief moments one can catch glimpses
of the primordial instincts of their ancestors, now in a
rhythmic African beat, now in the dark silence of
Indian mysticism.
It is hard to say whether this mental and physical
apathy comes partly from the fusion of the races or
whether it is entirely the atavistic effect of generations
of life in what must be the worst climate in the world.
In either case it is a pity, for in the local tribes the
standard of life is at the moment retrogressive, and the
best features of wild Africa and America are disappear
ing in a gradual process of absorption by the power of
the tropical jungle.
We stayed for another two days and nights with the
180
TZOCAL
Payas, resting and washing our clothes, arguing with
Tzocal and giving away salt and tobacco from our
diminishing supply. The tribe considered that the ice
was now broken, perhaps because we had seen them
when they were thoroughly in wine, and their original
shyness vanished. For hours on end they sat silently
around us, staring and wondering. Every day they
brought us fresh fruit and meat, far more than six men
could comfortably have eaten.
Tzocal had an heirloom that had been handed down
in his village from the days of the Conquistadores, and
which was their communal pride. In itself it had no
value to them, but it was an antique and an article of
reverential awe which gave a certain possessory distinc
tion to their village. It was a horseshoe, rough cast and
immensely heavy, with nine square nail-holes set about
its rim. Tzocal kept it hidden away in a hole under the
floor of his hut, covered and guarded by an enormous
flat stone. Not until our last day in the village did he
dare bring it out : finally pride overcame his discretion.
We handled it reverently, wondering where it had been
forged and how it came to be in the Paya territories.
The old man took it from my hands and scratched at
the surface with a broken finger-nail. The dull patina
that covered it came away easily, and the sun s rays
struck it and brought out a yellow gleam. It was pure
beaten gold.
He explained to us that among the Mosquito tribes
there are a number of these horseshoes, carefully
guarded and preserved. Although they have no
intrinsic value, for money does not exist, the appeal of
181
MOSQIJITO COAST
pure gold is recognized anywhere, and the tribes cherish
their golden horseshoes. We looked at it with renewed
interest and saw that it was far too large to be worn by a
native mule. In any case it was no shoe for a working
animal : it had been cast for the thoroughbred Spanish
stallion of one of Pizarro s followers.
Later we followed Tzocal to a stream, some five hours 9
walk from the village, which was supposed to be par
ticularly rich in gold deposits. Some of the women
folk, whose task it was to collect gold, came with us. I
was anxious to see what method they used to extract the
metal from the sandy bed of the stream, for although I
had frequently seen prospectors washing * gold from
rivers with fine sieves, these Payas had nothing of the
kind.
We pushed through the jungle in single file, the old
man leading at a pace which we could hardly follow.
Behind us came the women, barefooted and chattering.
There was no visible trail, but Tzocal never hesitated,
thrusting vines and grotesque tendrils aside to clear a
path for us. Compared to our lumbering progress he
moved almost in silence.
As we drew away from the Patuca the jungle grew
thicker and seemed if anything more densely fertile.
It was not hard to understand the vast power of the
tropical jungle, and to see the constant warfare existing
between it and the Mosquito tribes. The incredible
lavish abundance of vegetation made it impossible to
make any inroads against it ; cut down a rank weed
and in a week three new ones had grown up to take its
place. The clearings made by the Indians for their
182
TZOCAL
villages, in which every blade and shoot is burned or
cut down to the ground, are kept clear of vegetation by
constant watchfulness throughout the season ; but
after a village has moved, within three months the jungle
closes over it again, and there is no sign that the solid
undergrowth has ever been disturbed. The lavish
fertility of the Mosquito jungle is one of Nature s most
enormous extravagances.
It was very hard to keep up with Tzocal in spite of the
fact that he had the extra task of clearing the way.
The earth was never clear underfoot, but always a
treacherous mass of tangled vines and roots. The old
man skipped lightly from place to place, twisting his
lithe black body to avoid thorns and the sharp grasses,
while we stumbled and tripped in our heavy boots, and
our shirts were torn to blood-stained shreds. The
women came a little way behind, keeping pace easily,
and giggling at our awkwardness.
When we reached the stream, which was a rocky little
brook not more than ten or twelve feet across, Nigel and
I were so worn out that the question of washing gold
dust from the bed of the stream was for the moment
forgotten. We threw ourselves down in hot relief and
bathed in the stream. The thought of having to re
trace our steps through that maddening jungle was
intolerable, so we set to discussing ways and means of
getting back to the Patuca by water. We had started
from TzocaTs village at dawn : it was now nearly
eleven o clock, and the heat of the sun was increasing
every minute. We decided that when it was cooler,
and the gold-washing operations were concluded, we
183
MOSQUITO COAST
would walk back to the main river along the bed of
the stream. Tzocal did not think this was a good idea,
and respectfully refused to accompany us. None of
the Payas are fond of water, and a day s quick travel
through the thickest jungle presents no great difficulty
to them. Later we found that we should have been
better advised to follow his example.
Gold-washing is an incredibly simple operation, a
matter of patience rather than of skill. The idea is to
extract, from the sandy bed of a stream, such minute
particles of gold dust as have been brought from else
where by the flow of water, and which have become
very finely mixed with the rocks and sand. Nowadays
there are more modern processes for the extraction of
placer gold, such as amalgamation and chlorination ;
but the ancient method of washing remains simple and
reliable.
While we sat with Tzocal on the wet sand, the
women brought two flat pieces of mahogany from the
jungle. They roughened the wood with sharp stones,
making long criss-cross scratches diagonally, then placed
them in the water, flat side uppermost and facing the
direction of the current. Under the lower ends they
propped stones, so that the pieces of wood lay at an
angle to the surface of the water. Each piece was four
or five feet long, and the lower end of each was some
nine or ten inches higher than the upper end, which was
clear of the water. The apparatus was complete.
By this time we were mystified. It seemed unlikely
that finely divided particles of placer gold would collect
184
TZOCAL
on flat mahogany troughs* The women stood in front,
so that their bodies were between the troughs and the
source of the stream, and bending down in the muddy
water they began to scoop up handfuls of sand and
throw them upon the wood. As the stream water ran
over the mahogany the sand was slowly washed off
again. It was a slow and laborious process, for they
used only their hands ; and from time to time the
clumsy apparatus had to be moved upstream.
After about an hour s work Nigel and I waded out to
examine the surface of the mahogany. Clinging to the
roughened surface and glinting in the sun were tiny
grains of finely divided gold, a minute deposit evenly
distributed over the wood.
We could not wait to see the second stage in the pro
cess, which was the removal of the gold dust from the
mahogany, as it was now well after midday and we did
not know how long we would take to reach the Patuca
again by wading along the muddy stream-bed. But
Tzocal explained to us, by cutting off part of a slab and
giving a practical demonstration, exactly what was to
be done. When the washing process had gone on for
long enough the troughs were taken out and left to
dry in the sun : after this large yucca leaves were
spread on the ground and the mahogany was scraped
over them with flat sharp stones. The result was a pile
of wood shavings lightly coated with gold. These
shavings were wrapped in the leaves, again left alone
for another period of thorough desiccation, and then
opened out flat and exposed to the air on a windy day.
In time the light particles of wood blew away, and
MOSQUITO COAST
there remained only the pure scatterings of gold dust.
A simple enough process, but one which was laborious
and rather inefficient.
Tzocal told us that nowadays the Payas rarely
bothered to collect gold dust, although in his youth it
had been a common enough occupation. A few pro
spectors have wandered through the country and a lot
of the native hoards have been bought, usually for a
few handfuls of salt or good tobacco. TzocaFs village
had never before seen white men, but they had heard
tales of prospectors and were warned against them ; for
that reason they had at first been rather on their guard
with us.
We left the gold-washing party in the stream and
started our long trek down to the Patuca, rolling up our
trousers and hanging our boots and leggings around our
necks. The current flowed slowly, a sluggish red
stream with a squelching sandy bottom. All the way
along there were great rocks and rough boulders,
carried along by the violence of the swollen waters
during the hurricane season. It was slow work because
our feet sank deep into the sand and we had to be con
tinually rearranging our loads to avoid wetting our
guns and ammunition, but it was infinitely more
pleasant than stumbling and lurching through the
jungle.
As we drew away from Tzocal and his party the
stream narrowed gradually and became more irregular,
twisting this way and that in short rocky curves. We
were not quite sure whether it joined the Patuca below
or above the village : but we had a compass and a fairly
186
TZOCAL
good idea of our direction at the start. Soon the sun
began to sink and as it grew cooler we increased our
pace, to make sure of reaching camp before dusk fell
and the mosquitoes attacked us.
That journey seemed endless. For hour after hour
we dragged ourselves wearily through water and mud,
sweating and stumbling. It seemed that as we ap
proached the Patuca the stream twisted continually
away from it : and we began to wonder whether it ever
reached the main river at all. By the time it showed
signs of growing dark we were cursing our preposterous
self-confidence and wishing that we had gone back with
Tzocal, however fast his pace.
As night fell the jungle on either side of us turned
suddenly solid, massive and black, and there started
that incredible nocturnal throb of animal voices that
never failed, after many weeks, to make one stop and
wonder. Presently we heard the warning hum, high
pitched and menacing, of the mosquito swarms ; and
all at once they were upon us, covering face and arms
and hands. The air was thick and it sounded as if that
maddening scream had suddenly filled the whole uni
verse* Frantically we splashed water on our faces,
which kept them offfor a few seconds, but it was a hope
less struggle. Our shirts had been torn to ribbons
during the morning s journey so that the mosquitoes
covered our bodies too, and every so often we threw our
things in desperation on the bank and lay down under
water to rest. The situation was very unpleasant but
there was nothing for it but to go on, in spite of the
mosquitoes, and hope to reach the river and the village
MOSQUITO COAST
before we absorbed enough poison to be dangerous.
The rest of the journey was a nightmare ; by far the
most unpleasant part of all our time in Mosquitia.
We stumbled and fell continually as it grew darker,
splashing violently through the water and stubbing our
toes against rocks every few yards. It is impossible to
describe even a part of that maddening journey, and
we were particularly infuriated by the knowledge that
it was entirely our own fault ; through stubborn lazi
ness we had refused TzocdFs advice. And it served us
right.
When we finally reached the Patuca the moon was
out and the broad surface of the river shone palely
against the dead black mat of the jungle background.
We reckoned that the village lay to the east of the
stream, since we had not passed the mouth on our way
up the Patuca from the Zambu territories. How far it
was we could not tell ; and now there was a further
difficulty, in travelling by night, which we had not fore
seen. At night the main river is thickly infested with
alligators. If we were to wade along in the water, as
we had done in the creek, we should have to run the
danger of meeting them. Ashore, the vegetation on
the river bank was black and thick. If we had found
travel through the undergrowth difficult in the day
time, it would be considerably more so in the faint
moonlight. We decided to try the river.
For a long time we splashed up the Patuca, kicking
out lazy feet and making as much noise as possible.
Alligators are easily frightened and usually keep away
from any disturbance in the water. We carried our
188
TZOCAL
revolvers loaded and ready and watched the smooth
surface of the water for suspicious ripples. Once Nigel
fired twice at a floating log, drifting slowly in mid
stream : but that was the nearest approach to an
alligator that we saw.
By the time we found the village we were dead-tired.
Our faces were puffed ancl swollen with bites, our bodies
were a mass of sores from scratches and the long soaking
in the water. Both of us were bleeding in a dozen
places.
In the village a great fire smouldered and the heavy
wood smoke kept the mosquitoes at bay. We dragged
off our sodden filthy clothes and fell at once into dull
drugged sleep.
189
Chapter Thirteen
WAMPU JUNCTION
us to sleep until the late morning, and
JL when we woke up we were so sore and stiff that it
was agony to move. Our faces had puffed up into
purple blotches ; and from the waist we were both
covered with scars and the swollen lumps of mosquito-
bites.
The old man refrained, like a gentleman, from any
kind of reproof or even a hint of * I told you so/ He
brought us bowls of soup and some avocado pears, and
told the women to bring fresh leaves for us to lie on,
For the rest of the day we stayed in the hut, washing
ourselves and rubbing vaseline into our scars. From
time to time the other members of the tribe would peer
in at us and click their tongues in sympathy. The
Payas have a great respect for the mosquitoes and
are never under any circumstances caught out after
dark.
In the afternoon there happened the calamity which
I had feared and expected for several weeks : fever.
Whether it was brought on by our ridiculous perform
ance of the day before or not I do not know, but by
nightfall Nigel had it badly, and was shivering and
chattering with cold. We had by this time run very
short of quinine, on account of the losses of supplies
190
WAMPU JUNCTION
farther down the river, and for a fortnight or more we
had taken our morning doses only irregularly. There
was fortunately a little left (our only medicament) and
I fetched it from the pipanto.
Tzocal had a very violent cure for fever which he
prescribed for Nigel, but I did not think that the con
stitution of a mere white man was quite up to it. It
consisted of giving him a very hot and sudden Turkish
bath in a wooden case that looked unfortunately like
an ordinary coffin. Steam was supplied by dropping
red-hot stones into a trough of water inside the box.
He was a little offended that I did not trust his medical
judgment, but I contrived to explain that we were
made differently from his people and that steam was
particularly bad for us. Regretfully he carried his
Turkish bath away. I gave Nigel ten grains of quinine
and covered him up well. The change in him was
extraordinary ; his face was white under the tan, deep
rings appeared under his eyes, and his hands were blue.
There was nothing I could do but wait until he started
to sweat.
For an hour or more Nigel shivered, until the fierce
sun declined and it began to grow quickly dark. Then,
suddenly, he was hot and dry, red in the face and
thirsty. Before long his mind started to wander and
he rambled on deliriously with the persistent inconse
quence of fever. Tzocal came in and sat down, still
mumbling about his steam-bath. Until late at night
we watched him, and at midnight I gave him another
five grains of quinine. Soon after that the fever broke.
First a few beads of moisture gathered on his face, then
MOSQUITO COAST
he began to sweat and in two or three minutes he was
soaked. Six times we dried him, and finally he fell
into a heavy sleep.
The next day, contrary to all calculations and the
habits of nature, it rained ; a great torrential outburst
that quickly made the river swollen and red* Nigel
felt well when he woke up, but if the fever of the day
before was malaria, as we thought, then he was due
for another in the afternoon. The rain gave us a good
excuse for not starting off up-river again, as Nigel
thought that he was quite well and wanted to be off at
once. But he was still weak, and it would have been
ridiculous to start immediately.
It rained all through the night to the accompaniment
of a violent storm, one of those vast electrical infernos
that only happen in the tropics. The thunder rolled
almost continually and kept the Payas awake, shivering
nervously in their huts. From the door of our own we
watched the great yellow forks of lightning biting
through the sky. In the sudden vivid flashes of light
we caught glimpses of black faces in the doorways of
the other huts, turned heavenwards and wide-eyed with
terror. It is extraordinary that none of the Mosquito
tribes, who live in an area that is regularly swept with
tropical storms, have ever managed to lose their fear of
the primitive force of nature. Thunder sends them
cowering at once to the protection of their grass huts.
It is the work of the Mafia.
If the storm kept us awake, it also suppressed the
mosquitoes, and it was a display that was worth watch
ing. To someone who knows only the half-hearted
192
WAMPU JUNCTION
claps of temperate thunder, it would be unbelievable ;
one might as well compare a rock-garden in subur
ban London with the Mosquito jungle. It lasted
through the night, and as day broke the rain stopped
all at once, as if a gigantic tap had been suddenly
turned. Before long every cloud had gone from the
sky.
Nigel had now passed forty-eight hours without a
return of fever, so we thought that it would be safe to
move on.
Tzocal was even more reluctant than ATtsamu had
been to let us go. A few days, he said, was nothing,
and what difference could it make ? We could not
tell to him that in our country time was reckoned
carefully, and that we must return at a certain
date. It was beyond us to explain the white man s
stinginess with time and beyond him to understand
it,
A little before eight o clock we packed the few things
we had left in the boat, took our leave of the Payas, and
pushed off into the stream. They all came to the
water s edge, where they stood in a solemn line to watch
us out of sight. We gave them a few parting presents
of salt and tobacco. They had already filled our boat
with fresh fruit and meat ; and paddling hard we left
them.
For nine days after leaving the Payas we paddled up
the Patuca, eating what we could shoot and sleeping
with considerable comfort in the flat bottom of the boat.
By this fJTT>^ it seemed easy : we had learned the
193
MOSQUITO COAST
technique of the river, of sleeping and cooking and
paddling with the smallest expenditure of energy and
the greatest effect. It was so infernally hot that our
energy was a valuable store, to be hoarded and guarded
as carefully as a miser s gold. We grew to avoid any
physical movement that was not useful. As the long
hot days passed, uneventful and unbroken, we became
sympathetic to the awful apathy of the Indians : we,
white men of a virile race, felt the deadening effect of
Mosquitia after a few weeks ; they had known nothing
else for countless generations. It was a climate and an
atmosphere that suffocated every desire, that crushed
every seed of energy.
Nothing very much happened during that fortnight.
We travelled much as before, paddling and poling
and sometimes dragging the heavy boat over rocky
patches, occasionally shooting alligators, sometimes
sketching, always watching the black walls of the
jungle.
Only once did we try fishing, not to replenish our
commissariat but for fun. The Patuca is shallow and
muddy, and such fish as live in it are unclean. With a
large hook and piece of turkey meat we whiled away
hours waiting for a bite. Finally it came, nearly
dragging into the water a case of ammunition to
which the end of the line was fastened. Nigel seized
the line and played the fish while I kept the boat
steady. After a while he dragged it on board ; a
fresh-water shark, white and unclean. We threw it
back quickly.
There was still fortunately plenty of game and we
194
WAMPU JUNCTION
never lacked meat. Our own provisions were nearly
gone the rice and flour and beans but we were so
tired of them, after the monotonous diet of the lower
river, that we did not care. We still had salt and a
quantity of lard and whenever it was possible we col
lected fruit. Water we continued to drink, contrary
to the tenets of medicine and common intelligence,
straight from the river.
Oddly enough after leaving the Payas we saw no
further signs of life in the jungle or on the river, not
even the flattened patches of ground which marked the
spots where old villages had stood. It looked almost as
if we had gone beyond the limits of the Indian territory,
but both Zambus and Payas had told us vague tales of
folk who lived higher up the river and spent most of
their time in the rocky Coldn mountains, where it was
cooler and the jungle thinned out. Here the rank
undergrowth of tall grass and vines, great lianas and
grotesquely stunted trees, was thicker than any we had
already seen, and we were followed on the bank by an
eternal chorus of chattering monkeys. There were also
a great many parrots that screamed in fury as we
approached, fluttering fantastic feathers. All these
things in time we took for granted ; and when we went
ashore we hardly noticed the incredible profusion of
exotic life. There were lizards, emerald-green and
enormous ; great bull-frogs and toads in fancy dress ;
scorpions and spiders from a fit of delirium tremens ; and
here and there lurked deadly surrealist snakes. With
familiarity their fascination faded and their dangers
grew contemptible. Carelessly we stepped over them ?
195
MOSQUITO COAST
beat them away with sticks or threw stones. We
lacked the energy to take them seriously.
On the ninth day we reached the end. The river
had been narrowing sharply, and now it was too shallow
to go farther. In front of us lay rocks, thick and large,
in the form of a long gradual waterfall. To go farther
by boat was impossible.
On either side of the river were flat sand-banks that
separated the water from the jungle. It was an ideal
place ; and we decided to pitch a camp here and
from it explore some of the surrounding country.
With relief we dragged the pipanto up upon the
sand.
For so long had we looked forward to reaching this
place, the Wampu junction, that it was with a curious
flat feeling of finality that we lay on the ground to rest.
It was hard to realize that our journey was done, and
that from now on we should be on the return route.
During the months of planning at home and the weeks
of struggle in Honduras and along the coast, our
imaginations had run riot on the subject of Mosquitia
and what we would find there ; now we had reached
the farthest point of the Patuca, and most of the sur
prises lay behind us. We had had no time to digest the
things we had learnt.
From logs and rocks we built a sort of corral on the
sand in which we could sleep without the danger of
alligators, and over it we rigged an awning of oilskin
slung on four poles. Around the whole thing we hung
two thicknesses of cheese-cloths to keep away sand-flies
196
WAMPU JUNCTION
and mosquitoes. This was to be our base-camp, from
which we could make short treks into the Gol6n
mountains.
For two days we did nothing. The sudden bliss of
sleeping in comfort and spending the day under shelter
was too attractive to let the joys of exploration drive us
out. We rested and mended our clothes, and made
notes of what we had done. A map of the river took
up much four time, but it suffered from a good many
misfortunes and never attained a very high standard of
accuracy.
That first night we slept soundly, a better night than
we had had since leaving Clayton Cookers house on
Brewer s Lagoon. By the river s edge it was cool and
the cheese-cloth nets were successful in excluding even
the most enterprising mosquitoes. Later, however, we
found that it was something of a fool s paradise. In the
middle of the third night a heavy scraping noise woke
us up with a start. Luckily there was a full moon in an
unbroken sky : otherwise we might not have seen the
alligator that had waddled up across the flat sand and
had managed to clamber over one low wall of our camp.
Almost simultaneously we both shot at him with our
revolvers, but without luck. He turned, as quick as a
flash, and did slyly into the water, with a flip of his tail
that brought our mosquito-netting down with a run.
Immediately the swarms were upon us again, covering
every inch of exposed skin as they had done during our
unfortunate experience near TzocaFs village. We did
not dare jump into the river ; but the next best thing
was to build a smoky fire. Nigel collected wood while
197
MOSQUITO COAST
I lit the Primus. We worked furiously, vainly slapping
at ourselves and exterminating futile handfuls. Finally
the fire was going, and they retreated. We repaired the
net and drove the last mosquitoes from the inside ; but
it was a troubled night, and neither of us slept much
more.
The next day we consolidated our position somewhat
by building earthworks around the coral and piling all
our available possessions upon them, and as an addi
tional precaution we built a fire outside and kept it
going all through the night. We did not really expect
further visitations from the river, but sometimes snakes
have an unpleasant habit of curling up in the folds of
one s bedclothes at night, to keep warm, and we
thought that a large fire might act as a deterrent to
them, or alternatively as a counter-attraction* The
rest of our nights at the Wampu camp we spent undis
turbed.
Our arrival at the highest navigable point of the
Patuca called for celebration. It was a long delayed
moment, of which we had despaired more than once.
Solemnly we brought out the brandy and the cigars that
had come with us, to our eternal credit, intact from
Tegucigalpa. It was an odd scene ; Nigel sitting on a
small wooden crate, I on a petrol drum. We smoked
a Corona each and drank old brandy from battered
tin mugs, a dreadful enough affront to any wine.
In the distance we could hear a chattering baboon,
and suddenly the shriek of a macaw. A big lizard,
saffron and emerald green, scuttled across the sand.
It was a moment of enormous satisfaction which
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WAMPU JUNCTION
indelibly and suddenly confirmed our preference for
civilization. The attractions of a lackadaisical and
carefree savage Indian life seemed all at once very
small*
In the evening, before it was dark, a big alligator slid
up from the water and lay heavily on the far side of the
camp. We had been sitting quietly, and he had
apparently just fed. After a few minutes his long upper
jaw rose into the air and a little bird flew into his mouth
to pick the pieces from between his teeth. Fascinated
we watched this improbable piece of co-operation.
The bird hopped from place to place, pecking im
pertinently, and the alligator lay still, green eyes
half-closed. But there was something so revolting
about an alligator at close quarters that we wanted
to drive it away ; perhaps because of the stories the
Zambus and Payas had told us of children eaten
alive, and the numbers of missing arms and legs
we had seen among them. The smell of musk, too,
which is characteristic of alligators, was strong and
nauseating.
It happened that at that moment Nigel was coiling a
stout rope, which we had once used for towing another
boat. He made a noose in the end of it, swung it
around his head, and dropped it neatly over the
alligator s erect jaw. For a minute there was pande
monium : the alligator whirled around in fury, pulling
Nigel forward and against one of the corner posts of the
camp. The awning came down with a run, covering
both of us. We were caught fast, ridiculously, under
a net of tarpaulin and posts, furiously kicking arms and
199
MOSQUITO COAST
legs about in an effort to get free. The cheese-cloth
mosquito-bars, which had been rolled up around the
edge of the tarpaulin, came unfurled and spread them
selves over the rest of the confusion. It was a fantastic
situation : we were entangled in a vortex of oilskin and
cheese-cloth, holding fast to a rope which in turn was
firmly tied to the upper jaw of an alligator. To our
relief, however, the strain on the rope increased, and we
let it run out. When we had struggled out of the camp
it was still running out, foot after foot, and disappearing
into the muddy river. We disentangled ourselves too
late to catch the end ; but we saw it, the thirty-fifth
foot, sliding across the sand and slipping into the water.
Alligators are no braver on land than they are in the
water.
That night, very late, we had another visitor. I
woke up at about one o clock to see a pair of eyes, tiny
and close together, moving silently across the sandy
floor of the hut. There was full moonlight again, and
after a minute or so I could make out the shape of a
little animal almost within arm s length. It was
smaller than a full-grown cat, and had we not been in
the tropics I should have guessed that it was a squirrel.
It moved without noise, suspiciously and timidly.
With infinite care I worked myself up to a sitting
position and caught it suddenly by the scruff of the
neck. It kicked wildly and clawed the air, and let out
a shrill scream that woke Nigel and made him dive for
his revolver. We turned on an electric! torch and
examined it. It was, as I had thought, something like
a squirrel : later we discovered that it was called a
200
WAMPU JUNCTION
Pezoti. What it would be in English, or if it even has a
name, I do not know.
We put it in a large crate for the rest of the night
and provided it with various assorted foods so that we
might examine it in the light of day. For a while it
scratched and whimpered, then there was silence
and we fell asleep. In the morning the crate was
empty.
The next night it was back again, less timid ; we fed
it well and it retired again to the jungle, but for several
more nights it visited us for a meal, always arriving
rather inopportunely at about one in the morning.
We gave it scraps of anything ; meat and fruit and even
hard biscuits, all of which seemed equally well accepted.
Before we broke camp it was quite tame and lived
happily with us, eating our food and sleeping by the
fire.
The Pezoti was obviously a tree-dweller, for it had
prehensile toes and could jump to an extraordinary
height. It had a long thick tail, rather after the style
of a kangaroo ; but as far as we could see this served no
similarly useful purpose. When we came down-river
again it followed us faithfully, travelling contentedly in
the boat. Only when we reached Brauvila creek did
it leave us again for the jungle.
Those days at the Wampu camp were pleasant. We
had no violent work, we were comfortable, and there
was a feeling of satisfaction at having reached the place
at all. It was without much enthusiasm that we made
plans for going on overland into the mountains. Hie
20 1
MOSQUITO COAST
river was temperamental and cantankerous, but we had
mastered it ; the dangers and difficulties of the jungle
were largely unknown. We toyed idly for a while with
the idea of following the rocky bed of the Wampu up to
its source, but the idea was impracticable, for it meant
going all the way on foot, and in any case we had
already arranged to meet Robert Trapp farther down
the river with our fresh supplies, so as to make a portage
across from Brauvila to the Guarunta river, away to the
South-east of the Patuca.
The Honduran jungle according to native rumour is
plentifully stocked with small jaguars and large tiger-
cats, but we had so far seen neither. At night it was
possible every now and again to hear roars which one
could not connect with baboons or wild boar ; and
these, we assumed, came from some kind of four-footed,
animal. While we were at Wampu we made several
determined efforts to stalk them, without success. We
were much too noisy in scrambling through the jungle.
The roars were always in the distance ; and usually
came from any direction in which we had not been
going. But although we never managed to find any
Tigria there were other rewards in the jungle. We did
our hunting by night, when all the jungle is awake,
lighting our way with electric headlamps strapped to
our foreheads. The effect of those thin powerful beams
was incredible, for the moon had gone and each picked
out a neat yellow segment from the blackness of the
jungle. As we went along there were eyes shining from
the darkness on either side, fascinated and hypnotized
by the light, just as a bird is hypnotized by the eye of a
202
WAMPU JUNCTION
snake. We could clearly see them, glinting in green or
reddish pairs, but it was hard to tell what kind of
animal they belonged to. They stood transfixed until
we had passed, then there was a brief scuffling in the
leaves and they were gone.
The tracks of the Tigria were very plain and fresh
each day near the camp, and had we taken the trouble
it would not have been difficult to find them. Strug
gling through the thick tangle of undergrowth was
hardly worth while ; and at best they were poor
game, as we found later on near the Guarunta river.
There were plenty of deer, which we shot as we re
quired meat, and occasionally a wild boar. It was
not good sport, but it was easy to keep ourselves
alive.
Our plans for the next fortnight or so were vague,
nonchalantly left for decision when the time came.
We had a reasonable margin before our rendez-votis
with Robert Trapp, and in any case he could quite
well wait for us at Brauvila. The only factors that
governed the length of our stay at the Wampu junc
tion were the supply of ammunition, the necessity
for returning to England by the end of October,
and our inclination. Now that we had come so far it
seemed stupid not to push on for at least a little way
into the lands of the hill tribes to see what was to be
found.
To decide which direction to take was sumore difficult
problem. The river junction was surrounded, except
down the Patuca, by tall trees, and one could see
203
MOSQUITO COAST
nothing of the distant country and the mountains that
we knew lay to the west and north. Some of the trees
were not difficult to climb, so we waited till dark and
I climbed the tallest, to look for the glow of native fires
in the distance. There was nothing to be seen but the
dead black of the forest, and over it a mass of stars.
From the lie of the land I could see that the range of
the Col6n mountains lay farther to the north than was
shown on the map. I took a compass bearing, and in
the morning Nigel climbed the same tree by daylight
and checked it. The jungle was thicker by the river s
edge than inland, where it thinned out, and there
were frequent stretches of tall grass. If we struck
out towards the Colon mountains the worst part
of the going would be over in six or seven hours 5
travel.
On the following morning, at the crack of dawn, we
started inland on the compass bearing that we had
taken from the tall tree. We had built up the camp
with logs for protection, and had with us ammunition
and food for about four days.
After two hours it became hopeless. There was no
way of keeping to our course in a maze of foliage that
was so vast and eternally the same, and in places the
vegetation overhead was so thick as to make it quite
dark. At the present rate of progress we should never
reach the dear ground before nightfall, and for two of us
to sleep unprepared in the heart of the jungle without
equipment was unthinkable. With relief and regret
we made our way back on our tracks, following the
course of broken foliage and occasional blazings with-
204
WAMPU JUNCTION
out difficulty. Our shirts had already been torn to
shreds and our backs were bleeding. There was no
hope of getting through this jungle without cutting it
down.
205
Chapter Fourteen
VIGENTINOS
THE next day we tried the other alternative ; to
go up the rocky bed of the Wampu, well out of
our course, until easier country was reached, and then
to double back right-handed towards the mountain
range, where it seemed most likely that tribes were to
be found. Certainly there were none in this kind of
jungle.
Paddling barefooted up the river was easy and even
pleasant, a rather idyllic journey in which we lazed
along without having to think of problems more com
plicated than stubbing our toes against the rocks. It
was far too shallow for alligators or fresh-water sharks,
and seemed to be the one continuous and considerable
patch of Mosquitia in which there lurked no kind of
poisonous denizen at all. We splashed along in silence,
collecting scattered thoughts and keeping cool in the
tepid muddy water. It was the most comfortable
travelling we had yet done. There was a pleasant iso
lation from the hot vastness of the jungle. We dragged
on automatically, without thinking or feeling very
much.
It was essential to get through this part of the journey
before dusk, so we went on steadily without stopping to
eat, gnawing cold turkey as we walked. For several
206
VIGENTINOS
hours the jungle that walled us in on either side showed
no sign of growing thinner. Fortunately the Wampu
was straighter than most of the rivers in Mosquitia, so
that although it led us in a direction that was far from
our objective, it did not do so with the devious circum-
ambulations of the Patuca.
By about four o clock that afternoon we were clear :
the jungle broke suddenly into tall undergrowth, then
into long savanna grass that stood a foot or more above
our heads. For the first time that day we felt the full
heat of the sun. In the shade of a tree we stopped to
reconnoitre and to compare our compass bearings with
the course of the river. It was hard to guess how far
we had come.
Until nearly dusk we pushed on again, beating the
grass down laboriously. The ideal instrument for this
is the Honduran machete, a long flat knife with a wooden
handle, but unfortunately we had none with us now.
The grass was tough and springy, and most of it was
sharp enough to tear through our shirts. Finally we
reached a clearing, a rough patch of barren rocky soil
where no grass grew. We threw our things down in
discouraged relief ; this was much harder than we had
anticipated, and it looked rather as if we should be
forced to return without finding anything of interest in
the high land. We were particularly anxious to find
the tribes of this area, because they are almost pure
Indian, and the overwhelming power of the Negro
blood has not yet reached them. That was what we
had learned from M tsamu and Tzocal. Here, if any
where, was the untainted ancient stock.
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MOSQUITO COAST
The first part of the night was stagnant and hot.
There was not a breath of moving air, and it seemed
as if our clearing was sealed tight by the tall grass
around us. We were enclosed in a small circular space,
an insignificant little patch in the vastness of the jungle.
Before midnight a serious calamity occurred : without
warning the sluices of heaven opened and poured down
upon us a torrent of heavy sheeting rain. We were
soaked through before we had time to realize what was
happening, and for the first few moments it was a cool
relief from the sultry heat of the night. This kind of
rain, however, was likely to last till dawn, and there
was little we could do to protect ourselves. With our
waterproof sheets we did our best, and spent the rest
of the night in a squelching semi-bog. It was at least
cool and with heavy rain falling our mosquito-nets were
no longer necessary.
As we had expected, the sky cleared at dawn and the
torrent stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The
parched ground underfoot drank the water at once,
and by noon was again crumbling and dusty. The
jungle remained sodden and dripping all day. A slight
breeze sprang up and brought with it a faint smell of
musk from the river. We sat on the ground despond
ently, unable to decide what to do. Gutting through
this grass without proper instruments was agony ; and
there was no telling how much farther we should have
to go. Also the question of a fresh supply of water was
becoming important.
It was while we were still sitting there in a fit of
sudden depression that the extraordinary thing hap-
208
VIGENTINOS
pened. There appeared at the edge of the grass, with
out any audible warning of approach, two small men.
They were almost the colour of a sun-tanned white man,
but their faces were fiat, with blank sloe-shaped eyes,
and they had the characteristically straight blue-black
hair of the Indian. Nigel and I were taken so much
off our guard that we did nothing but return their
wooden stare. It was the last thing we had expected
to happen while we were still so far from the moun
tains. Finally we stood up and greeted them with the
Indian * NaksaaS At once they knelt down, still with
out any sign of expression on their faces and returned
our greeting, * Naksaa, naksaa. 9
Many hours later we reached their village, a large
Vicentino settlement in the foothills of the Colon range.
Again we had to start afresh on the language problem,
for they understood very few of the phrases we had
picked up among the other tribes. We discovered, and
I take the risk of general incredulity when I say this,
that the Vicentinos knew we were on our way towards
their territory. I do not know how they knew, any
more than I know how they were able to locate us in
the jungle, in a tiny clearing which we had reached only
by chance. Our course since leaving the Wampu had
been purely arbitrary, and there was no question of fol
lowing a trail. When we understood that they were
asking us to go to their village, we went gladly, walking
easily in the path which they cleared for us.
The Vicentino village was larger, cleaner and better
built than those of the river folk. It stood on rocky
209 P
MOSQUITO COAST
ground, substantial and well spread out. From the
first moment the Vicentinos seemed superior to Zambus
and Payas. As we came into the neat circle of houses
they ran up to us and gathered around, curious but dig
nified. They were little men, not up to our shoulders,
but they were quick and agile, and seemed to have
escaped some of the apathetic indolence of Mosquitia.
The climate in which they lived was better, since it
was nearer the hills ; and they had not yet been con
taminated with the sluggishness of Negro blood. In that
first moment as we stood by their village it was impos
sible to see any of the signs of mixed race that were so
obvious among the Zambus. Their lips were fine and
tightly drawn, and every head of hair was jet black and
straight. The menfolk had gathered together to face
us in a body. If we had been unaccustomed to Indians
they would have appeared hostile, but we had long
since learnt that their wooden expressions meant no
thing. Some boys ran out from the crowd and took
our packs from us. Without fuss or even conversation
we were ushered into the circle, then to a hut that
stood on the far side.
This reception was as surprising to us as had been
the silent appearance of the messengers. It was hard
to tell whether the matter-of-fact way in which we were
accepted was due to their inscrutable reserve or to pre
vious familiarity with white people. After our arrival
at the village there was almost complete silence occa
sionally a curt syllable or two, but no excitement and
no voices raised above a half-whisper. This funereal
air of mystery was disconcerting, for it was the last
210
VIGENTINOS
thing we had expected and it was so vastly different
from anything we had found among the other tribes.
Once in the hut, we were alone. Our guides went
away, lowering a curtain of dead palm leaves across the
entrance. In one corner lay our things which the boys
had brought across. We stood in the middle of the
earthen floor and stared at each other. Did the next
move lie with us or with them ? It was nearly dark
and in the middle of the village circle we could see a
smouldering smoky fire. Around it moved four or five
Indians, silently feeding it and fanning the embers.
After a while one of the men who had found us in
the early morning came back. He talked for some
time, with gesticulations, but we understood nothing of
what he said. We made simple gestures to show him
that we were both hungry and thirsty, which he appar
ently knew already, for before he had left us there
arrived two young girls with food ; turkey and venison,
with avocado pears, and some calabashes of lime-juice
and water. Apparently we were to eat alone. By this
time it was quite dark, and we could see the man s face
only by the light of the village fire, flickering red
through the palm-leaf curtain of the hut. We sat on
the ground and ate our meal while he stood watching
us, silent and almost without moving. When we were
done he went off for good and before long the village
was silent but for the crackling of the fire.
We slept uneasily that night. Too many surprises
had been crowded upon us during the last twelve hours
to let us rest, weary as we were. Again we had been
incredibly lucky in finding the Vicentinos ; but their
211
MOSQUITO COAST
reception puzzled us considerably. It was impossible
even to guess at what was in their minds.
In the morning our friend was back again, rather
earlier than we should have liked. Behind him came
another man, and both were carrying a number of
assorted articles a pair of boar s tusks on a grass lan
yard, a snakeskin bracelet, and a quantity of fruit and
meat. There was no mistaking their intention : these
were presents for us. Gratefully and with a great deal
of fuss we thanked them. Now we were in a predica
ment, because we had nothing much to give them, and
among the Mosquito Indians presents are very firmly
expected as well as being freely given. I went over and
looked, without much hope, through our ragged pos
sessions. Two spare shirts, some boxes of ammunition,
a camera, two compasses, some rope, a tooth-brush each
and a few odds and ends nothing impressive and no
thing we could easily do without. A second look, how
ever, brought inspiration : we had a spare sheath knife,
in addition to those on our belts. This was an ideal
gift, and the chances of our both losing our own knives
and needing the spare one on the return journey were
very slender. With ceremony I bowed and handed
over the knife, together with a length of rope and two
boxes of matches. He took them silently as his due,
without surprise, mumbling incomprehensible thanks,
and went out again. From the doorway we saw that
our presents had been too much for him ; they had
completely broken down his Indian reserve. Dancing
across the village circle he struck matches right and left
212
I
s
o
O
O
o
VIGENTINOS
(he had seen us using them before), throwing them in
the air and shouting. The rope he wound tightly
around his middle like a wide belt, and into the top
of it was stuck the knife. Our presents were obviously
a great success.
When he reached the open a crowd gathered around
to question him and to finger the things we had given
him. Under the stress of this sudden excitement a few
voices were raised, but only momentarily and with a
rather self-conscious note. Most of the men and all the
women merely stood, firmly planted on bare feet, star
ing and wondering. With wooden eyes they looked at
these things that were beyond their understanding, then
at the door of our hut, then slowly back again. Strange
thoughts were turned over, ponderously, in their simple
minds. We had shaken them suddenly from their com
fortable apathy.
From then on our work with the Vicentinos was much
easier. The wonders they had seen destroyed rather
than increased their suspicion of us. Soon the strange
atmosphere of mysterious silence that had impressed us
the day before began to disappear. We found that they
created an air of sinister wisdom, like some of our elder
statesmen, by virtue only of profound and uncompro
mising silence. It had nothing behind it, and when
they dropped it they were as simple and frank as the
Payas.
The Vicentinos were more lively than the river folk,
but their energies were directed to more or less the same
ends ; picking enough fruit to live on, brewing CMcha,
occasionally building a house, frequently celebrating.
213
MOSQUITO COAST
They had the same fatalistic and rather cynical out
look, and gave the impression that they did not really
believe in the complicated theology of good gods and
bad gods, but accepted it through laziness and because
it afforded numerous opportunities for celebration. In
their ordinary life there was nothing of importance to
distinguish them from the river tribes ; they were
smaller and whiter, and their houses were better built
and cleaner. Apart from that, they had no more initia
tive. There was no sign of any creative instinct ; no
music, no pottery, jio wood carving.
We had considerably more difficulty with the lan
guage question than we had previously found. The
Vicentinos, when they found it necessary to talk at all,
did so at an enormous speed, pouring out a staccato
jumble of clicking consonants with no vowel sounds at
all. They were more intelligent than the Zambus and
picked up our sign language very quickly ; but they
did not understand our Zambu phrases, so we had no
common ground upon which to start. In the space of
a few days it was impossible to find out much of their
mentality, and to discover, as we wanted, the difference
made by the purity of their blood. The best we could
do was to live with them and watch, and then to deduce
what we could from their habits.
There was no leader to correspond to M tsamu and
Tzocal, no central patriarch who ruled the village. We
asked our guide for the Suquia, which pleased him enor
mously ; he pointed to his own chest with a grin, re
peating, c Suquia, Suquia. Later he introduced us to
two other youngish men, also Suquia ; there were three
214
VICENTINOS
in the village. It struck us then, for the first time, that
there were no old men among the Vicentinos. We had
seen no bald heads, no white hair, and the medicine
men were young. It is hard to judge the age of an
Indian, but certainly there was no man or woman over
fifty in that village. Correspondingly there was an
abundance of children, swarming everywhere and roll
ing naked in the sand.
The Vicentinos rarely leave the hill country. The
climate is better, there are fewer mosquitoes, and there
is a vague feeling among them that their gods are gods
of the hills but not of the valleys. They mistrust the
lowlands and have little use for those who live there.
It had been a considerable effort for two of them to
find us in the savanna, where they must have felt un
safe and ill at ease. For that reason we were curious
to know why they had gone out of their way to find us
and invite us to the village. This we managed to ex
plain, after much complicated gesticulation. Our orig
inal guide (whose name I cannot begin to put down)
told us that it was c not good 3 to stay down below the
level of the hills, so we had been brought up to the vil
lage, largely for our own health. Nothing concrete was
forthcoming about the perils of the vaEey ; it was just
very bad.
On the third day of our stay among the Vicentinos
two men came from a neighbouring village, some ten
or twelve hours* travel inland. They were received as
we had been, hospitably but with sedate silence. The
hut in which we slept was always reserved for a
215
MOSQUITO COAST
guest-house, but the Vicentinos did not think it
proper to put the new arrivals in with us, so they
were crowded into another hut, a large private one
near our own.
The days in that village were disappointing. We had
been badly spoiled, lower dowii the river, by our good
fortune. Not only had we found Zambus and Payas
without difficulty, but we had struck times, in each case,
at which something out of the ordinary was in the air.
Now among the Vicentinos there was nothing ; they
lived from day to day, without thought or action. We
had found them a little more intelligent than the darker
tribes, but they were no more active or virile. The end
less sequence of their existence dragged on, without
event, in timeless confusion. Our first impressions of
them as sinister and slightly hostile folk were badly
wrong ; they were too lazy to be either.
There were, however, a few things that stood out in
contrast to the other tribes. Some of the differences
we noticed at once, but many of them only came to
us later as we cast our minds back, from a sane dis
tance, to those crowded days. Most immediately strik
ing was the fact that they wore clothes. Men and
women of the Payas and Zambus went naked -at all
times, and the idea of clothing seemed almost unknown.
The Vicentinos were not by any means personally
modest, according to our standards, but grown men
and women both wore a sort of short skirt, half kilt
and half loin-cloth. Where the difference in custom
arose among kindred tribes in an enclosed territory,
I do not know. One got the impression that the Vicen-
216
VICENTINOS
tinos wore their brief garments for comfort rather than
modesty, so perhaps it came from some physical and
climatical cause rather than any radical difference in
point of view.
The Vicentinos led a life that was as nearly savage
as one can imagine. They lived in huts and not caves,
but this was from convenience rather than progress.
There was no family organization, no system of tribal
order at all. Centuries ago they must have been the
same. Necessity has not driven them forward, for all
over Mosquitia life is free, and isolation from the out
side world has prevented progress from reaching them.
They live an easy carefree life in a tropical Eden ; and
they are extremely happy.
After four days we left them, striking a line well to
the eastward so that if we were wrong in the calcula
tion of our position we should eventually reach the
Patuca, and not travel on endlessly towards Nicaragua.
The two guides who had brought us to the village
showed considerable reluctance at the idea of going
with us into the valley, so we did not press them. From
tall trees near the village it was easy to see down to the
plain, and we knew fairly accurately where we were.
In the very early morning while it was still cool and
long shadows lay across the ground, we started off,
carrying a large supply of meat and fruit. The Vicen
tinos gathered around us, still silent, and bade us fare
well. They stood watching us until we were out of
sight.
The return journey to our Patuca camp was much
easier than we had thought it would be, partly because
217
MOSQUITO COAST
we were fresh, partly because it was now cooler, but
mostly because we had learnt the technique of travel
ling through tall grass without bending double, which
is the natural but very tiring position to adopt. There
were more snakes here than in the jungle, but our legs
were well protected. Every now and again there was
a hiss, a rustling in the grass, and perhaps a lightning
quick ripple of warning colour. I never got over an
intense and unreasonable loathing for snakes, and never
failed to be very startled when I saw one underfoot.
They filled us both with the instinctive revulsion that
we had felt at the sight of the alligator lying near our
camp, a revulsion perhaps partly of smell. The snake
smell, not so strong as the alligator s musk but more
offensive, was everywhere in that long stretch of grass.
Fortunately they stayed on the ground.
We reached the Patuca the next morning, well before
midday, and from the fact that it was already very
narrow we knew that our course had not been far
wrong. We turned right-handed and followed the
river, walking on the long sand-banks whenever it was
possible. Once we cut across the jungle for a short dis
tance when the river made a very long bend ; then
after another hour we were back at the Wampu
junction.
It was a relief to be back, and to find that our stores
had not been moved. We had half-buried them in
sand, to protect them from baboons and alligators, and
all around the camp were tracks which told us how wise
this had been. We set about digging the camp free,
218
VIGENTINOS
so as to be able to start downstream again the follow
ing morning. In the jungle nearest to us a chorus of
parrots had collected. They screamed at us in fury as
we dug. An iguana, as ugly as sin, waddled down to
the sand and watched us from malevolent eyes, flicking
its harmless forked tongue.
Our digression into the Colon mountains had been a
disappointment, but at the same time it had been worth
the trouble, if only to stop ourselves regretting a lost
opportunity for years to come. What we had found
among the Vicentinos dashed our hopes of finding any
thing tangible in the way of ancient Indian civilization,
for obviously they were closest by blood to the pure
Indian stock ; but as obviously they were already apa
thetic and in decay. They were as close to a vegetable
existence as the Payas. It was possible that higher up
in the mountains were more interesting tribes, but it
was out of the question for us to go farther with our
depleted supplies. Getting back to our rendez-vous with
Robert Trapp was to be difficult enough ; fcur ammu
nition was almost gone and upon it depended the im
portant part of our daily diet.
That night we were woken up by the Pezoti, which
had been left behind during our time with the Vicen
tinos. It came in as before, silently creeping about
the floor in search of food. We gave it all sorts of foods
which it refused. After a few minutes it curled up by
the fire to sleep. In the morning it was still there, sit
ting on its long haunches and watching us.
At dawn we took the boat and examined its bottom,
219
MOSQUITO COAST
then floated it and loaded our things. The Pezoti of
its own accord jumped into the boat. We pushed off
the sand, jumped in, and let the current carry us lazily
downstream.
220
Chapter Fifteen
GUARUNTA
"\"Y"7"E drifted down the Patuca for endless hot lazy
W days, a journey that was a luxury cruise in com
parison to the fight we had had to reach the Wampu
junction. The river ran at about four miles an hour, so
there was no need to do more than steer the boat to
avoid rocks and shoals* On the way up we had steered
with a paddle over the stern ; but now that steering was
our main concern we made a rudder and mounted it on
a post with the hinges from Nigel s sextant case.
Every now and then we ran aground with a thud, or
crashed into a patch of rocks that lay hidden under the
muddy surface of the water, but the pip&do was
enormously strong and never even sprang a leak.
Sometimes a whirlpool of red water caught us, and we
drifted alarmingly broadside on and then stern first,
twisting around in the current ; but most of the way
the Patuca lay in long bends, powerful but smooth.
The water was much lower than when we had come
up, leaving a jagged line of corrosion along the
banks.
There was very little for us to do besides watch the
river and keep an eye on the jungle in case there were
unexpected signs of life. Ammunition was now far too
scarce to waste, so we could not even amuse ourselves
221
MOSQUITO COAST
by shooting at alligators. We spent much time in
sketching and a good deal more in another abortive
attempt to map the extraordinary course of the Patuca.
Our maps of the river were never a success.
Since we did not have to stand up to pole the boat it
was easy to shelter ourselves from the sun. We made
an awning from the tarpaulin from Wampu camp and
lay idly in the shade, trailing hands and feet in the
water and watching the heat haze shimmering up from
the land. The sun was as fierce as it had been before,
but there was more wind. For most of the way down
stream a gentle breeze blew up from the seaward,
bringing a fresh tang that killed the sickening smell of
musk lingering along the river banks. In very hot
weather, and when no rain has fallen, the dank and
almost foetid odour of the jungle rises in powerful waves.
It is a strange mixture ; decaying vegetation, stag
nant water, snakes, monkeys, and usually rotting flesh
and bones. Together these make a powerful character
istic jungle smell that one cannot forget.
On the way down the river seemed quite different,
and it was hard to recognize places that we had
laboriously passed a fortnight before, partly because we
had been too busy to pay much attention, and partly
because there were few landmarks to distinguish the
long even curves of the river. It seemed endless and
eternally the same.
Nothing of real interest stood out in those days. We
had to make an effort to find something to do, when
day after day of slow drifting became tiresome. We
made continual maps, took photographs, and every few
222
GUARUNTA
days one of us would have an energetic spell of diary-
writing. But even our own efforts were half-hearted
and listless. Nothing held our attention for long
enough to be worth doing. We were badly infected
with the tropical inertia of the Mosquito Coast, and
had the current not carried us we might have spent
years in collecting enough energy to reach the Lagoons
again. Like lotus-eaters we drifted on without the
strength even to think.
Robert Trapp had been waiting at Brauvila for very
nearly a fortnight, and when we arrived he had been
on the point of following us up the river, thinking that
something must have happened. He was not ill
pleased at having to wait, for he had spent his time in
hunting alligators. A large and very strongly smelling
pile of skins stood outside the shack. He was less
pleased, however, at the sight of one boat returning
when we had left with four. They were mostly his
boats. He stared at us severely over his gold-rimmed
spectacles.
Trapp had brought two large canoes full of fresh
supplies for us food and ammunition with three
Zambu boys from Brewer s Lagoon, who had since
gone back in one canoe leaving tie other for him. He
took us proudly to the hut and showed us the pile of
things he had brought. There was flour and rice,
sugar, salt and coffee ; tinned milk and even butter,
and a lot of quinine. In a separate pile, in neat
packages, was the ammunition. He probably had
great trouble in protecting it lower down the river, for
223
MOSQUITO COAST
the Honduran Government is very strict about import
ing ammunition into Mosquitia. For the people who
live there it is hard to get and expensive, and here we
had a supply probably amounting to more than all the
rest of the ammunition in the territory. It had been
sent by air from the capital to La Ceiba, from there to
the Lagoon by schooner, and now it had been labori
ously brought up the Patuca by Robert Trapp. I
picked up a large square package that was covered
with oilskin wrapping. It was so heavy that I thought
it must be -38 revolver ammunition. Nigel had two
cartridges left in his belt and I had only one, so I tore
away the wrapping to get out a fresh supply before we
forgot. The oilskin came away easily, then there was
a layer of heavy cartridge paper and wire, and finally
two thicknesses of brown paper done up with stout
cord. At last the covering was off.
I could not believe my eyes ; instead of neat boxes
there were books, a large pile of enormous fat volumes.
Incredulously I picked them up. Salmond on the Law
of Torts, by W. T. S. Stallybrass ; The Institutes of
Justinian ; Cheshire s Modern Real Property ; and so on.
We looked at each other without a word. There was
no adequate remark to make. Instead of valuable
ammunition we had been sent law books, as unsuitable
a form of literature for the banks of the Patuca river as
one can well imagine. Frantically we searched the
rest of the cases. There were plenty of shot-gun shells,
a box (for some reason) of signal rockets, and finally,
at the very bottom, a small box of -38 bullets. It was a
relief to find them, but there were very few, and we
224
GUARUNTA
were disappointed that the first case had not been full
of them.
In fury we turned to the books* There was no sense
in keeping them, a useless dead weight, if we were going
across country to the Guarunta. Disgustedly we hurled
them into the river. They floated clumsily down
stream, and before they were far from us we saw a
ripple on the water and an alligator s jaws snapping at
the Law of Torts. He must have been as disappointed
as we were. As Justinian floated away Nigel in a fit of
spite put a bullet through it. Cheshire ran aground on
some rocks, where it remained in safety to mock us for
several days. The others were whirled away by the
current, to find their way into the Lagoons or possibly
out to sea. They must have proved a source of
enormous enlightenment to the Zambus. Robert
Trapp watched us with delight, pleased at the sight of
people who apparently shared his own opinion of books.
It took us a long time to find out how those books had
reached us. At die end of the summer term in Oxford
I had ordered them from BlackwelPs ; they had fol
lowed me to Tegucigalpa, where someone had put
them on an aeroplane going to La Geiba ; and from
there they had made their dogged legal way into the
middle of Mosquitia by schooner and canoe. There
is no getting away from the law.
Now that we were back at Trapp s rendezvous it was
forcibly brought home to us that our plans were extra
ordinarily inadequate and inefficient. We had the
idea of striking off towards the Guarunta by way of a
longish creek, which we had heard led to within a very
225 ft
MOSQUITO COAST
short distance of that river. But no one knew where
this creek led into the Patuca, no one knew how
deep it was, and most important of all no one knew
where it actually went. The journey was going to
depend on a succession of rather precarious chances.
Robert Trapp was of no help, for his opinion from the
start had been, simply, that we were mad. As a matter
of policy he immediately advised against any plan that
either of us suggested. And it was to be clearly under
stood, he pointed out, that he was going back to the
coast by the only sane way down the Patuca.
We rested for two days and nights at Brauvila,
arranging stores and giving back to Robert the things
we did not need. After that we made two short
journeys up and down the river to find the exact
position of the creek that was most likely to lead to the
Guarunta. Our maps were useless ; even the course
of the Patuca, as far as it was charted, was wildly wrong.
Finally we found the creek. It was a narrow rocky
mouth, very much overgrown, and it did not give the
impression of bring likely to lead to anything better
than a small stagnant swamp. We pushed the boat
along it for an hour or so and found that it grew no
worse ; so we drifted back to the camp for the supplies
and decided to risk wasting time in following it to the
end.
Before we left Brauvila there arrived a Zambu canoe,
furiously paddled by a solitary black boy. He was one
of those who had been with us many weeks earlier,
when we were at the Lagoon. Now he had heard from
Robert Trapp s friends on Gannon Island that we were
226
GUARUNTA
going across country towards Caratasca Lagoon, and
he wanted to go with us. Since we were limited to one
boat only I thought that he would be more of a
nuisance than a help, but Trapp had taught him a little
Belize .Rngjlfehj and advised us to take the boy as an
interpreter. There are a great many Zambu villages
between the rivers, and we might need porters to get
across country. As he was so pathetically eager to
come we finally took him. There was no way we could
discover of either remembering or pronouncing his
Zambu name, so with singularly litde originality we
called him John. He was delighted and repeated the
name tinder his breath, with varying intonations, for
nearly twenty-four hours.
At an early dawn we left Brauvila, all three of us
paddling hard. John paddled from the bow, chattering
incessantly in Zambu dialect, occasionally bursting
into song. The creek was deeper than it looked, so we
did not run aground, and after an hour s work it
became wider still. It looked rather as if there had at
some time been a lake here. The farther we went from
the Patuca the wider it grew.
This state of things was too good to last, as we knew,
for there could be no reason for a continual increase in
width as one drew away from the direction of flow.
By midday we had reached the middle of the lake-bed,
and after that it grew rapidly narrower again till our
progress was far more difficult than it had been at the
start. In the wide part of the creek there was an
enormous quantity of game, but we had brought no
thing but our revolvers. Several times in an hour
227
MOSQUITO COAST
coveys of wild duck beat across the clearing in front of
us and there were turkeys everywhere in the jungle
flanking the creek.
The next part was dreadful, but no more so than we
had expected. For five hours we went through an
infuriating cycle of running aground, hitting rocks, and
catching ourselves in the vines and lianas that hung
down in a thick curtain overhead. In places it was
almost dark, giving the impression that we were travel
ling through some underground tunnel. But all the
rivers of hell could not be as maddening as this
Honduran creek ; and we had no idea what lay at the
end of it. We struggled on blindly, sweating and
losing what ragged patches of temper we still had.
From time to time there were colonies of horse-flies, fat
black and yellow things with the sting of a red-hot
needle. They were slow and one could kill them by the
dozen ; but it was a waste of time. For every one
killed there were a hundred more to come. We
smoked furiously at native cigars till we were nearly ill.
Clouds of heavy greenish smoke hung over our heads
like poison gas, obscuring what dim light managed to
make its way through the vegetation.
Well before dark we stopped to prepare for the night,
although we were still in the thickest tangle of the
jungle. There was no sign of a clearing and we were
very tired. To keep the mosquitoes away seemed far
more important than reaching the other river.
The night was better than we expected. Our
mosquito-nets were sound, there was no sign of life on
the bank, and in the flat bottom of the boat there was
228
GUARUNTA
plenty of room for us to lie down. It was infinitely
more comfortable than some of the nights we had spent
in mid-stream, on the way up the Patuca.
For all the next day it was the same, a constant fight
to get along at all. The current was against us, it was
infernally hot, and frequently we had to cut through the
trailing vines and roots that blocked the creek in
grotesque entanglements* We were worn out and
ragged with exertion.
On the morning after that we gave it up. Hitherto
it had been difficult enough, but now suddenly there
were enormous rocks and boulders strewn in the creek,
making further travel by water quite impossible. We
dragged the boat up into the edge of the jungle.
The question was now to fix a course across country
which would ultimately bring us to the Guarunta or one
of its tributaries. Neither of us had any idea of the
direction we had taken in following the creek, so we
decided to take a line much farther to the east than
would probably be necessary. It was obviously pre
ferable to prolong the temporary unpleasantness of
travelling overland rather than take the chance of
rrmsrng even the headwaters of the Guarunta and
wandering for ever on into the jungle,
We asked John what he thought about it and he
answered at great length. At first we did not under
stand what he said, but when he repeated it we realized
how idiotic we had been not to think of it before.
Robert Trapp had said there were Zambus in this
229
MOSQUITO COAST
country, living in dozens of villages scattered near the
rivers and creeks. John now proposed to find a
Zambu tribe, to ask the direction of the Guarunta, and
if possible to get them to help with the portage. It was
not likely, we thought, to be more than ten or twelve
miles to the next water.
John ran off into the jungle, making his way effort
lessly through it in the native fashion. We had no idea
how he was to set about finding a village : but he was
confident, and they were his people.
Nigel and I settled down in the shade to wait for him.
There was nothing we could do ; and if he was un
successful it was doubtful whether we should be able to
go on alone. We had expected to find savanna grass
before having to leave the river, and we were equipped
with machetes to cut it down. But the thickness of the
jungle itself was too much for us. Neither of us was
experienced, and it was too difficult to keep a straight
course. Everything depended now upon John s success
with the Zambus.
Before he came back it was late afternoon and Nigel
and I had each slept for three hours in the shade of the
pifxmto.
In the distant jungle we heard chattering and laugh
ing and the heavy rustling of undergrowth. John had
evidently found Zambus and was on his way back.
After a few minutes he appeared, beaming and radiant
with pride. Behind him came the Zambus twelve
strapping women, jet black and as naked as the day
they were born. They gathered around us in a
GUARUNTA
friendly noisy circle, staring and shrieking remarks to
each other, Zambus always seem to talk at the top of
their voices. This was not exactly what we had ex
pected, but there was no reason why women should not
carry for us as efficiently as men. Most of them were
bigger and stronger. They sat down on the sandy
ground and we had lunch Nigel and I, John, and
the twelve black women. After everyone had eaten
enough, which took a long time, we set about talking
business. They would carry for us, cut through the
grass and lead us to the Guarunta ; and in return we
would give them a quantity of bar salt. John trans
acted the business with surprising intelligence. We
passed cigarettes around and sat in silence listening to
the Zambu chatter. Most of the women talked at once
and very few listened to anything that was said. Their
thick lips were never still, for our presence had worked
them up into a fine state of curiosity and excitement.
The noise they made effectively drowned all the animal
sounds of the jungle.
Before dark the women went away again, back to
their people ; they were to return to us at dawn, and
we would start at once for the Guarunta. The jungle
seemed suddenly very quiet and peaceful.
The idea of starting at dawn was unduly optimistic.
The women did not arrive till after seven, and it was
nearly a full hour after that before they had organized
themselves and had stopped talking enough to make a
start possible. We set oS with a great flourish. The
six women in front had machetes with which they cut
down the sharp grass ; following them four more
231
MOSQUITO COAST
carried the boat, and the supplies were divided between
the other two women and ourselves. John came last,
carrying nothing but the Pa&ti, which had transferred
its loyalty to him*
I do not think that there can ever have been such a
noisy expedition anywhere in the world. After several
hours Nigel and I were sweating and panting, but the
women pushed on without a pause, shouting and laugh
ing all the time. A bank-holiday excursion to Black
pool would have been funereal compared to this riotous
party, crashing nonchalantly through the jungle. We
had no idea what most of the laughter was about, but it
was infectious, and the sight of those twelve fat black
women sent us into fits of laughter too. We laughed at
them and they laughed at us. It was a mad day.
At about midday we stopped to rest and to have an
enormous meal. It was too much trouble to cook any
thing, so we ate fruit and tinned foods. Eating was the
one thing that seemed successful in keeping the Zambu
women quiet. After lunch we all smoked native cigars
to keep the flies away.
Before nightfall we struck water, a narrow rocky
brook running away from us, and with relief we fol
lowed it till it grew wide enough to float the boat.
With considerably more relief we paid off the women,
who were by this time almost hysterical, and they made
their way back into the jungle.
The next morning we started to drift down the
stream. It flowed slowly, far more sluggishly than the
tributaries of the Patuca, but there were less rocks.
232
GUARUNTA
The whole character of the country was changing ;
where the Patuca bed had been of sand and great rocks,
here was nothing but black mud, thick and treacherous.
When we had to step overboard to push the pipanto off
a shoal, our feet sank, squelchingly, into evil-smelling
slime. The jungle, too, was changing. Somehow it
seemed more poisonous, more stagnantly fertile. The
rocky clearings and stretches of sand that we had found
in the Patuca jungle were gone ; now there was nothing
but a solid mass erf* grotesque vegetation, vivid green
and black. It was so thick that everything lay damp
and dripping, rarely touched by the sun. We hurried
on, anxious to reach the main river and more open
ground. An odour of decay hung faintly in the
hot air.
The evening found us depressed and a little dis
couraged. We were travelling at a fair speed, consider
ing the conditions, but there was an unhealthy atmo
sphere in the jungle that made us wish we had stuck to
the Patuca. Just before we stopped for the night we ran
under a cluster of thick tendrils that hung from the
overhanging trees. We had grown tired of watching
the jungle and our attention was relaxed. As the bow
of the boat passed under the long branches a cry came
from John, who had for some time been quite silent.
We looked up and saw a snake hanging downwards to
within a few feet of the boat. I fired quickly at it but
missed, and in a flash it was gone ; but in that brief
glimpse we had seen what it was a young boa-con
strictor. They are rare in Central America, and small
in comparison to those of Africa. Nevertheless it rather
233
MOSQUITO COAST
added to our low spirits. Although not really danger
ous it was revolting and seemed symbolical of the new
foetid jungle we had reached. We redoubled our efforts
to be clear of the place.
We spent another night in the creek, vainly trying to
shake off our sudden attack of gloom. John, accus
tomed as he was to the Mosquito jungle, was silent, and
stared about with preoccupied apprehensive eyes.
There were new noises here, added to the usual jungle
chorus, strange sounds we could not place. The black
edges of the forest seemed immensely close, vast walls
that enclosed us impenetrably. The air of tropical
gloom is hard to describe, for it came from a dozen
causes, erf sense and smell and sound. None of us slept
very much,
Very early in the morning we cast off and set to
paddling furiously downstream, eager to get away
from that indefinable atmosphere of poison and decay.
It was unreasonable ; the physical discomforts were
no worse than they had been in .other parts of the
jungle. But we had an instinctive urge, far stronger
than reason, that drove us to paddle on without a
stop.
By the time the sun was high overhead the creek was
wider and hot rays beat through the jungle upon us.
Until now we had always done our best to avoid the sun,
resting in the shade at noon and using considerable
ingenuity in erecting awnings. After the darkness of
the last days it was welcome. With the sun our spirits
rose and we came to life. Reaching the Guarunta and
Garatasca Lagoon became matters of excited interest
234
GUARUNTA
again, and we speculated foolishly about what we
should find.
At about half-past three, when we least expected it,
we heard the sound of water breaking around rocks, and
before long we were at the junction. Running across
our creek was a larger river, rocky and fast. At the
point where the waters met there was a rough whirl
pool of clear water. We had reached the Guarunta,
235
Chapter Sixteen
TOAGAS
TVTE very nearly overturned the boat at the junc-
W tion, where the converging currents ran strong
and fast. But it was only a forewarning of what was to
come lower down the river. There was no question of
paddling ; the stream took us lurchingly along, far
faster than was safe. It took all our combined efforts to
steer the boat and avoid the rocks. John fortunately
was an excellent waterman. He knew the best ways of
shooting rapids and he had had experience with
pipantos since he was born. At first the Guarunta
carried us on so fast that we had no time to clear away
the cobwebs of laziness that had grown over our minds
during the slow days of travel from the Patuca, and it
was only by chance that we did not lose the boat.
After that first shock we were more alert, watching
every ripple on the water and sitting the boat care
fully.
Again there was a sudden change in the jungle, so
vivid that it struck one immediately. The Guarunta
was heavily overgrown, like its tributaries ; but the
deadly atmosphere of tropical decay had vanished.
There was a new beauty in the foliage and in the
undergrowth that we had not seen on the Patuca.
Everywhere there was a riot of fantastic colour break-
236
TOAGAS
ing through the green background, and the water was
clear ; along the Patuca the banks were sombre, dark
hues of green and grey standing out solidly over dirty
red water. It seemed, too, that here there was more
animal life. Whenever one looked ashore there was
movement ; emerald-green lizards, parrots, iguanas,
cranes, and a Greek chorus of white-faced monkeys
swinging through the jungle. The forest was thicker,
if anything, but it gave an impression of healthy fer
tility, and cool breezes blew up from the sea. We shot
along with the current, doing what we could to hold
the boat back. To lose it or to stove in its bottom
would be disastrous. At times there were rapids too
swift to be taken in our stride, and we had to lower the
boat laboriously across them by means of ropes. Those
days of fast travel down the Guarunta were probably
the best we had during our time in Mosquitia. It was
easy, it was exciting, and we were successful in our
original plan. It was well worth the days of depression
and discouragement we had gone through in mating
our way across from the Patuca.
The nights were more difficult. Now the stream was
far too strong for us to sleep afloat in the boat, and it
was hard to find clear places on the river banks. We
made the best of it, usually stopping two hours or more
before dark ; but the first few nights were tod.
Luckily the exertion of keeping the boat on her course
down the river, dodging rocks all day and continually
keeping alert, made us tired, and we slept fairly soundly
under all sorts of conditions.
The course of the river was devious, never straight
237
MOSQUITO COAST
and always very rocky. Usually we could not see far
ahead, and occasionally the boat was whirled round
a sharp bend on to a patch of rocks.
Along both banks ran a wide band of corrosion,
where the water-level during the annual flood season
had eaten into the land, and in the damp honeycombs
of this lived enormous frogs and toads and great black
spiders. As we passed noisily they scuttled back into
the wet earth. On shore there was always plenty to
entertain us during the few spare moments in which
we could snatch our attention from the river. Those
were very full days.
On the third day, suddenly, we came upon another
boat. Rounding a bend in the river we narrowly
escaped running down a large cqyuka carrying four
Zambu men. In the boat was the carcase of a deer,
four turkeys and a handful of smaller birds. The
Zambus were laboriously poling and paddling up
stream, and the sight of our boat disconcerted them so
much that they lost control and the ccyttka swung
round, stern to the current. In wide-eyed astonish
ment they stared at us while John shrieked a Zambu
explanation. But it took some time to conquer their
alarm.
We must have been a dreadful sight ; neither Nigel
nor I had shaved for over a month now, and our
clothes were certainly not in keeping with whatever
ideas they might have of what white men s clothes
should be. Nigel had a very battered felt hat, which
upon more than one occasion had been used to
238
In the Colon Mountains
TOAGAS
filter our drinking water ; I had lost mine several
weeks before and since then had been wearing a
rather unorthodox cap made of large palm leaves.
Both of us were nearly black from the constant sun.
We must have made a very poor picture of white
men.
We went in to the shore and tied up close to their
boat. John asked where they lived. They pointed
upstream ; their village was just around the second
bend, and we must have passed close to it a few
minutes earlier. After giving this information to John
in dialect they looked at us and shrieked it out again
at the top of their voices, presumably to make it
easier for us to understand. They waved fists and
paddles upstream, pointing to us and pointing to
wards their village. We told John to tell them that
we would like to come up with them to see their
people. All four of them broke out, at once, into
radiant smiles. The Mosquito Indians were all
immediately hospitable.
We had thought that these river folk were Zambus,
like those of the lower Patuca, but John told us that
they were Secos. There was little outward difference.
Both tribes were very dark, well built and thick set ;
and both had about the same mixture of Negro and
Indian blood. Hie village stood a little way back in
the jungle, half-hidden by trees, and even had we BOt
been so busy at the time we shot past the place we might
have missed it*
The first thing we rfeotked in the Seco village was
that it was vastly superior to any we had seen before,
239
MOSQUITO COAST
It was solid and clean ; and instead of rough palm-
leaf huts they had tall gabled huts built upon piles of
great red mahogany. The forest all around the
Guarunta contains enormous mahogany stands, and it
is used for every purpose by the Indians.
We stepped ashore with presents of salt and tobacco.
From all over the village and from the jungle s edge
the Secos came running to meet us. They were not so
unaccustomed to foreigners as the other tribes, for
during the last decade several prospectors had been
seen, and recently timber-cruisers had made their way
across the Nicaraguan border in search of mahogany.
They greeted us with enthusiasm. Our time was run
ning very short and it was vital that we should reach
Caratasca Lagoon in time to meet Captain Macdonald.
If we were not there at the rendezvous when the Perla
del Mar reached the bar, he had warned us that he
could not afford to wait ; so we decided not to stay
with the Zambus. They seemed very disappointed,
but John explained as well as he could. It was really
quite beyond even him to understand why anyone
should be in a hurry at any time.
A day was all that it was really safe to spare. There
was no time for us to make elaborate comparisons
between Secos and Payas, or to investigate their family
organization. In any case we were very tired of asking
continual questions, and it was only as a matter of con
science that we had done so before. There seems to
me no reason why it is not just as rude to inquire into
intimate details in Mosquitia as it would be to do so
in London. Primitive Indians are proud and sensitive
240
TOAGAS
people, and to turn their country into a zoo was inex
cusable. Curiosity, too, seemed slightly invidious
when there were possibly twenty thousand of them and
only two of us. On several occasions when we had
been with the tribes along the Patuca we had moments
of uneasiness on account erf" our minority, when the flow
of curiosity and investigation seemed to be going the
wrong way* It was like a nightmare in which one is,
suddenly, a goldfish in a bowL Now we decided to
ask nothing, to live and behave as they did. This
policy was immediately successful. We were white,
they saw, and we came with strange things from far
away : but we sat and ate with them, a Zambu
travelled with us, and we showed no surprise at them.
They treated us as equals.
The Secos live low down, near the river and on the
edge of the great swampy coastal plane that follows the
line of the Caribbean. It is the edge of the banana
land, with well-watered sandy soil, and their main diet
is composed of bananas and the numberless different
kinds of rather tasteless plantains that grow among
them. There was considerably more initiative showing
here than up the river. The fruit was planted, instead
of growing wild. The Zambus sometimes pick fruit
that grows an hour s journey away from their village,
when there is perfect soil around them ; there is never
enough energy for anyone to undertake the enterprise
of planting.
An enormous meal was prepared when we arrived,
and special delicacies came from the huts and from the
jungle. The Secos had wooden platters and mugs erf
MOSQUITO COAST
mahogany. We sat under a canopy of broad leaves,
the Indians in a circle on each side of us. They
produced course after course : bananas and plan
tains, fried and boiled and baked ; bitter red berries
from the forest, and fresh turkey meat smothered in
fierce red pepper ; avocados, limes, and a succession
of pulpy vegetables we did not know. At first we
had been afraid that there would be Waboul and
Wauwen, the twin staples of Zambu cooking. They
are made from rotting bananas, after a number of
complicated and rather dirty processes. We had
faced them with great fortitude in M*tsarms village.
It could not be done again. Luckily the crisis did
not arise.
When the meal was over we passed cigarettes to the
Secos. They took them eagerly, for although it was
impossible for them to get a supply, a few of them had
SBQBoked cigarettes which had been given to them in the
pAst. IKhe reputation of white man s tobacco was
esooifoGs compared to the black leaves grown in
Mosqraria any European tobacco would have tasted
wooderfuL In spite of their excitement not one of the
Secos ever asked for anything from us ; begging was
apparently one of the things forbidden by the rigid rules
of Indian manners. When we left we gave them all
the Tegucigalpa cigars we could spare, with raw leaf
tobacco and Honduran cigarettes.
In the village there was one communal possession of
enormous worth, which distinguished the owners from
all other Secos. It was a very old -12 bore shot-gun^
with single action hammers and a thick coating of
242
TOAGAS
rust. They showed it to us with pride. It was inter
esting, they thought, and obviously very valuable ; but
unfortunately it was now twelve years since there had
been any ammunition. Since that time none of the
few stray arm-bearing folk who had been along the
Guarunta had happened to have suitable cartridges to
spare. I looked at the barrels. Once it had been a
fine gun, in the distant past. Now it was half-full of
rust and dirt, and some misadventure or piece of primi
tive engineering had caused a deflection of several
degrees in the middle of the barrels ; if it was fired it
would very soon explode* Reluctantly we regretted
that we had no -12 bore ammunition with us. Even
apart from the condition of the gun it would have been
a doubtful piece of kindness to give them ammunition.
We never fired a shot ourselves when we were with any
of the tribes. They were happy enough as they were,
safe and weaponless. There is nothing more immedi
ately and compellingly attractive to even a peaceful
primitive mind than a firearm.
We got on very well indeed with the Secos, perhaps
because they were a superior tribe, perhaps entirely on
account of our policy of non-inquisitiveness. If there
had been the slightest excuse we should have stayed
longer. There were a dozen things I should have liked
to know : for instance, how were the mahogany piles
driven into the earth to support the houses? The
principle of a mechanical pile-driver seemed far too
advanced for these people ; yet the piles were long and
heavy, well driven into the ground. For most of the
day I was absorbed in spite of myself in providing
243
MOSQUITO COAST
answers for this question. Finally I satisfied my curi
osity by telling John to ask one of the Secos, privately,
as a matter of inter-tribal interest. He did not under
stand at first, but finally realized what I wanted to
know. While Nigel and I continued making clumsy
signs of friendliness to the others he wandered off and
talked to a group of boys. The answer was disappoint
ing. They dug an enormous hole where the house
was to be, erected the posts, then filled the hole in
again with earth and stones, stamping it down care
fully until the level of the floor was reached. A
laborious process and slow, but their houses were
very solid.
In the evening an old woman, wrinkled and bent
double, came to us and told John a long tale of a
c doctor * who had been up the Guarunta many years
ago when she was still quite young. He was a
Honduran, and with an enormous supply of quinine
he had travelled for a long way among the Secos pre
scribing it as a universal remedy, and selling small
bottles for gold dust. They had been glad to have it ;
fever is common and in one way and another they had
acquired a taste for it. But the c doctor * had never
come back, and since then they had been unable to
get any more quinine. A lot of the older folk re
membered it well, and would be only too willing to
give a few mere handfuls of gold dust for a bottle
or so, ...
Back in Tegucigalpa we made inquiries. It was a
profitable swindle, and we were not surprised to find
that it had been tried again, more recently. The
244
TOAGAS
* doctor, oddly enough, was our old friend from
The Road. It had probably made him a small for
tune.
When we pushed off again into the Guarunta, it
was with regret ; on our way home, when we were
really pressed for time, we had stumbled upon the
best tribe of all. They made us promise to come
back.
For the rest of the journey the river grew steadily
wider and more difficult. We were continually in
danger of upsetting the boat. Several times we shipped
a lot of water, and John had to bail most of the day.
As we drew nearer and nearer to the coast the
mahogany stands increased. All along the river stood
groups of tall trees, worth a fortune to anyone who
could transport them to civilization.
Two days later came disaster. Rounding a sharp
bend we shot suddenly over some rapids that had been
hidden from us by the jungle. After a sickening lurch
and a grinding noise that sounded as if the bottom of the
boat had gone, we overturned. Nigel, John and I were
thrown almost head first on to the rocks. Everything
in the boat fell out ; the heavier things sank into the
rough water just below the rapids, and were carried
slowly downstream. All the light articles, invaluable
odds and ends, disappeared at once and were thrown
quickly into the vortex of boiling waters below. The
boat turned over completely, then the stream took it
bodily off the rocks and it drifted downstream, bottom
245
MOSQUITO COAST
up. By the time we had collected our wits it was out
of sight round the next curve.
For a moment we stood ruefully in the water, staring
stupidly at the rocks. A bag of flour had burst open
and was spreading its contents upon the waters. It
was hard work to stand in the current. We made a
pile, on the bank, of the things we rescued a few tins
of food, a primus stove and some fuel, some ammuni
tion, and our mosquito-nets. Nothing, however, was
of any importance compared to the boat. While Nigel
and John salvaged what they could from the river, I
waded downstream after the boat. It was upside down,
and with luck it would have caught up on the rocks or
against the bank not far below us. Actually it was an
hour before I caught it. I made it fast to a tree and
then went upstream again to Nigel.
They had managed to find practically nothing more.
Nearly all our food was lost or ruined, both the shot
guns were missing, and there was no sign of our first-
aid outfit to attend to Nigel s head, which was cut
open and bleeding. Worse still our cameras were
gone, with all the films we had taken during the last
seven weeks. The pathetic pile of things we had saved
stood on the sand at the edge of the water. We had
enough to get us back safely ; but it was infuriating
at this stage to lose everything, worst of all the best
photographs. We decided to spend the rest of the day
searching the river-bed among the rocks, and to stay
here for the night.
All the rest of that day we toiled wearily, standing
246
TOACAS
waist-deep in swirling water, feeling in the mud with
bare toes and occasionally diving down to look through
the opaque river water. It was hard to stand up, so
that one had to fight continually to keep a footing in
the slime. Every now and again one of us would be
bowled over and carried joltingly downstream. It was
useless ; the only thing of real importance that we
found was one of the compasses.
Disgusted and tired, we flayed about in the water
until nearly sundown, then pitched a rough camp
on the sand and went to sleep. That was a bad
day.
The morning found us heavy-eyed with sleep and
thoroughly bad-tempered. The strain of standing
braced against the current for so many hours the day
before had made us stiff and our backs ached painfully.
Even John was quiet and thoughtful. But there was
no use in staying longer ; if we had not found more
already, there was little chance of doing so. We
divided die load of gear we had and started splashing
downstream to where I had moored the boat. With
our burdens it was even more difficult to walk in the
water than it had been for me the day before, but the
jungle walled us in, thicker than ever. Even at the
edge of the river the water swirled down in a fast-run
ning torrent, and with it came sticks and rocks and
broken pieces of timber that crashed into our backs and
added considerably to the pleasures of the journey. By
the time we reached the pipanto we were dead-tired
and sick with exasperation.
247
MOSQUITO COAST
That was the last real accident, and as if realizing
that our tempers had been overtaxed the river became,
for a few hours, strangely calm and docile. Those
hours followed immediately upon our regaining the
boat ; they did much to restore our flagging spirits.
The pleasant interlude, however, was not to last, and
we were shaken from rest by a sudden jar. Rocks in
the river had been replaced by sand-banks ; we were
aground again, held fast in soft yielding sand. When
I tried to step overboard I sank knee-deep in quick
sand.
The rest of the Guarunta was tiresome, and the
journey consisted of alternately ramming rocks and
running aground. The boat by this time leaked badly.
John bailed endlessly with an empty food tin.
Later on we missed an opportunity of investigating
something that may have been of considerable interest.
We had been drifting lazily, steering the pipanto auto
matically. It was intensely hot, and our minds were
wandering far from the Mosquito Coast. Rather sud
denly the river narrowed and we were jerked roughly
from our day-dreams to keep the boat upright across a
stretch of rock-strewn water. As before, we were taken
by surprise ; the current swirled around us and brought
the boat broadside on to the stream. For a few seconds
we worked desperately with paddles and poles, and
then it was over, and we were through into calmer
water. But in that brief moment, as we lingered
between air and water, something on the bank had
caught my eye. The regular mass of the jungle was
5248
TOAGAS
broken, rather in colour than in line. I snatched a
hurried moment to look back over my shoulder.
There, on the left bank, was a stone wall. It was half-
hidden by the jungle, and from the cracks in the stone
sprang weeds and twisted tendrils. In the course of
time the stonework had become camouflaged, almost
disguised, by a parasite layer of moss and fungus, but
there was no possible doubt that it was a man-made
wall. The level grey surface stood out conspicuously,
once it had caught the eye, in spite of the thick growth
of vegetation.
I shouted to Nigel, too late. Below the rocks we
had just been through the water was fairly calm but it
ran fast, and we were swirled away out of sight almost
at once. To stop now would have been very difficult
and might have meant overturning again. With our
very depleted supplies we wanted to take no risks ;
time was already dangerously short. The thought of
finding ourselves stranded for a fortnight or so at
Caratasca Lagoon, until Macdonald saw fit to call
again, drove us to hurry on and ignore the anthropo
logical possibilities of the Guarunta. Regretfully we
drifted on without stopping.
For a long time we speculated on what we might
have found had we stopped. It was certainly very
ancient stonework, as none of the modern Mosquito
Indians have the mechanical cunning to use stone for
building. From the brief glimpse I had caught of it,
it looked well built and solid with a length along the
river s edge of twenty-five or thirty feet. I guessed that
it must have been five or six feet high : certainly no
249
MOSQUITO COAST
more. It was impossible to see what happened at the
ends of the wall whether they turned at right angles
to form a square enclosure, or whether it stood as it
was, simply a straight breastwork of stone. It was
maddening to have to leave it, but the last accident had
handicapped us badly, and to take chances with the
river at this stage would have been very rash. John
seemed surprised that we should be at all interested in
whatever it was I had seen on the bank, and he told us
that away to the east near Ebony Lagoon, which lies
next to Brewer s, there were several such things. The
Zambus knew of them, but kept away ; they were built
by ancient people who must have been wizards, and
accordingly the hand of the Mafia was still upon them.
John was half-educated from his long association with
Robert Trapp s Belize negroes on Gannon Island ;
but he showed enormous relief at our decision not to
stop.
For a long time after that we drifted uneventfully
down the twisting Guarunta, now watching the river
banks with more care. There were no more signs of
ancient habitation, nothing but the endless grey-green
walls of foliage and undergrowth. John told us that in
these parts, too, were many Indian villages. He had
never been on the Guarunta before but nevertheless,
he said, he could tell. There were no signs that were
visible to us. It would have been well worth while,
with an extra two months to spare and proper equip
ment, to explore the Guarunta country thoroughly, for
it shows signs of being more interesting than the terri
tory we had seen along the Patuca, We were badly
250
TOAGAS
handicapped by time, even worse by lack of food and
ammunition ; there was nothing to do now but make
straight for Caratasca, taking every precaution we
could.
25*
Chapter Seventeen
RIBRA
T OWER down the river we ran into jungle that was
Jialive on every side, swarming with black folk and
their smoky villages. Now we were nearer to the
fringes of civilization, and gradually there appeared
those fingers of progress that always reach the farthest
& few cigarettes, an occasional bottle of rum, and
most important of all, firearms. The Indians from
Caratasca Lagoon and the lower Guarunta are mixed ;
some Zambus, some Secos and a few who call them
selves Toacas. There is little obvious difference be
tween the three tribes.
We found, here, that white men were no novelty,
and were objects of interest only as possible sources of
tobacco. Caratasca is well known to the bandits and
revolutionaries of the Nicaraguan border, and once in
a while a little Government cutter steams up to the
Caratasca Bar to watch for signs of gun-running across
the frontier. Prospectors and timber men have been
here, mostly to be defeated by the Mosquito jungle.
There is no doubt that fortunes lie half-hidden in Mos-
quitia, in gold mines and mahogany, but to extricate
the riches of the country is another matter. Enormous
barriers of red tape are erected by the Government, the
combinations of climate and fever do much to dis-
252
RIBRA
courage commercial ambitions, and as a final obstacle
there is no local labour obtainable. The Indians of
the river have no use for work or money, except in a
rather exaggerated ratio. They are eager for tobacco
and salt and a few other things that can easily be
brought for payment ; but their love of eternal leisure
is usually more powerful still. One would be lucky to
hire an Indian for eight shillings a day. From time to
time enterprising Europeans and Americans try to mine
some of the Mosquito Coast s enormous riches ; but
these things always defeat their enterprise. Even the
forests of great red mahogany remain undisturbed.
There was very little for us to do here among the
lower river folk, and in any case we had no time to
spare. The native simplicity of the up-river tribes had
gone, destroyed by their occasional contacts with the
half-civilization of the Honduran coast. They were
amusing, but there was not the frank charm of the
Payas. We stopped whenever we passed a village to
barter salt for meat and fruit. A few glimpses of civi
lization stood out, grotesquely, against their simple
background of instinct.
Still several days from the Lagoon, our food ran out
completely. Lately we had been unable to find fruit,
and there had been no villages along the banks. It was
almost impossible to kill game without a shot-gun,
although we made one or two rather hopeless attempts
to bring down a duck or wild turkey with our revolvers.
There was nothing left in the boat but tobacco and a
few bars of salt.
For a day and a night, no great hardship, we had
253
MOSQUITO COAST
nothing to eat ; and on the following morning we
reached a village at about eleven o clock. It was enor
mous, far the largest native settlement we had yet seen.
Far into the jungle there straggled untidy thatched
huts, and over the whole place lingered the acrid smoke
of many wood fires.
As we pulled in to the shore three women ran down
to the river bank to meet us. At once the difference
between these Indians and those inland was obvious.
They wore rough dresses of cheap printed calico, traded
from one of the coastal schooners. As we nosed into
the bank they reached down and pulled the pipanto up
on the sand-bank.
In the village there was an abundance of fruit, but
unfortunately a great scarcity of meat. The hunters
had not been out recently and all the game had long
since been driven away from the neighbourhood of the
huts ; Indians can live happily on fruit and vegetables,
regarding occasional meat as a luxury rather than a
staple diet. There was one man in the village, the
women told us, who was the best hunter in Mosquitia,
and if we wanted meat perhaps we might go inland
with him on a shooting expedition. They led us to his
hut. In a long hammock slung across the hut lay an
enormous Zambu, who wore a pair of tight white cotton
trousers and nothing else. We stood watching him for
a moment as he snored and the rippling muscles of his
naked torso rose and fell rhythmically. One of the
women prodded him in the ribs and let out an unex
pected ear-splitting shriek of e Jones ! *
Jones sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinked at us and
254
RIBRA
climbed out of the hammock. A great smile spread
over his face and he at once embarked, in Belize Eng
lish, upon a lengthy story of his life. He had assumed
the name of Jones, he told us, to show that he was
properly educated and was not an ordinary river Indian.
Up in Belize or somewhere along the Lagoons he had
first heard the name, and he had always fancied it. . . .
When he had finished we told him we wanted him
to go with us to shoot in the jungle and he was delighted.
From a hook on the wall he took a gun and showed it
to us with pride. It was an ancient shot-gun, single-
barrelled, with a flamboyantly decorated hammer that
projected several inches above the stock* I think it was
too old to be of any recognized bore, but Jones had a
technique of his own for manufacturing ammunition.
He had some old cartridge-cases that were the right
size, and these he loaded with the powder from new
12 bore cartridges. Ordinary shot he never used, for
with ammunition as scarce and expensive as it was in
Mosquitia it was too risky a way of killing wildfowl.
Instead he filled the wide barrel with a quantity of
rusty tacks and nails, wadding it down from the muzzle
with coconut fibre. With a certain amount of justifi
able apprehension we watched a demonstration of this
alarming piece of ballistics,
Jones put on his leather snake boots, slung a bandolier
with more nails and a powder horn around his neck,
and we were off, following him closely into the black
thickrress of the jungie.
He had told us, and we already knew, that all wild
life had been driven from the bush around the village.
255
MOSQUITO COAST
We expected a longish trek, but nothing like what we
actually got. After three hours we were nowhere ; the
jungle was solid and dense. Then, suddenly, it cleared,
and we stood slightly dazzled by the sun on the edge
of a mangrove swamp. Here, Jones whispered drama
tically, was the best duck shooting in all the world. We
remembered his shot-gun and decided to keep well
away when anything was seen.
With infinite caution Jones worked his way out into
the swamp, warning us to stay where we were at the
edge. He thought there might be Muscovia sitting a
little way in front of us and he did not want to frighten
them away. From the edge of the solid ground we
watched him wade out, sinking deep into the slime and
leaving a great track of bubbling holes behind him. A
faint odour of decay lingered over the swamp. When
he was about twenty yards from us he stopped dead in
his tracks and made frantic signs, pointing off to the
right. We moved slightly to get a clear view, and
there, on a solitary island of rock, sat a very fat turkey,
fluffing her heavy feathers and watching us with a
beady eye.
Meanwhile Jones waded with an increased squelch
ing noise off to the left so as not to frighten his game.
Gradually he came around again, laboriously moving
his feet in an attempt at silence. When he was about
five yards from the turkey his gun came up to his
shoulder, there was a sudden flash and an immense
roar, and Jones was impenetrably shrouded in smoke.
For a few minutes we saw neither him nor the turkey,
then the black smoke began to drift heavily away, and
256
RIBRA
the air was filled instead with floating brown feathers,
as if someone on an imaginary floor above had been
shaking a rather leaky eiderdown out of the window.
Of the turkey there was nothing to be seen, but pre
sently Jones ran triumphantly towards the rock where
it had been sitting and collected some scattered frag
ments of meat. Holding them up proudly he squelched
back to us, with feathers in his kinky black hair and
slime up to his knees, overjoyed at having justified his
reputation as a hunter. In Mosquitia very few cart
ridges are fired that do not reach their mark ; they are
too precious. No nonsense about sporting shots is ever
allowed to mar one s chances of fresh meat.
After the turkey we went on, interminably, through
swampy jungle, while Jones examined tracks and
bruised leaves. From time to time he announced that
we were near wild boar, or deer, or that a jaguar had
passed the day before. Whenever we came across pad-
marks we stopped while Jones inspected them at great
length. On the way we shot two more turkeys and a
small bird rather like a moorhen, that was successfully
reduced to mincemeat by the blunderbuss. We tied
them to trees, high off the ground, and left them to
collect on our way back. In time Nigel and I became
rather bored with staring endlessly at old tracks, but
the jungle was more open now and there was plenty of
other life to watch. In the dry places there were tar
antulas, scuttling away at our approach and waving
fanged tails over their backs ; in the trees baboons,
howling and chattering at us ; and the air was thick
with large birds. High in the sky, so that one could
257 s
MOSQUITO COAST
only see them as black pin-points in the depth of the
blue, there hovered vultures, watching and waiting for
death on the earth to feed them. Once on the Patuca
I had brought down a duck which floated off out of
reach ; out of nowhere there suddenly swooped a vul
ture which seized the duck in its curved yellow beak, and
before it had started to eat there were six more of them,
sinister black ghouls that dropped from the sky. All
over tropical America they hover, eternally, watching
every inch of open ground for prey. Usually they keep
at roughly the same level, and as soon as one drops to
earth the others follow.
Lower than the vultures lived multitudes of enormous
brightly coloured birds cranes and storks, and strange
marabou with long legs bent to an incredible right
angle. Many of them we did not know. All day they
flapped about, lumbering along just above the tops of the
trees. If at times, surprising as it may seem, we could
have forgotten that we were in the heart of tropical
jungle, the great birds would have been the first thing
to bring us back to reality. They were enormous and
fantastic, like things from a child s dream of fairyland.
While we looked about us Jones had quickened his
pace and seemed suddenly to have an objective. We
asked him what he had found, and he whispered that
we were following fresh deer tracks. Silently we fol
lowed a little way behind him, doing our best to walk
as noiselessly as he did. Luckily the wind was towards
us. Once we stopped for a moment while extra scrap-
iron shrapnel was poured into the muzzle of the gun.
By this time it seemed to me that Providence had
258
RIBRA
been tempted far enough. Jones had accurately dis
charged his infernal machine altogether five times, and
there was little reason to suppose that this sort of thing
could go on indefinitely without the gun s blowing up.
Now he had loaded it with an extra charge, and had
poured into the muzzle about twice as many nails as
before. We were relieved when he asked us to wait
while he went on ; there was a water-hole a little way
ahead and he thought the deer might be there. The
brush was too thick for us to see far in front so we sat
under a tree to wait.
Almost immediately came an explosion, an enormous
report that sent birds for miles around high into the
sky, where they wheeled and soared in terror. The
baboons set up a raucous chattering chorus and began
to swing away through the branches. Nigel and I ran
on in the direction Jones had taken, and soon found
him standing at the water-hole. On the ground lay
a good-sized deer with its head practically blown off.
Whatever criticisms one might level at Jones and his
musketry, he was certainly an excellent stalker. The
deer had been shot at almost point-blank range. We
cut it open and cleaned it, and slung it across two poles
to carry it back.
On the way home Jones was so exalted by his suc
cessful shooting that he lost the way. Nigel and I had
as a matter of course been following him, and paying
little attention to our track. Now Jones confessed that
he had gone astray and that the misfortune must have
happened quite a long way back. We had not yet
reached the trees where the turkeys had been hung.
259
MOSQUITO COAST
There was nothing for it but to turn and retrace our
steps as we had come, for although we should sooner
or later reach the Guarunta by carrying straight on as
we were, the turkeys had been the main objective of
the expedition and we refused to go without them.
As the sun fell below the rim of the earth it grew
quickly cool, and in that moment of waiting between
light and the sudden darkness of the tropics, we reached
the clump of trees in which hung the turkeys. We were
a very long way from the river and the village, and in
a few minutes it would be night. Since turning back
we had almost lost ourselves again, and what faith we
had felt in Jones was now gone. We slung the fat car
cases of the wild turkeys across the dead deer. For a
few minutes we stood undecided, arguing as to what
should be done. We had no light and there was no
moon, so to go on in the dark was almost impossible
and certainly a considerable risk. On the other hand
we had no mosquito-nets, and there remained firmly
implanted in our minds the painful memories of the
last night we had spent unprotected in the open. Jones
did not mind what we did ; he was willing to do what
we wanted, and I suspect that it was by no means the
first time he had lost his way. He seemed neither sur
prised nor sorry. Finally we decided to stay. As we
finished heaping up piles of leaves and brushwood for
a fire the night fell, abruptly, like a dark blanket over
the jungle.
It turned out that we were fairly comfortable, for the
mosquitoes here were fewer than they had been on the
Patuca and the three fires that enclosed us did much
260
RIBRA
to keep them away. There was not a breath of mov
ing air. The thick smoke curled up in heavy spiral
columns, and we could see that when it reached the
top of the jungle light airs caught it and it was wafted
away towards the river, We took turns in sitting awake,
keeping watch and feeding the fires. All around us was
the drumming beat of the cicadas, a background for
the strange voices of the jungle. I do not think that
any of us slept very much, although we were quite
comfortable and very tired.
Shortly after midnight a loud roar brought us to our
feet, suddenly wide awake. It came from close at hand,
in the jungle that fringed the clearing ; but from which
side ? A second later it came again, then again louder
and closer. It was impossible to place it. Jones threw
himself down again with a laugh. c Araguato,* he said,
* monkey imitate jaguar.*
The howling monkey kept up his life-like mimicry at
intervals all through the night, and had a real jaguar
arrived we should certainly not have known the differ
ence. It was a nerve-racking sound, and although we
knew that it was only a howling monkey, it kept us for
some reason keyed up and tense. The darkness hid it
safely from us, and it continually shifted its position,
roaring first from one side and then the other. We
ground our teeth and put one or two bad-tempered
revolver shots into the trees. The monkey, provoked,
only roared louder and louder. Fitfully we turned over
and slept in a troubled doze.
Dawn found us unaccountably in high spirits. We
261
MOSQUITO COAST
had not slept much, but it was at least a relief to be
rid of the Araguato. We cooked part of the deer and
ate it savagely,, washed down with clear spring water
that was nectar after the muddy river. Jones filled his
shot-gun with the remaining ammunition, as he said
the early morning was the best time for shooting in the
jungle and one never knew what might be around the
corner. He laid it carefully against a tree, muzzle in
the sand, while we went across to the water-hole to
bathe. We stripped and lay in the clear water, and
there was suddenly perfect peace as its calm coolness
soaked into us and eased our mosquito-bites. The
discomforts of travel in the jungle seemed very un
important, banished by this moment of physical
joy-
When we were dry and clothed we walked noisily
back towards the clearing where we had spent the
night. Nigel was in front, myself second, and Jones
last. As Nigel stepped into the clear ground he sud
denly stopped dead and stood quite still. I looked over
his shoulder and saw what had startled him ; a jaguar,
not very big, standing over the carcase of the deer.
Neither of us had our revolvers on us and Jones had
left his gun leaning against a tree on the far side, be
yond the jaguar. There was very little chance of get
ting a shot at it. All at once it went rigid, every muscle
tense ; for a brief second a pair of great yellow cat s
eyes fixed us, then the jaguar was off into the jungle
with one spring. The deer was untouched, possibly
because the jaguar had scented us, possibly because we
had arrived in the nick of time to save it. Jones ran
262
RIBRA
madly for his gun, seized it and started to rush blindly
after the animal* When he had taken two or three
steps the hammer caught roughly in a dangling vine
and there was another enormous explosion, covering
Jones with smoke and powder. Luckily the gun had
been pointing in the air, but it was not Jones s fault
that he had not been blown to pieces. He had been
carrying the gun by the barrel, half-dragging its long
stock after him, and the great blast of scrap iron must
have come very close to his head. He paid not the
slightest attention to this, but stood swearing horribly
in Zambu at the loss of the jaguar. It was the only
thing that interested him at all. He had very strong
sporting instincts.
When we finally started on our way back towards
the village, Jones was broody and preoccupied at the
thought of the jaguar s escape, and was all for follow
ing it and doing our best with revolvers. It seemed to
us rather a vain hope and probably a great waste of
time. We pushed on doggedly towards the Guarunta.
In the middle of the afternoon, just after the full heat
of the sun had broken, we found ourselves back in the
village. Down on the river, lying in the pipante, was
John, who had been left behind to look after our things.
No one showed any surprise that we had not returned
the night before, as we had said we would ; time in
Mosquitia is far too unimportant for anyone to notice
the passage of a day or so. There was still plenty of
time before dark, so we paid Jones with a large amount
of salt and some tobacco, loaded the meat into the
MOSQUITO COAST
boat and pushed off again into the full stream of the
Guarunta.
By this time we had lost track of the days and we
had no idea of the date. All the notes we had made,
and the laborious diaries, were somewhere in the river
or perhaps by now out in the Caribbean. During the
journeys from village to village, and when there was
nothing of moment to stand out, the days seemed end
less and numberless. We had grown lackadaisical and
careless, abandoning the discipline that had been main
tained in the expedition for the first two or three days
after we had arrived in Mosquitia. Now we took things
as they came, without very much enthusiasm and with
no surprise. Although we knew that we might well
have missed our rendezvous with Captain Macdonald,
we did not really care ; it was a far-off event, too
remote to be a cause for concern. We drifted along
as the river took us.
But as we drew nearer to the coast the freshness of
the sea gave life to the stagnant airs of the jungle, and
we began to stir ourselves. From time to time we had
fits of energy in which we paddled madly, driving the
boat on even faster than it was carried by the current.
During the last reaches, when the river was broad and
sandy, we tried travelling through the night without a
stop. There were three of us and it was easy enough
to sleep in turns. The first time we tried it there was
a full moon that threw a bright cold light over the river,
picking out rocks and sand-banks as clearly as the day
light. In the stern of the boat we kept a pole handy
264
RIBRA
to frighten the alligators away. It was simple, and
that first night we went very well. For several more
nights we drifted on magically through the moon
light, far pleasanter than day-time travel in the fierce
sun.
Later, however, when the moon had gone, we tried
again. We still had one of the torches we had used for
stalking in the jungle, and fixed in the bows of the boat
it picked out a bright yellow segment of clear water.
It was easy to see what was immediately ahead, but the
glare threw a sort of light haze over the water so that
one could not see any distance in front of the boat.
Carried by a current of four or five knots this was not
enough ; for by the time an obstruction was seen the
bow of the boat was practically into it. The first thing
we hit, with a yielding jar, was the long snout of an
alligator that was lying motionless in the water, fascin
ated by the light. There was a moment s pande
monium while the water was threshed white around
us and the boat nearly capsized, then the alligator dis
appeared. We found that the powerful beam of light
had the same effect upon alligators as it had had upon
the animals in the jungle ; they stared at it as if hyp
notized. All along the river we saw pairs of eyes over
black snouts, glinting in the reflected light. We had
no more bullets to waste so we left them in peace*
After that we drifted through the night only when there
was a moon.
Of the rest of those days, drifting down the Guarunta,
there is little to tell. We were busy whenever we wanted
to be, doing snatches of insignificant tasks ; we were
265
MOSQUITO COAST
lazy and well fed. As we drew near to Caratasca the
tropical apathy began to leave us, gradually, and we
looked forward to reaching the Lagoon ; we had been
long enough in Mosquitia.
266
Chapter Eighteen
CARATASCA
I DO not know when we reached Caratasca Lagoon,
There was no moment in our progress when we
could point to a transition between river and lagoon.
For days the Guarunta had widened, swamplands ap
peared on either side of us and gradually the banks fell
away and merged into the line of the coast. The main
river had split up into narrow channels that twisted
their own ways tortuously through the marshes, some
times running together and forming great sandy lakes*
Away from the channels of the river-mouth everything
was stagnant and stinking, black soft mud that bubbled
and heaved. Taller than ourselves grew high marsh
grass, making a separate river of each channel and
enclosing the foetid airs so that the fresh breezes from
the sea could not blow them away. Here on the mud
flats there were swarms of alligators, larger than those
of the inland rivers. They lay basking smugly in the
sun, armoured feet sinking a little way into the soft
surface slime. From time to time one of them would
look around with evil red eyes, then lunge suddenly
forward and splash into the water. In a few places we
saw flamingoes, squatting strangely on tall conical nests.
For a whole day we were in the swamp, drifting
slowly seawards. The air was heavy and putrid.
267
MOSQUITO COAST
Before long we began to paddle in spite of the heat, to
reach the open water as soon as possible. All that day
the sun beat down fiercely, till what land there was
around us shimmered in the heat-haze and stale
vapours rose from the bogs.
In the evening we were clear. Suddenly the marsh
lands sank under water and we found ourselves whirled
outwards into the great lagoon. A strong breeze was
blowing onshore, brushing the lagoon water into tiny
white caps that broke and foamed under the bows of the
pipanto.
In great breaths we drew in the fresh salt air of the
Caribbean to drive the stagnation of the long marshes
from our lungs. After so many weeks inland with no
air stirring it was a relief to catch the invigorating tang
of the sea breeze. We were so pleased at the sudden
change that we paddled on at once recklessly across the
lagoon, now stirred up into short choppy waves. The
pipanto was far from seaworthy, but we felt suddenly
ready for anything.
Half-way across the lagoon the short steep waves
began to break into our flat bows, and we shipped
water faster than John could bail it with his empty
baked-bean tm. We cursed ourselves for starting so
stupidly across the water, when anyone could have seen
the wind coming. Frantically Nigel and I paddled
while John bailed. We began to ship water, green over
the low gunwale, and before long the boat was half-full,
riding lower and lower in the water. I threw my
paddle down and set to bailing with John. We could
not make much impression on the flood of water that
GARATASGA
was already in the boat, but there was a chance of
keeping her afloat until we reached the sand-spit that
enclosed the lagoon on the seaward side. By this time
we were a bare thirty yards from it ; there would have
been no difficulty in swimming for it if the worst came
to the worst, and the water was rough enough to be safe
from alligators.
As we ran the boat up on the soft sand it was water
logged, and in another moment or so we should have
sunk. We dragged it high up on the beach and started
to build a fire around which we could dry ourselves and
our provisions.
The seaward edge of Caratasca Lagoon is a long sand
bar, in some places about twenty-five yards wide, and
in others reaching as much as seventy-five or a hundred.
Along the centre line, on the highest part, lies a long
straggling row of palm trees that stand out for miles
against the empty horizon. There is nothing but an
immense expanse of golden sand*, running as far as the
eye can see on each side ; in front the deep cobalt of
the Caribbean, behind the flat grey-green of the lagoon
water. Along the far side of the lagoon runs a low
black ridge of land with an occasional tall palm stand
ing out over it. It gives an impression of wildness and
the utmost desertion, as if no human influence had ever
reached it. On the sand-bar we had no protection but
the slight rise of contour in the centre. We sheltered
from the wind as best we could behind a dune and
settled down for the night. Now that we had reached
land we found that we were dead tired, stiff from
paddling and sore from long immersion in the water.
269
MOSQTJITO COAST
We slept at once, the heavy drugged sleep of physical
exhaustion.
In the night the strong wind died suddenly, leaving
a flat calm. The first rays of light woke us to an
incredible dawn. The whole of the eastern sky was
livid red, and long purple fingers ran along the rim of
the horizon casting a saffron glow over the heavens*
There was not a breath of air ; and we noticed at once
that the vultures and buzzards had gone from the sky.
The Caribbean, too, had changed overnight ; yester
day it had broken in long blue rollers along the beach,
now there was nothing but an immense oily swell.
The seas rolled up like beaten lead, grey and solid.
Nowhere was there a sign of white foam. As far as we
could see the Caribbean stretched in slick heaving
undulations. Inland, the lagoon lay flat and strangely
glassy.
There was no doubt in my mind that a hurricane was
brooding somewhere over the ocean and that before
long it would whirl inland and tear hell out of the jungle.
Those who are experienced with tropical hurricanes
can often tell from the position of the winds roughly
what course the centre of the cyclone will take, for they
move in a characteristic circular direction. We had
no barometer and knew next to nothing about the
climate ; but there was no doubt as to what it was.
John confirmed our opinion and stared uneasily at the
sky. He had lived all his life in the hurricane area,
and had seen them almost every year. He had seen
Indian huts whirled up into the vortex of the winds and
270
GARATASGA
carried away, he had seen miles of dense jungle crushed
and twisted by a single blast. He had all the Zambu s
reverence for the powers of the * Great Winds.*
Philosophically we sat in the sand to watch the
beginnings of nature s tattoo. There was no reason to
suppose that it would come across the lagoon ; and if
it chose to do so there was certainly nothing we could
do about it. It is only the whirling cyclonic centre of
the hurricane that is so immeasurably dangerous ;
outside its course there are violent winds, but they
blow straight and cannot wrench houses from their
foundations and great trees from their roots. As the
sun rose the blood-red streaks of dawn began to fade
away, but the warning saffron glow had spread over
all the sky. Apart from the deep nimble of the swell
there was absolute silence. There was still no breath
of wind ; the long palm leaves hung still and limp from
the trees. Once a coconut fell with a dull thud into
the sand, startling us unreasonably ; then again there
was quiet.
The nearest land to us lay several miles to the north
west, along the length of the sand-spit. But between us
the spit narrowed, so that if the wind caught us on our
way towards the land we should have been worse off
still. The sand was soft and bone dry, so that one sank
deep into it, and the going was very difficult.
Along the other way, however, the bar seemed to
grow wider ; and since our rendezvous with Macdonald
was several miles away in that direction, at the lagoon-
mouth, we decided to make our way along until we
came to more solid shelter or the wind set in to blow.
271
MOSQUITO COAST
We poled the boat along just off shore until we
reached what we judged was the highest part of the
sand-spit. There was still that unnatural calm over
everything and the hot air was heavy in our lungs, but
we knew that hell might break loose between one minute
and the next. Under the lee of the sand-dunes we made
a rough breastwork and dug ourselves in behind the
pipanto. If the wind was to be dangerous, it would
come from the seaward side, so we made our camp just
over the rise on the lagoon side of the spit.
A little after midday the wind hit us suddenly with
the violence of an explosion, then it set in to blow in a
steady beat from the south-east, so that it struck
diagonally across our sand-bar from the seaward side.
With it came sand and stones that hurtled into the back
of our shelter and formed a strong wall behind us as we
had intended, to protect us in case the Caribbean began
to wash across the bar into the lagoon. From the open
side we saw the lagoon water suddenly lashed to fury.
As its shallow muddy bed was sucked up the water
turned brown, then a deep burnt red. We settled
down to wait till it was over, watching the tall palms
on the distant mainland whipping and straining against
the hurricane. With a noise like a muffled pistol-shot
a tree crashed down, fifty yards from us along the spit.
The violence of the wind increased steadily ; we
could hear nothing but the roar as it beat across the
water. Sand and stones began to roll over the top of
the shelter, which was by now well banked up at the
back, and fell into a rapidly rising drift in front of us.
From time to time we scooped it away to keep the
272
GARATASGA
doorway free. In the afternoon, rather late, there
happened a thing which we had been expecting ; the
sand behind us grew damp, and underfoot appeared
little pools of sea water. The seas had been mounting
higher and higher on the sand-bank ; now they were
beginning to seep through to the lagoon. For a while
after that the wind remained constant, and the gradual
flow of water did not increase. We remained damp
and salt-sore, but thankful that it was no worse.
In the evening we found that the stove was dry
enough to light without much difficulty, and we cooked
part of the meat that was left unspoiled. It was wet
and rather salt ; but we had eaten nothing since the
day before. We boiled muddy lagoon water and
drank it eagerly.
That night there was no sleep ; the wind roared on in
steady fury, but no more water drained through to us.
We sat looking out over the turbulent darkness of the
lagoon, unable to see the maelstrom we could hear. By
midnight the wind was slightly less strong, and we
knew that the storm-centre was no nearer to us, perhaps
by this time several hundred miles away. Later on,
before the first rays of red light, the wind died out
suddenly and left a dead quiet that was loud after the
steady roar of the night. As dawn broke we fell asleep
where we were, and slept in peace till the early after
noon.
When we stretched our cramped legs and stepped out
of the shelter, the sky was dear again but the water was
still troubled. The lagoon was muddy red, and
remained so for over a week ; the Caribbean rolled in
273 T
MOSQUITO COAST
again in the same oily leaden swell. The wind had
completely gone, leaving a fresh salt air that drowned
the foetid vapours of the distant marshlands. With
relief we dug the boat out, floated it and loaded what
was left of our scanty provisions. Before nine o clock
we were afloat, paddling and poling strongly along the
straight edge of the sand-spit.
Almost immediately after the wind faded away, the
vultures appeared again overhead, a sure enough sign
that the hurricane was well on its way elsewhere. We
had been only on the very edge of it, catching the mild
backlash of the cyclone ; the centre at the time must
have been many miles out to sea. Later we found out
that it had caused a good deal of trouble. Two ships
were disabled on its fringes ; it had swept across the
Tortugas and left them even drier and more desolate
than before ; then it had whirled mischievously on
across the West Indies, finally losing itself in the South
Atlantic ma Key West. It had missed Mosquitia,
where the flimsy Indian huts in the jungle and the
coastal plantations were probably too easy game.
We poled along all day towards the Guarunta Bar,
keeping close to the beach and climbing the sand-bank
from time to time to watch for the Perla del Mar. If
Macdonald had been caught off shore, he would not
have stood much chance ; but he knew the Caribbean
well, and at the first sign of hurricane he would have
run out to sea.
In the middle of the next day we reached the break
in the sand-bar where sea joined lagoon and the muddy
274
GARATASGA
waters of the Guarunta flowed through, piling up great
shoals on the coral reefs that lay outside. Like the
Patuca Bar at Brewer s, it was a tricky passage with no
markings, and the reefs lay. just under water so that in
a flat calm they were quite hidden. Even Macdonald
had never been through here ; he had called once or
twice but had always anchored off shore. At the south
end of the spit stood an untidy cluster of Garib houses,
once thatched in high sloping gables. Now they stood
awry in storm-swept confusion. A few palm trees lay
half-fallen across the village.
Neither of us spoke any Garib, and John knew only a
few words. We paddled up to the village and a coal
black Garib came running to meet us, astonishment in
every muscle of his face. He turned to the huts and
shouted, bringing half a dozen more blacks to stare and
chatter at this unexpected visit. In the centre of the
village glowed a large wood fire, and thick black smoke
curled up slowly into the still air.
There was no need, we found, to worry about the
language question. The man who had seen us first
spoke good Coast English fast dialect with a Jamaican
intonation, rather like the language of the Bay Islands.
Eagerly we asked him for news of a schooner. He
shook his head.
Only schooner come here, 5 he shouted, * him b long
Cap n Macdonald. He no come three months *
Thank heaven for that, we thought ; at any rate we
had not missed him. It remained to be seen, by what
turned out to be a very long wait, whether he had been
out in the hurricane, . . *
275
MOSQUITO COAST
We went ashore and walked up to the battered Carib
village. At close quarters the damage was more
serious than It had looked from a distance ; none of the
roofs were left, and most of the houses were twisted
hopelessly around their slender bamboo pillars. Most
of them also showed gaping holes, where the plaited
palm-leaf walls had been blown away. One of the tall
palms that had fallen across the village lay supported
by the crushed remains of a hut. The Caribs, like the
other Mosquito folk, are used to hurricanes and they had
been able to smell this one coming for days, long before
we had noticed anything untoward in the air. Accord
ingly they had left their huts, and none of them were
hurt. They regarded it more as a nuisance than a
calamity*
We dragged the pipanfo well up on the sand and pre
pared for a long wait. There was no shelter, since most
of the Carib huts were destroyed ; but it was very fine
and they told us that out here on the bar there were
neither sand-flies nor mosquitoes. After many plagued
weeks of constant bites this was the best of news.
There was nothing else for us to do, so we set to
helping the Garibs rebuild the village. At first they
were shy, a little chary of this gratuitous help. Most of
the white men they had met were bandits from the
frontier, and I think that at some time they had prob
ably been badly treated. Soon they saw that we left
our guns in the boat and that we wanted nothing from
them, and they gratefully gave us presents of food :
dried deer meat, very compact and nutritive ; fer
mented coconut milk ; and quantities of fruit*
276
GARATASCA
The Caratasca Garibs have a few contacts with
civilization, yet they shun it like the plague and keep
well away from the white population of the coast.
They are simple retiring people, content to live quietly
by fishing and growing a few small crops. From time to
time, as laziness tempts them, they trade their things
for the little conveniences of the outer world knives,
fish-hooks, nails and so on. When we set to building
their houses we found American tools and wire, traded
for fish and copra from the Island schooners. Among
them also there were one or two guns, and probably
well hidden somewhere there was ammunition, garnered
from some of the mysterious shipments brought to the
lagoon by the islanders and intended for the Nicaraguan
border.
The big Garib who had greeted us soon became very
friendly and entertained us at great length with tales of
gun-running and revolution on the coast. As we had
suspected he knew Macdonald well, and had worked
with hi ; he seemed a little offended when we told
him our reason for being in Mosquitia, at our lack of
confidence. His name was Tom, Black Tom as he said
they called him along the coast. For years he had been
in Belize, where he had learnt English ; he had worked
on the Island schooners running arms and liquor ; but
finally he had returned to his own people, as Garibs will.
When the village was rebuilt, after four or five days,
Black Tom told us that one of the huts had been cleared
for us and that we were welcome to it. By that time
we were rather fond of sleeping in the open, lying in the
soft sand ; but it was an offer that we could hardly
277
MOSQUITO COAST
refuse. We moved in with profuse and exaggerated
thanks that pleased them enormously. It was a fine
clean house, built in the Garib fashion with a high
pointed roof of palm leaves that was proof against the
thickest tropical rains. For eight more days we lived
with the Caribs, eating their food and sitting round
the great fire in the dark while they sang strangely wild
chants. Their voices were soft but high-pitched and
lilting. Once or twice Black Tom explained the songs
they sang. Most of them were ancient, and he knew
neither what they meant nor from where they had
come ; but a few were younger, and had evidently been
born since the Garibs had settled along the lagoon. In
dialect, Garib or Zambu, Garatasca means c Great
Crocodile* and they sang interminably of the crocodile
who lived in the lagoon, father and mother of all man
kind. Verse followed verse, changing rapidly from
praise to lament and from supplication to love. There
was little rhythm in their song, but an ever-varying
tune that followed the mood of the verse. For many
hours we sat silently listening to them, watching the
red glow of the fire flickering on the smooth ebony of
their bodies. They stared into the smouldering embers,
with faces that were calm and unquestioning, and sang
on late into the night.
Finally a Garib girl came running to us, early one
morning, and told us that there was a schooner on the
horizon. We ran out and looked ; the Caribbean was
as flat as polished glass and after a moment we saw a
tiny fleck of white glinting on the rim of the world. It
278
CARATASCA
was the sail of a boat, but whether it was the Perla del
Afar we could not tell. It might be Macdonald ; if it
was he had bought his boat a new suit of sails. Those
we had seen before had been filthy, roughly patched
and nearly black.
All the Garibs came running to the beach with
baskets of fish and copra, laughing and shouting
wildly as they watched the schooner in. These days
were the great days of their Kves-
By the middle of the morning we knew that it was the
Perla del Afar and we could even make out the little
wooden galley, rebuilt after the last squall, hanging far
out over her fiat counter. Her three heavy sails were
drawing and presently we heard the Diesel. Outside
the line of reefs she stopped and the roar of anchor
chains floated across the water, echoing to the far side
of the lagoon. In wild excitement the Caribs jumped
into their cqyukas and paddled out to the schooner.
Captain Macdonald came ashore and greeted us
laconically. * Glad to see you got here/ he said, chew
ing the stub of a black cigar and looking over the sad
remains of our kit. * I bet the mate ten pesos you
would ! *
From his hip pocket he brought out a flask and
insisted on a drink to celebrate our reunion. It was
good whisky and for several weeks now we had drunk
nothing but tepid water and coconut milk.
While we sat on the sand and told Macdonald the
story of our journey, the mate was bargaining with the
Caribs, buying copra and selling odds and ends. The
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MOSQUITO COAST
Perla del Mar rolled easily in the light swell. We sat
lazily looking out over the Caribbean stretching away
unbroken to the east for so many thousands of miles.
On our left the long sand-bar ran out to merge into the
black line of land that we knew was Cape Gracias a
Dios. The beach was dazzling white, the sky and
water shades of cobalt in the sun. There was an im
pression of unreality and infinite remoteness about this
utterly desolate beauty that made one think of the ends
of the earth. It conjured up pictures of the days of the
Spanish Main, when pirate frigates sailed here and
buccaneers were marooned on sand-bars not unlike this
one upon which we lay. Away far over the horizon lay
the Bay Islands, for years a pirate cache ; and beyond
them to the north-east were the Antilles and the Dry
Tortugas, In a flood of romanticism we thought of
these things that work had until now crowded from our
imaginations. We looked across at the Captain, who
certainly did his best to maintain some of the better
traditions of the Spanish Main. He was fast asleep in
the sand, a red bandana handkerchief across his face.
By the evening the copra loading was not finished,
so we agreed with Macdonald that we might as well
wait until the morning before setting sail for La Ceiba.
One day, after tropical months, seems very insignificant.
John was very reluctant to leave us, and wanted to
come on the schooner to La Ceiba. He was tired of
being a Zambu, he told us, and wanted to see what lay
beyond Mosquitia. Since joining us curiosity into the
affairs of white civilization had bitten him badly, but
there was little for a Zambu boy of his age to do in the
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ports. We discouraged his enterprise and said we
would take him as far as Brewer s Lagoon, where he
could take our pipmto as a present and paddle himself
back to his people on Cannon Island. The idea of
having a boat of his own pleased him immensely and
all thoughts of leaving the lagoons immediately
vanished.
The next morning we sailed. From Macdonald we
got tobacco and some tinned foods to reward the Garibs
for their help during our stay in the village, and they
brought us parting gifts of fruit. The whole village
followed the schooner far out into the Caribbean, and
until we were almost out of sight of land we could see
their cayukas riding lightly over the swell. Away from
the land, a strong breeze sprang up in the south and we
set the new mainsail, which the Captain told us with
pride had been cut at Roatan by his women-folk,
Most of the Island women are skilled sailinakers and
have made sails for the schooners for several generations*
That evening, just after dark, we ran along the coast
close to the beach to watch for the Brewer s inlet. The
shore-line is so low and level that nothing stands out as
a landmark. Above the land there are a few straggling
palms silhouetted against the sky, but nothing more.
The sea was flat and in the late afternoon the wind had
died away. We sat on the low bulwarks trailing our
toes in the water and watching the long black ribbon of
desolate land unfolding on our port hand. As it grew
darker Macdonald made out to sea to clear the great
banks of silt piled off Cape Gracias Dios by the
Patuca ; then he altered course again to port to round
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MOSQUITO COAST
the cape. We strained our eyes to catch a glimpse of a
break in the flat line of land.
By midnight we had still not found it, and we must
have been as far along the coast as Ebony Lagoon or
even farther. We went about and ran back the beach
again, watching intently ; but it was no use. There
was no moon, and the last glow of sunset which might
have picked out the gap against the western sky had
vanished. At about two o clock we ran in as close as
we dared and dropped anchor,
At dawn we saw that the Brewer s Lagoon inlet was
not fifty yards down the coast from where we had
anchored. There was a slight breeze blowing that
ruffled the water, and the reefs outside the inlet were
clearly lined with fringes of white foam. With the
Diesel running dead slow we ran through the passage
and dropped anchor again, after nearly four months,
outside the Comandante s wooden shack.
No sooner had the sails been stowed away than there
occurred a calamity that had happened to us before,
and which we had expected to happen again ; the
Comandante of Mosquitia, who had given us Aguardiente
and black cigars on our last visit to the lagoon, saw us
on deck and at once came paddling furiously out to the
schooner. He clambered over the rail and shook my
hand. * Caramba^ Senor Quina, que tal I *
We shook hands with him for some time then went
ashore with him to his house for a drink, because there
was no way of politely avoiding it. He drew up three
chairs, chased the children and hens from the
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GARATASGA
and shouted to his flat-footed Senora for coffee. While
she was making it he brought out the Guarro bottle from
a cupboard, and then, running true to form, passed us a
bundle of thick native puros. I bit a full inch off mine
in an effort to make it smaller ; my stomach was weak
after the diet of the last months, and I doubted whether
I could survive the ordeal that we already knew so
well.
For two hours we sat with the Comandante, while out
side Macdonald did obscure business with the Caribs,
talking endlessly over it in the fashion of the Caribbean.
It was a welcome relief when we heard the faint popping
of a small motor-boat somewhere in the distance. The
Comandante had told us that Clayton Cooke from the
other side of the lagoon had the only outboard motor in
the neighbourhood ; this must be a visitor. The old
man caught the sound some time after we did, and sat
straining his ears a little drunkenly, trying to decide
where it was. We went out to the beach and looked
across the lagoon. There was nothing in sight but the
schooner, and around her the close cluster of cayukas.
The Comandante ran back for his telescope, and we
walked along the sand to the end of the spit that en
closed the outlet to the sea. Near us there was -no sign
of a croft ; but presently Don Tomas caught sight of a
motor-boat struggling along the shore from the direc
tion of Cape Gracias a Dios. He levelled his telescope
unsteadily and told us that there was only one man in
the boat, and that undoubtedly he must be a bandit
or a revolutionary escaping from Nicaragua. Here
was his longed-for chance of exerting real authority,
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MOSQUITO COAST
Again he ran back to the Comandancia, and returned
buckling a revolver belt and a leather bandolier of
looped cartridges around his middle. The motor-boat
was rapidly approaching the passage and the noise of its
motor, which had carried for miles across the still
lagoon, grew constantly louder. I thought it only fair,
after a while, to remind Don Tomas that as a piece of
elementary strategy he should load the enormous
revolver which he had begun to flourish. Finally the
Nicaraguan arrived, steered his boat cautiously and
skilfully through the reefs, and tied up below the
Comandancia while Don Tomas stood importantly on his
doorstep, gun in hand.
The stranger stepped ashore with a loud and dramatic
cry of Viva Carias \ * This took some of the wind from the
bulging sails of the Comandante > s importance ; here was
a loyalist, greeting him with the official formula. But
if he could not be belligerent, he could be suspicious,
and the disappointing visitor was cross-examined for
some time with a good deal of repetition and inconse
quence. He stood barefooted in the sand, a smallish
stout man with a shiny bald head* He wore tight
alpaca trousers, a singlet, and a leather shoulder holster
which held a revolver with a smart mother-of-pearl
handle. At last the Comandante was either bored or
satisfied ; the Nicaraguan bandit was a loyal Honduran
who had escaped from a political sentence in Nicaragua.
Don Tomas turned to us apologetically.
* En Mosquitia hay muy mal hombresj he said.
The bandit, as we continued to think of him, was
invited to the house and the Comandante^ laying his gun
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CARATASCA
on the table, introduced us with the age-old formula of
Spanish courtesy.
c Tengo el honor dr presentarle a Vd. dos gran scientistas,
que vienen de Inglaterra. . . .*
The bandit shook us warmly by the hand. * Mttcho
gustOy Senor. Tanto gusto, Senores. . . .* The Coman-
dantfs fanciful introduction had created a profound
impression. He too, was very interested in science ;
and at home his wife, who could read, had many books.
He hoped to go with us to La Geiba on the schooner,
and doubtless on the way we should have some interest
ing discussions. . . .
After innumerable copas and copitas of the Comandantfs
fire-water, and after healths had been drunk to all those
present and to a number of others, we were relieved to
hear a shout from the Captain. The loading was done,
and he was ready to weigh anchor. In spite of our
first feeling of relief it suddenly came to us that this was
the end, that our expedition was over and that before
long we should be back in La Geiba. Now that the
time had come to start on the last lap of our return to
civilization, there came a flat feeling of regret. Our
time was up and in a few minutes Mosquitia would be
behind us.
Partly on account of this and partly, perhaps, as a
result of the Comandante s drinks, we shook hands with
him very warmly and at inordinate length, promising
that we would come back again as soon as we could, and
that we would certainly remember him to the President
in Tegucigalpa.
We paddled out across the flat water of Brewer s
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MOSQUITO COAST
Lagoon for the last time, climbed over the low gunwale
of the schooner, and presently the Diesel began to throb
and Captain Macdonald steered slowly out over the bar.
Of the rest there is little to tell. We sailed un
eventfully through a glassy sea to La Ceiba, where we
were received with an enormous display of knowing
suspicion. We were tired and our equipment was
gone ; and we had spent all our money. A week later
Nigel was on his way to Australia and I was working
my way back to England as a supercargo on a banana
boat.
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