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Grammar of Bar Hebraeus with Commentary A
Facsimile Edition from the George A Kiraz Manuscript
Collection Abed Nuhara Bar Gor Digital Instant
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Author(s): Abed Nuhara Bar Gor
ISBN(s): 9781617199233, 1617199230
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Year: 2014
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Grammar of Bar Hebraeus with
Commentary
 Kiraz Historical Grammars Archive

38

Kiraz Historical Grammars Archive is a series intended to revive many of the classic
grammars of ancient languages. These essential tools are becoming increasingly
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 Grammar of Bar Hebraeus with
Commentary

A Facsimile Edition from the George A. Kiraz Manuscript

Collection

Scribe
Abed Nuhara Bar Gor

2014
Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA
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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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piff-paff-whizz,” or at least that is what it sounded like; and it clearly meant:
“It is a long way up there; do you want to go?” We signified that we did, and,
moreover, that we wanted cassava and kapong (i.e., men). They squatted
down beside us, and said: “Yes, yes, to-morrow, Schoolmaster yebu.”
“Indeed?” we said; “but what side Schoolmaster and what side all man?” They
pointed across the hills, over which they had come, and said, “Wrayanda-
aniafpai banaboo”; so we sent off the blue-suited fellow with a lamp to return
to, and hasten, his people, the other couple remaining with us.
Kamaiwâwong had evidently been abandoned by the villagers, Indian
fashion, so that Jeremiah’s manes might have peace; but we never discovered
for certain why Tekwonno also had been deserted. The Arekunas afterwards
said, “Wrayanda-aniafpai plenty cassava,” as though to imply that they were
all employed there preparing cassava; but this would not account for every
man, woman, child, dog, and fowl having cleared out. It is more likely that
they misdoubted our intentions, and removed themselves and their
belongings until they were reassured. Mr. Menzies laid it to a “guilty
conscience.” He said the Arekunas are often brigands, raid Makusi fields, and
carry off their women; and that, seeing a large party approach, they preferred
to seek safety in flight until they were assured that vengeance was not about
to overtake them.
We went to bed much relieved, and hoping to make the ascent next day—a
fallacious hope as it proved; but really we were all the better for having a
day’s rest forced upon us, after six consecutive marches, during which we had
covered the distance of some ninety-three miles between Puwa and
Kamaiwâwong. The night was very cold. We piled our mackintoshes on top of
our blankets to keep in the warmth; but from 3 a.m. onwards it was too cold
to sleep, and we were up at dawn preparing for the climb. Only our camp-
beds, our two bedding-bags, and one small canister, were to be carried with
us, and we were ready to start before any more Arekunas had come in. So we
sat down to solace ourselves with “the virtuous Macaulay,” hoping to make at
all events a half day’s march. At about 11 a.m. a long string of Arekunas
arrived, beating a tom-tom, and much decorated with paint and necklaces.
One man had painted coat-buttons down his naked chest! They brought with
them cassava and bananas, a clucking hen, and sat-on eggs, also nineteen
magnificent pineapples, which they laid out in rows on the floor of our
banaboo. Those pineapples were quite the most delicious I ever tasted. But to
all inquiries as to making a start the Arekunas merely replied, “Schoolmaster
yebu,” so that we had to resign ourselves to further delay. The newcomers
brought a gourd of paiwarri with them, which they offered to our people. This
is a highly alcoholic beverage, and made the eyes of the drinkers shine
unnaturally. We were glad to see that there was not much of it.
The day was brilliantly fine; not a cloud speck on either of the great
mountains, whose cliff-faces shone red above the green tree-belts. We felt we
were letting opportunity sadly slip by us, but there was nothing to be done.
The glare from the barren earth-terrace, on which an Indian village always
stands, was blinding, so we spent nearly all day within the welcome shade of
our banaboo. Arekunas—men, women, and children—arrived in small parties
at intervals all day long, and our hungry Makusis were regaled with the much-
desired cassava and cassiri. Towards nightfall Schoolmaster came in, evidently
the chief of the tribe. Why he has this peculiar name I do not know. He is a
big, stalwart individual, all muscle and sinew, full of gaiety and laughter, as
seems to be the Arekuna habit, and we explained to him, pointing to the
summit of Roraima, that we wished to be there the next day. After nightfall
the moon shone brilliantly, so that we had an opportunity of seeing the
mountains in all lights. It was an unforgettable scene of mystery and beauty.
 RORAIMA, FATHER OF STREAMS

CHAPTER X
RORAIMA, FATHER OF STREAMS

It was the rampart of God’s house

That she was standing on;
By God built over the sheer depth,
The which is Space begun.
D. G. Rossetti: The Blessèd Damozel.

Saturday, 15th January, 1916, was the day on which at last we climbed to
the summit of Mount Roraima. We were most fortunate in having a cool, grey
morning; and after sundry delays, at which Indians are adepts, we started off
from Kamaiwâwong at 7.38 a.m. Our party consisted of Schoolmaster and
twelve other Arekunas, some to act as baggage-carriers and some to cut open
a trail where the ascent was through forest. Mr. Menzies and Haywood also
accompanied us, but none of our Makusi droghers. We had asked Joseph and
Daniel whether they would like to come; but they said “No,” possibly under
pressure, for I don’t think the Arekunas particularly wished the secret of their
mountain to be disclosed to Makusis. However, Joseph and Daniel
subsequently changed their mind, hurried after us, and overtook us just as we
were reaching the cliff-top.
Roraima stood in clear-cut outline before us, untouched by clouds. There
was heavy dew on the grass, and it was delightful walking up the savannah
slopes. The hill-track led us off to the right over ground which was in places
very stony but for the most part good going, if steep. Schoolmaster pointed to
the top of the mountain, and said, “To-morrow”; but we firmly answered, “No,
to-day,” whereupon all the Arekunas smiled and shook their heads, and
Schoolmaster shut his eyes, beat his breast, and gasped, to show how
exhausted we should soon be. I retorted by running past him, laughing my
contempt, and pointing up to the sky, while I told him, “Paranakiri [i.e.,
overseas] mountain so!” He opened his mouth, pointed down his throat, and
said, “Brandina!” which I fear throws a lurid light on the proceedings of
former travellers. It was really quite an amusing dumb-crambo argument; but
our steady pace soon convinced him that we meant business. The path
wound unremittingly uphill over long grass, with big boulders, doubtless once
part of Roraima’s mighty cliffs, lying on all sides, much as they do on
Dartmoor tors, whilst the depressions are boggy and filled with marsh-plants.
The ever-widening semicircle of panorama behind us was very beautiful and
interesting.
From Kamaiwâwong to the forest fringe was a hard three hours’ walk, with
no halt save an occasional pause for breath. At 10.24 a.m. we reached the
highest point of the savannah hills, 6,510 feet above sea-level. Then we
dropped down some fifty feet to the edge of the forest, and made our first
halt, from 10.35 a.m. to 12.17 p.m., in thick jungle by the side of a delightful
gurgling brook, which dashes down icy cold from Roraima’s bleak heights. The
ascent to this point can hardly be less than five miles by the trail in all its
windings. Schoolmaster introduced the spot to us as “English pappa
banaboo”; and we believe he meant to indicate it as the site of Sir Everard im
Thurn’s camp, when he was searching for a path to the top of Roraima. As far
as is known, Sir Everard was the first human being to find a way up the
precipice and to set foot on Roraima’s summit. He did so on the 18th
December, 1884, after spending about a month in camp at the edge of the
forest-belt, whilst his Indians cut a trail to the toe of the ledge, whereby alone
the cliff-face can be surmounted; and our midday halt must have been near
the place where he persevered with such patience. We had a thorough rest
and made a good meal. Our limes having given out, we took a bottle of lime-
juice with us; and I made Schoolmaster drink a spoonful of it, lest the
appearance of a bottle should make him believe that his “brandina” prophecy
was being fulfilled. Close by, there were growing some delicious-looking
blackberries; but, just as we were about to eat some, the Arekunas cried “No,
no!” and made so much fuss that we desisted.
Restarting, we addressed ourselves to the ascent through the forest-belt;
and this, to my mind, is really the only disagreeable part of the whole climb.
The ground here is a pell-mell of huge boulders, pieces of disintegrated
mountain that have broken away from the overhanging cliffs above during
long ages past; for Roraima and Kukenaam are but the “fragments of an
earlier world.” Over these rocks grows a dense mass of small trees, and
magnificent tree-ferns root upon the débris of earlier decaying jungle, which
is covered with a carpet of slimy green moss and has a horrid corpse-like
smell. The whole place is dank and cold, and the thick matting of moss makes
it impossible to know whether one is stepping on a secure foothold, or on a
rotten tree-branch, or on nothing but a layer of moss and twigs concealing a
chasm between two great rocks. It was a thoroughly nasty scramble, and feet
and hands had to be used almost equally. Our rate of progress was
necessarily slow, with many short pauses, while the trail was being cut open
ahead of us, and it was 2.15 p.m. before we reached the base of the cliff at
the point where the diagonal ascent by the jungle-covered rock-ledge begins.
During these two hours I must confess that I was very unhappy, and I
reflected much on the superior wisdom of all the other women in the world
who had refrained from placing themselves in this predicament. I expected to
sprain knee or ankle at every step, and the struggle was dreadfully exhausting
—in places more like tree-climbing than mountaineering. Schoolmaster with
two Arekunas kept ahead of us to chop open a track.
At the base of the ledge we were 7,680 feet above sea-level; and here it
was that Mr. J. J. Quelch camped in 1894, when he and his party climbed
Roraima. It is awe-inspiring to stand at the very toe of that mighty precipice,
with its blue and red stains, and, looking vertically up, to see the overhang of
great masses of rock, ready, it would seem, one day to topple over and grind
to pieces the ledge and all that is on it. But until the day of that impending
catastrophe the climb up the ledge will present no great difficulty, although
there are some bad places in it. I put my ear against the cliff, and could hear
the drip of water percolating inside.
During the forest climb we had no view at all, but the vegetation on the
ledge, being stunted and less dense, permits not infrequent glimpses of the
glorious landscape below, spread out like a great green sea. Lovely flowers
abounded at our feet, and the cool air was like a tonic after the damp
oppression in the forest. We reached the first obstacle in the ledge at 3.45
p.m., when it became necessary to use a rope to assist the droghers in
hoisting their loads up an almost vertical rock-face some twenty feet high. An
active man, unloaded, can, however, scramble up without such assistance. A
troublesome point about the ledge is that it has three V-shaped dips, and its
general nature can best be shown diagrammatically thus:
 These three dips are very steep, and we had fairly to slide down them,
clinging on to every root, bush, or stone we could catch hold of, while getting
up again on the other side was, of course, an even more severe struggle.
At the third dip we met the only other considerable obstacle presented by
the ledge. We reached this point at 4.20 p.m., and found a diminutive
waterfall trickling down the face of the precipice and falling in a shower of icy-
cold spray upon the ledge, which the action of the water has swept clean of
all bush and scrub. A sharp V-shaped depression has here been cut in the
ledge, which ascends under the waterfall in rock steps, covered with moss
and very slippery. Care is necessary, but in dry weather, such as prevailed at
the time of our ascent, there is little or no danger. After heavy rain, however,
it might be impossible to pass beneath the waterfall, although I doubt
whether, except in the case of continuous rainfall lasting many days, a
traveller would be held up long by this obstacle, as water appears to drain
away very rapidly from the reservoirs on the rocky summit of Mount Roraima.
For example, from our camp at Weiwötö, after a rain-storm had passed over
Roraima, we counted no less than six waterfalls on its south-eastern face; but
next day, after some hours of fine weather, none of these could be seen with
the naked eye. They may possibly have continued as small trickles, but were
quite inconspicuous, as, indeed, was the waterfall under which we now
passed, for it could not be seen from Kamaiwâwong.
Save at this waterfall, the ledge is everywhere many feet wide, and there is
no danger whatsoever of falling off it. From the waterfall another forty
minutes’ direct ascent over rock-boulders brought us to the top of the
escarpment, 8,625 feet above sea-level. We reached this point at 5 p.m. The
whole climb had, therefore, taken us three hours over savannah, two hours
through forest, and two and three-quarter hours up the ledge. For purposes
of comparison, I may here say that the descent of the ledge occupied one and
three-quarter hours, the descent through forest one hour and fifty minutes,
and across the savannah two and a half hours. Roraima was kindly disposed
to us, for we had splendid weather for the climb—a grey, cool morning,
followed by a sunny, windless afternoon.
The scene when one has at last scaled the cliff-face of Roraima is fantastic
and almost grotesque. Little meets the eye save rock, which the weather has
blackened and worn into many weird shapes—a dragon, a frog, and a couple
of umbrellas, all of rock, were conspicuous objects at the spot where we
camped for the night; but there is in general a monotonous lack of
differentiation in the rock-shapes, making this rugged plateau a maze where
one would soon be lost, especially if mist settled down on the mountain. Here
and there are stunted trees (Bonnetia Roraimæ): but all wood on this bleak
summit is so sodden with moisture that it is difficult to kindle a respectable
fire for cooking purposes, and quite impossible to make such a blaze as would
keep out the cold. Water is abundant, clear as crystal, and icy cold. We found
no really satisfactory camping-ground; but Schoolmaster took us to the spot
where, it would appear, all those who before us had spent the night on the
top of Roraima took shelter. It was in the middle of a big amphitheatre of
crags, encircled by what one might almost call waves of stone, about five
minutes’ walk from the edge of the precipice. Here two large rocks converge
at an angle which gives protection from the prevailing winds; and by
spreading a tarpaulin over the gap between them we made ourselves a rock-
sided tent, commodious enough to contain our two camp-beds. Unfortunately,
the floor was not dry rock, but spongy, wet moss.

Camp on Mount Roraima.

To face page 208.

 Haywood had ready-made Bovril in his kettle, and soon supplied us with a
hot drink, after which we made our arrangements for the night. Directly the
sun had disappeared, it felt desperately cold, and we longed in vain for fires
to warm ourselves. At 6.15 p.m. the thermometer was 51° F.—not very low, of
course, but when you are used to a tropical climate it feels like freezing. A fire
can only be maintained by an Indian squatting beside it and tending it all the
time. Even then it gives but little warmth. Mr. Menzies arranged his tarpaulin
in a place somewhat similar to the one where we were camped; but when the
wind rose in the night he discovered to his cost that the entrance to his cave-
dwelling was to windward. He sheltered (if “shelter” is the word) Haywood,
Joseph, and Daniel with him. We gave our spare tarpaulin to the Arekunas,
and as many as could got behind it; but several preferred the lee-side of our
rock, where the poor things chattered, shivered, and blew up fires all night
long. The night was clear, and Roraima looked wonderful by moonlight, the
fantastic shapes around us being even stranger than by day. We slept a little,
not much; and I think that my husband and I were the only ones of our party
who slept at all.
Next day was gloriously fine. We rose at dawn to find gusts of icy wind and
wisps of cloud blowing all over the place. Our naked Indians looked numb
with cold; and, as the few of them who could boast of a shirt or trousers were
not much better off, my husband and I reluctantly decided that it would be
impossible for us to spend another night on the mountain-top. It would have
been inhuman to expose all our company in this shelterless place. Any party
that may come hereafter, really to examine Roraima’s summit, would have to
organize matters so as to let their Indians spend the night in the forest below,
and occupy the days in bringing up firewood for them.
We had, however, a few hours to spare, and we spent them in exploring the
vicinity of our camp. From the edge of the cliff the panoramic view to the
south-west is vast and superb, the landscape resembling a map in green
plasticine with the rivers shown in blue. All the hills we had toiled over looked
the merest little crinkles; but the effect of that glorious stretch of open
country is wonderfully impressive; and as the sun, gaining power, dispelled all
mist, we revelled in the great sweep of air and space in front of us. Our old
friend Chakbang was the only hill that looked more than an earth-wrinkle,
save for some huge cliff-faced mountains miles away in Venezuela, which
must be as high, if not higher, than Roraima. Roraima itself concealed Mount
Weitipu from our sight, and we could see hardly anything of the line by which
we had approached. The call of the mountain was clearly to go on, on to the
Orinoco, but we could not obey. We had reached the end of our tether, and
from this point the return journey began.
To explore the summit of Roraima itself would be a difficult task, and not
without danger. It would be unsafe to go any distance without white paint, or
some other means of marking one’s way; for one would very soon be lost in
the labyrinth of extraordinary rock-forms, and, when mist or cloud was on the
mountain, it would be impossible to see more than a very short distance
ahead. We clambered up to a point from which there was a good view of the
summit of Kukenaam. It appeared to be the same fantastic jumble of black
weather-worn rock that surrounded us where we stood, arranged in the same
curious amphitheatres. Then we set off in an endeavour to reach the edge of
the cliff between Roraima and Kukenaam; but it is slow going where every
step is a climb either up or down. I soon gave up and made my way leisurely
back to camp, while my husband pressed on. But he found a great chasm
across his path and had to turn back also. We next visited the mark erected
by Mr. C. W. Anderson on his boundary survey, and walked to the source of
the Kamaiwa creek, which lay in the trough of the rock-wave wherein our
camp was situated. There is a sort of fascination I cannot describe in these
silent waterholes, where the eternal moisture of the “Father of Streams”
gathers on beds of white sand and shining crystals. The stillness and the
deadness of everything was extraordinary, and yet somehow wonderfully
refreshing. There was not a trace of animal life. In an eastern land Roraima
would have its “patient, sleepless eremite,” seeking revelation in meditation
amid its great silent peace, “in height and cold, the splendour of the hills.”
At 10.30 a.m. we “breakfasted”; at 11.7 a.m. we commenced the descent;
and we reached Kamaiwâwong without misadventure by 5.30 p.m. The
steepness of the descent made it almost as slow a business as scrambling up
had been. I did a good deal of it by sitting down and then lowering myself
with the help of my hands. Mercifully the forest trail was much improved by
the fact that all the droghers had climbed it after us, so that the slippery moss
had to a great extent been trodden away, and we could see where to put our
feet. How the Arekunas managed to negotiate that climb with loads on their
backs without breaking their legs is beyond our comprehension. They were a
good deal cut and scratched, it is true; but their prehensile toes saved them
from more serious injury. Indians catch hold by their toes in truly monkey
fashion; and, if a man drops anything on the line of march, he picks it up with
his toes and puts it into his hand to avoid stooping. Our feet seemed stupid,
clumsy things by comparison. By the time I reached the savannah slopes I
was so very stiff that I could only move slowly. These lovely savannahs had all
been set on fire by our men, and were charred and grievous to see.
At Kamaiwâwong we were received with great acclamation. The village had,
during our absence, been repeopled. Evidently everyone from far and near
had come to see us, and there was much excitement and, unfortunately, a
great desire to shake hands. The Arekunas would seem to have thought that
our arrival broke the evil spell which the death of Jeremiah had cast upon the
place. They pulled away the earth-sods that blocked the doorway of their late
chief’s banaboo, reoccupied both it and all the other banaboos, and held
evensong in the village church, singing the same hymn and intoning the same
prayers which we had heard at Mataruka. There was much cassiri-drinking
and general rejoicing; and as soon as it was dark the men trooped out and set
fire to the grass in a circle round the village, to drive away all evil spirits, we
supposed. They danced round the fires they had lit like madmen, in order to
“send kenaima far.” Next day a feast was held in honour of the reopening of
the village. Tekwonno, we gathered, had never been really abandoned.
Indeed, it is more than likely that its inhabitants, having news of our
approach, with a large following of Makusis, considered it prudent to evacuate
Tekwonno until, by observing us from the neighbouring hills, they were
satisfied of our peaceful intentions.
Roraima wore a cloud-cap during the evening, so we congratulated
ourselves on having decided to come down; and during the night we saw the
wonderful effect of a brilliant moon lighting up the gleaming clouds that
rested on the black precipices of the twin giants—our last view of them from
Kamaiwâwong, for next morning they were quite invisible. We had an
excellent night’s rest, which I think we well deserved; and, having blocked in
with a tarpaulin a good deal more of the sides of our banaboo, we were quite
warm by comparison with our experience of the previous night.
 THE RETURN JOURNEY

CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN JOURNEY

Alas, that the longest hill

Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, wheresoe’er,
Shall find wings waiting there.
H. C. Beeching.

Many farewells and the bringing up of piles of cassava for the support of
our caravan delayed our start from Kamaiwâwong on the return journey to
Mataruka. We had asked Schoolmaster to send two men with us to bring back
from Puwa the salt and the cloth which was to be the recompense of those
Arekunas who had assisted us; but instead of sending two men, Schoolmaster
himself and the entire party who had climbed Roraima with us gaily
accompanied our march back. It was a delightful morning, with alternate
showers and sunshine and gloriously cool winds. We retraced our steps until
we were close to the spot where we breakfasted on the 13th January, and
here we halted again for our midday meal at a delicious spot under a big tree,
sitting amidst fragrant bracken and pretending to be in England. The walk had
unstiffened our muscles, cramped by the long descent of the day before, and
we felt quite fit and fresh.
Schoolmaster, who now acted as guide, applied for permission to lead us
back by a line different from that which we had traversed on the outward
journey. We agreed; and in the end Schoolmaster brought us to Mataruka by
a trail which interlaced with Joseph’s so as roughly to form the figure 8. Our
first divergence was to the left in the direction of Weitipu; and plainly any trail
which avoided the long sweep to the west round by the head-waters of the
Chitu was likely to be a short-cut. Then, after wheeling to the left, we
descended somewhat abruptly to a little plateau on which stands
Maurekmutta banaboo, the home of a solitary Arekuna family. Here
Schoolmaster showed us another line running almost straight towards
Kamaiwâwong. It would probably have been preferable to the one we had
walked, and might have saved some climbing. Why they had not led us that
way we could not make out; but, of course, to an Indian time is of no
importance, unless he is hungry, and the tramp of half a dozen extra miles is
a mere trifle. No one was at home in this banaboo.
We next descended yet farther, until, after one and a quarter hours’ march
beyond the point of divergence from Joseph’s trail, we reached and forded the
Arabupu (3,780 feet above sea-level). Here we were met by quite a heavy
shower of cold rain. Twenty minutes later we crossed the Gunguila, a
confluent of the Arabupu; and another ten minutes’ march brought us to the
brow of a hill, 4,060 feet above sea-level, where it became evident that we
were making straight for the southern spur of Mount Weitipu across the folds
and rifts of a plateau. We could, in fact, see our trail running ahead past the
very toe of Weitipu; but as, on descending, the path followed a valley in the
diametrically opposite direction, we were reminded—and not for the first time
either—that Indian trails are like the paths in the garden of the talking flowers
in Alice through the Looking-Glass, and that to get anywhere you must turn
and walk in the opposite direction. We crossed two more small streams, and
then, after a further fifty-six minutes’ march, we halted for the night on the
right bank of the Erkoy River, in a little copse, evidently the recognized Indian
camping-ground, and much preferable to the bleak camp at Weiwötö on
Joseph’s trail. The Erkoy is another confluent of the Arabupu, and from a little
clump of trees on a level terrace where we camped the ground dropped away
abruptly to the river. A steep grass hill on the left bank protected us nicely on
the windward side, whilst the lee-side was open to the savannah. In the
watery rays of the evening sun Roraima and Kukenaam stood clear for the
first time that day. We could no longer see the south-western wall up which
we had climbed, but we had a splendid view of the south-eastern escarpment.
The clear, swift-running Erkoy almost tempted us to bathe, but it was too cold
to venture. We had a fine night, though once or twice, as the rush of the wind
shook the tree-tops, we woke up sufficiently to rejoice that we were not on
the exposed tableland. The Makusis camped all round us, while the Arekunas
slung their hammocks in a clump of trees a little way downstream.
Next morning (18th January) was gloriously fine, and we saw Roraima and
Kukenaam for the last time at close quarters, shining red in the dawn. We
forded the Erkoy, which flows swiftly and came icy cold well over our knees;
and then, ascending the steep bank on the other side, we found ourselves
once more on a rolling plateau with the trail we had seen passing over the toe
of Weitipu, now just ahead. I loved the walk over the fresh grass of this
shining tableland, amidst the indescribable peace of its mighty silence. The
trail was almost level, save for little descents into the channels of the many
streams that come racing down Weitipu’s steep flanks; and in the keen, fresh
morning air mere movement was a joy—different indeed to one’s feelings on
the low, hot coast-lands! In succession we crossed the Kamaoura-wong, two
small swamps, the Tongkoy, and the Sappi, all streams which tumble in
picturesque cascades from Weitipu; and after an hour’s march we crossed the
southern spur of Weitipu himself. He is a very attractive mountain, majestic,
but without the bleak austerity of Roraima and Kukenaam. His southern
summit would afford a splendid camping-ground, and several of his terraces
would make beautiful house-sites. In China such a mountain would have been
studded with temples and monasteries, but I have never heard of anyone
climbing to the top of Weitipu. It would not be difficult to do this, though
rather strenuous, and I should love to go back one day and make the ascent.
On the spur of Weitipu, where we stood (4,100 feet above sea-level),
Schoolmaster showed us yet another trail—the most direct of all—branching
off to Kamaiwâwong!
We then crossed two more streams—a small one called the Apa, and a
larger one called the Perumak. The latter is fringed by forest, and is probably
identical with the river Maipa, crossed by Joseph’s trail. A glorious grassy
savannah spreads out on both sides of this narrow strip of woodland; and in
it, just beyond the Perumak ford, an hour’s march from the spur of Weitipu,
stands a solitary banaboo, near which the trail to Tumong, by which Dr.
Crampton travelled in 1911, branches off to the left. We kept to the right, and
eighteen minutes later reached the crest of a ridge, which appears to form the
divide between the watershed of the Orinoco and of the Amazon. At this
point, therefore, we presumably returned from Venezuela to Brazil. The divide
here is 3,860 feet above sea-level.
We now descended into a charming valley, and, after forty minutes’ march,
halted for our midday meal beside the Muruïna, a pretty little tributary of the
Kotinga. Once more we recognized the jasper formation, and we established
ourselves on a tree-shaded ledge above a deep, clear pool. This place is a
recognized Arekuna camping-ground. The creek is forded just above a
waterfall, where its two branches meet. Within the fork is a copse, and at the
season of our visit there ran along the side of the stream a dry rock-ledge
which would form a roomy and level tent-floor. I remember that, whilst we
waited for Haywood’s preparations, we regaled ourselves on the last of the
delicious pineapples, carried with us from Kamaiwâwong. It tasted most
especially nice after our three hours’ walk.
 Another ascent and descent brought us, twenty minutes after restarting, to
the Tunâpun creek. We crossed it, and thirty-eight minutes later we had
climbed to the top of the hill-ridge (3,670 feet above sea-level), overlooking
the full width of the Kotinga valley right across to “Landmark Peak.” This was
the same hill-ridge that we had climbed, much farther to the west, on the
12th January; but the fierce midday sun had sucked up all colour from the
landscape, and it no longer looked the fairyland which it had seemed on that
early morning. Now came an abrupt descent, very warm work and lasting just
an hour, to the point where the Töpa creek is forded close by a solitary
banaboo. Suddenly our procession halted. The magic word waikin was passed
along, and we all squatted down on the ground, while Schoolmaster and
Joseph stalked two big deer not far away. Schoolmaster crept to within point-
blank range of one animal and fired. Alas! his stock of powder and shot was
practically exhausted, so he had given his old fowling-piece a most insufficient
charge; and the deer, though hit, bounded away uphill with its companion.
Behold Joseph and Schoolmaster racing after them up the steep slope like a
pair of dogs! They rejoined us later very crestfallen; and Schoolmaster
gesticulated to me as graphic an account of the whole business as ever
disappointed sportsman poured into the ear of sympathizing lady.
For the rest of the day’s march the trail lay over spacious undulating
pasture-lands, crossing three small streams, fringed by eta-palms; and, after
two and a quarter hours’ march from the Töpa crossing, we reached and
forded the Kotinga at the same point as on our outward journey, thus
completing one loop of the figure 8. We then made our way over rocks up a
little ravine on the left bank and camped in bush upon a small level terrace at
the edge of a brook. It was a nasty, stuffy place, full of ants; but we cared
little for that, as we were practically free from the kabouru. My husband
unfortunately caught his foot in some bush rope lying on the rocks and fell
heavily, breaking the little finger of his left hand, which caused him great pain.
The Kotinga valley, it seems, was destined to be disagreeable to us.
 Mount Weitipu from the left bank of the Kotinga River.

To face page 225.

When, next morning, we emerged from our ravine on to the brow of a bluff
above the Kotinga, we were delighted to see a most interesting and novel
aspect of Roraima, which was really rather astonishing, for there had been no
hint of such a view either the evening before or on our outward journey. The
morning was gloriously clear, and on the left, behind Weitipu, the south-
eastern face of Roraima projected clear and red, and beyond that again
Kukenaam’s southern end; whilst on the right of Weitipu we saw plainly, not
only the other end of Roraima’s south-eastern wall, but also a small and
foreshortened portion of the eastern escarpment. This view enabled us in a
small degree to grasp the enormous area of Roraima. It is impossible to do so
when opposite one great wall only; for Roraima is an immense, irregular
quadrilateral, of which the south-eastern side, ten miles in length, is the
longest, and the area of the summit, flanked all round by precipices, cannot
be less than fifty square miles.
From the Kotinga ford to the pass at “Landmark Peak” Schoolmaster’s trail
coincided with Joseph’s, but from “Landmark Peak” to the Rera valley we
traversed a new line of country. This time we swung off to the right, and we
hoped to be led along the ridge of the mountain amphitheatre which encircles
the Warukma and Karakanang plateau. But an Indian trail is nothing if not
surprising. For the first half-hour we did indeed continue on the high tableland
at the same altitude as the pass (3,150 feet above sea-level), crossing two
streams; but then we wheeled sharply to the right, and, passing between two
low knolls, left the tableland by a narrow path skirting round the contours of a
hill and affording a view over a sea of jagged peaks tumbled together without
apparent rhyme or reason. It was a most astonishingly tangled-looking
country, with valleys running at angles to each other and hills flung about pell-
mell in the midst of them, as though the powers engaged in making this place
had got tired of their work and flung it all down anyhow and left it. The
colouring, too, was curious, vivid red, black, and green; for many fires had
evidently seared the countryside, the most recent leaving black patches,
which contrasted oddly with the bright green of new grass springing up where
the land had peace, and with the red soil on the hillsides, whence heavy rain
had washed away the black ash, but where as yet forgiving Nature had not
reasserted herself. For half an hour our path clung to the hill-side, but it then
gave that up as a bad job and dropped abruptly into one of the narrow valleys
beneath. The prospect was certainly not an inviting one. We consoled
ourselves, however, with the reflection that the divergence to the right must
have put us in a direct line for Mount Mataruka. A short but heavy shower of
rain now drenched us to the skin; but it was welcome, as relieving an
unwonted sultriness of the atmosphere. Round the base of the hill we curved,
climbed over a knoll in the valley, and so, after three-quarters of an hour’s
march, we came to the left bank of a creek called the Walamwötö,
presumably a tributary of the Kotinga. Here we pitched camp in a small
winding valley (2,450 feet above sea-level) by the side of a charming pool. As
we were establishing ourselves under our tarpaulin, a storm of wind and rain
almost blew it away from its moorings, and six Makusis had to hold it up on
the weather side until the fierceness of the gusts abated. We caused the
ridge-pole to be lowered considerably so as to afford less target for the wind,
and I was somewhat anxious about the night. But after dark the weather
became beautifully still and clear, a full moon making diamonds everywhere of
the lingering rain-drops. This was the only rain-storm of any moment which
we encountered from the day we left the Kowatipu forest until the day of our
return to it. During the whole of the rest of our savannah journey we enjoyed
superb weather, sunny, breezy, cool, and rainless, save for occasional Scotch
mist upon the hill-tops.
We rose very early next day (20th January), and broke our fast by
lamplight. But the sun soon rose clear and very hot, and I realized that the
strenuous exertions of the five preceding days without a rest were beginning
to tell on me. So the start did not find me very fresh. An hour’s march in
narrow winding ravines, followed by a short climb over a long black-bouldered
slope, brought us to James’s banaboo (2,720 feet above sea-level), perched
upon a hill-top. The inhabitants came out in a string to greet us, and the
second man in the line, as he shook my hand (the ceremony none of them
will forego), ejaculated questioningly “Mamma?” and all his companions
echoed the cry. It must be seldom, if ever, that a white woman is seen by
these people. The view from this lonely banaboo was certainly enchanting;
but, alas! no tableland such as we had hoped to see lay unrolled before us,
only a fresh tangle of hills and valleys; and, though the country looked most
interesting, it also looked very arduous. Moreover, there ensued an argument
between Joseph and Schoolmaster as to the right road onwards, and we
wondered whether they really knew the way, or were merely proceeding by
trial and error. The long ridge of tableland, over the crest of which we had
hoped to travel when we turned aside from Joseph’s line at “Landmark Peak,”
looked most provoking away to the left. At length our guides reconciled their
difference, whatever it may have been, and led us three hundred feet
downwards over a broad hill-shoulder across a small stream. Then, after a
long, gradual ascent over another broad hill-shoulder, we came to the top of a
commanding hill, 2,960 feet above sea-level. Here indeed we were comforted,
for we saw again Mount Mataruka, and realized that we were making for it by
a much more direct line than if we had returned through Enamung. Besides, a
nice undulating ridge lay before us, and the view was grand. We could see a
magnificent expanse of country on all sides. Far, far behind lay Weitipu, with
Roraima and Kukenaam at his back, bidding us a last good-bye. We saw them
no more after this. I wonder if we ever shall again! On the right we had an
excellent view of our former line of journey, the plateau of the Karakanang
and the grassy peaks of Enamung, as well as of a big waterfall shining white
in the distance, whither our outward journey had unfortunately not led us.
Our guides said that it was a fall on the Wairann; and at close quarters it must
be a fine sight, for even at a distance of about seven miles it was a striking
feature in the landscape. At this point we were one hour and six minutes’
march from James’s banaboo.
We continued for another forty minutes along the crest of the hill-ridge,
enjoying intensely the glorious scenery, and finally reaching a point (2,810
feet above sea-level) whence, beyond a cleft in the hills, cut athwart our line
of march by the Karakanang River, we could see the long, straight line of the
Paiwa valley, down which lay our forward path. Fifty minutes’ sharp descent,
largely through forest, then brought us to a ford of jasper slabs over the
Karakanang (1,960 feet above sea-level). Here we made our midday meal,
and thereafter we ascended the valley of a brook, which falls into the
Karakanang at the ford; and, climbing over some hillocks shut in between
high hill-ranges on both sides, we came, after an hour and a half, to the Paiwa
River (2,210 feet above sea-level), down which our trail then ran for three and
a half hours’ actual march. It was most fascinating scenery. The turquoise-
blue Paiwa in its rose-pink bed (for the blood-red jasper weathers on the
surface to pink) flowed clear as crystal through opal-green pools and in
rippling white cascades, whilst shade trees, dotted here and there, relieved
the glare of the brilliant light. Beneath one such tree, seated on pink sand
close to the edge of the stream, we enjoyed our usual tea halt. The sides of
the valley are seamed with confluent brooks, many of which had water even
at this height of the dry season. In wet weather the smiling stream must be a
very torrent.
At first the Paiwa had all the appearance of making for the Ireng; but at a
point a little more than halfway in that part of its course which we followed it
turned abruptly off to the south and swept past Mount Pakara to join the
Kotinga. Towards sunset we crossed to its left bank, where was a broad level
stretch of sand, evidently a favourite Indian camping-ground, but rather a
disappointing one to me, as there was a rift in the jasper formation just here,
and the stream merely gurgled over quite ordinary stones, while the sand was
a commonplace white. Moreover, the steep hill-side across the stream had
been hideously burnt, and there were evidences of recent Indian encampment
and of fish-poisoning in the river. Indians are an admirable people in many
ways, but they scarcely deserve their goodly heritage, since all that they do
for their beautiful country is to poison the fish in its exquisite streams and to
disfigure the fair hills by continual grass-burning.
Next day we ate our porridge and drank our coffee before dawn, as the
moon sank behind the trees. Then, after following the river for a short
distance, we climbed up through a copse to where a banaboo was perched on
a bluff, the Paiwa below making a right-angled turn, so that those who live
here have an excellent vantage-ground whence they can watch all wayfarers
whether up or down stream. At the banaboo we found Schoolmaster and his
Arekunas, who had evidently spent the night there, leaving the Makusis with
us; and after a short colloquy Joseph led us down into the Paiwa valley once
more. The Arekunas remained behind, and made for Mataruka by that line of
their own which Joseph had graphically described as “Mountain-top,
mountain-top, mountain-top,” on the day of our trek to Enamung.
The Paiwa, which had grown to a considerable size, now reverted again to a
jasper bed, fringed this time with eta-palms, and looking prettier than ever.
We walked along its bank most of the way; but at times the valley would close
in to a gorge and the river run in cataracts, while we would have to climb over
rocky bluffs. At last we crossed the blue waters of this pleasant river for the
last time, and finally quitted the Paiwa watershed. Our trail now wound away
to the left, choosing most cleverly a low divide, and then equally cleverly
winding in and out on the level round the spur of our old friend Kumâraying,
until we found ourselves in the Rera plain once more. It would have been a
pretty path but for the desolation and destruction wrought by fire. Some men
ahead of us actually started two fresh fires, which were fiercely burning as we
passed.
At the special request of our people we went to Joseph’s banaboo for our
midday meal. His wife provided us with abundance of delicious fresh eggs,
and I confess, without any desire to teach my grandmother, that at times the
best way of eating eggs is to suck them. A few minutes’ walk brought us back
to the trail by which we had travelled on our outward journey, so completing
the second loop in the figure 8. We now followed our former line of march the
rest of the way back to Mataruka village, where we were warmly received by
Albert and the inhabitants. The Arekunas we passed at a brook a few minutes
from the village, busily engaged in washing and painting their faces afresh.
They then made a state entry behind us, beating a tom-tom.
The rest of our travels needs no description, for the line of our homeward
march was identical with that of our outward journey. The distance between
Mataruka and Kamaiwâwong by Joseph’s trail was a march of thirty-two hours
forty-seven minutes; and the return journey between the same villages by
Schoolmaster’s trail was a march of thirty-two hours fifty-one minutes, of
which eleven hours twenty-eight minutes were occupied in retraversing those
parts of the route where the two trails were identical—namely, the Kukenaam
valley, the ascent from the Kotinga ford to “Landmark Peak,” and the line from
Rera to Mataruka. There is, therefore, little to choose between the two routes.
Both mean five stages of rather more than six hours’ march a day.
Schoolmaster’s line was slightly more direct, but Joseph’s was appreciably less
arduous.
We reached Georgetown, after forty-six days’ absence, on the 3rd February,
1916, resting on the way back for one day at Mataruka, one day on the Karto
tableland, and one day at Kaietuk. There was a new and lovely note of colour
on the Potaro; for the river was lit up by a beautiful pink blossom (Syphonia
globifera) all along the banks, very much like peach-blossom in appearance
and in its manner of growing on a leafless tree. Also there was much more
water going over Kaietuk than when we passed upstream; and magnificent
was the amber swirl that descended, to change into gleaming spray flashing
like diamonds, as it fell into the black depths. Grey-green cascades dashed
down the crags on all sides, flashing out of the mists that lay heavy on the
summits, to mingle with the blossom-strewn river—a country for Undine
indeed!
 So our brief journey in the mountains ended, alas! below sea-level; nor did
we “find wings waiting there,” for the aeronautical service of the British
Guiana Government is as yet only an aspiration.

Route from
HOLMIA IN BRITISH GUIANA TO MT.
RORAIMA

SECTION OF COUNTRY TRAVERSED

BETWEEN KAIETTUK FALL, ON THE
POTARO RIVER, AND MT RORAIMA

Horizontal Scale 1/2,000,000. Vertical

Scale exaggerated 50 times.
 FOOTNOTES
[1] Kaieteur is a mistake for Kaietuk. See p. 75.
[2] Vide his article in Timehri, vol. ii., 3rd series (1912), p. 18.
[3] Cf. Timehri, vol. iv. (1885), “The First Ascent of Roraima,” p. 23,
where Sir E. im Thurn, writing of Roraima and Kukenaam, says: “Rarely did
we see the scene quite clear, a fact which, as the Indians were never tired
of explaining to us, was owing to the habit of the mountain—they regard
both mountains as one—of veiling itself whenever approached by white
men.”

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