March to the Monteria Page 11

  It was a march of men of whom only few went along voluntarily, and of whom none cared a whit for honor or adventure. There was no link of comradeship or any inclination for mutual assistance. All of them were ill-humored and obstinate, and they would not miss an opportunity to cause trouble for the leader of the troop. Everyone felt like a prisoner or galley slave, without hope of a termination of his sentence. Naturally such a march meets with many unforeseen difficulties. The agents who lead those hired men through the jungle need not be strategists. But, in their own way, they have to be outstanding diplomats and experienced tacticians. It won’t do for them to shoot a man or to give another one such a hiding that he drops dead on the trail. Each man has to be kept in fairly good shape.

  The agents must be capable of settling a quarrel to the satisfaction of all concerned, so that the opponents won’t cut each other to pieces and thus constitute a loss of several men for the agent. The agents have to dry the tears of those who are homesick and refuse to eat; otherwise, after three days these men will be so weak that they will perish on the road before they get to the first lakes. To keep the thought of desertion from getting the upper hand, the leaders must convince the men with honey-coated speeches that desertion won’t pay, that the fugitive will be caught, no matter if it costs five hundred pesos. They will relate sufficient examples, with names and detailed description, to prove that fugitives are always caught.

  The agents must keep the men in good humor. Since the best means of keeping men in good humor is good food, the agents never lose an opportunity to go hunting. The jungle is immensely rich in jabalí, antelope, pheasants and wild turkey, so the agents can easily deliver sufficient fresh meat. For the Indians, who in the misery of their lives in the fincas and in their independent settlements rarely obtain fresh meat, this always offers an occasion for a feast.

  Night and day the men on the march are threatened with revolvers or carbines, but there are no shootings. The agent has not spent one or two hundred pesos on a man just to shoot him and leave him for the buzzards. And there is forever the danger that a man who has received a lashing will be unable to march or carry his pack. Or the sores may become infected, and he may get pus-rot or tetanus and die on the road. Then again a man may become as stubborn as an old mule. Then he sits down on the road and cannot be moved by blows or by being pricked with sharp-pointed sticks or with promises of paradise to get up and continue the march. An Indian can fall into such a state of absolute indifference to the surrounding world and all its joys and pains that even if he were told in all seriousness that he could go home, free of all contract obligations, he would refuse to get up and walk. He dies and nothing can save him because he has given up his will to live and, once having given it up, he is unable to recover it.

  But just as the revolver and the carbine constantly flash before the marchers’ eyes, every minute or so the long whips of the drivers on horseback flick over the heads of the men. That unceasing flicking of whips supposedly is meant only for the pack mules, but it is only natural that an occasional lash will strike the neck, the back or the head of a man. The horseman who brandishes the whip always makes it appear as if he had never intended striking a man and that the blow really had been intended for one of the pack mules or the horse he is riding. The whip simply slipped and struck the neck of one of the boys. The point, however, is that the muchachos are constantly reminded of the fact that the long whip is there.

  If a green one receives a blow “by mistake” he will only grumble and mumble; but an old-timer, who has seen more of the world than just his village, immediately heats up: “Hey, you offspring of ten generations of whores, one more blow like that and, damn it all, I’ll throw a stone in that dirty snout of yours so that you won’t have a single tooth left.” Thereafter, even the most arrogant capataz will be flitting his whip with considerably more care, selecting only those who run like rats when he only lifts the whip, for the drivers who, during the days talk big and behave like lion tamers, generally shrink considerably in size when night falls. Night in the jungle is damned black. Sometimes out of a thick bush a knife flashes and lands in the driver’s back.

  Taking all such incidents into consideration, one arrives at the conclusion that from whatever angle one may judge the labor agents they are clever tacticians and great battalion leaders. To take, with such little help, so many resentful and frequently scheming men through the dense jungle, without getting killed and without losing men through desertion, with a few rare exceptions, requires diplomatic gifts and military skills which are rare even among generals.

  The transports were seldom equal in number. It depended upon how many men were needed by the various monterías which asked to be supplied and how many the agent was able to recruit.

  This year requirements of labor had been unusually high. A fever epidemic had erased almost four-fifths of the caoba workers. Numerous new concessions for the exploitation of tropical forests had been granted and the concessions about to expire had been renewed. All over the world the demand for mahogany timber was extraordinarily active and prices were steadily growing.

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  The transport in which Celso and Andrés were marching consisted of one hundred and ninety contract laborers. In this troop there were youths, very young, some barely fourteen years old, and also men close to fifty. Among them there were strong and active men and some were weak, lazy and clumsy. Many could run like a deer, while others could only march along slowly like old mules. Some tired quickly under their packs and had to rest frequently, whereas others carried their load of eighty pounds as unconcerned as if it were a bag filled with feathers. One of the most difficult tasks for the agents and the capataces was to keep the troop close together. The swift must not advance too far ahead and the weak and unaccustomed must not lag too far behind. A troop of soldiers is marched easier. Soldiers are approximately all of the same age, of the same physical constitution, get the same food, are trained all alike and know how to keep ranks closed. Besides, all carry the same load on their backs.

  It required practice to lead such a troop. And it was exactly this technique which Don Gabriel wanted to learn during this march. With the troop there came along a caravan of a hundred and thirty mules, all carrying heavy loads of merchandise to be delivered at the monterías. Don Gabriel and Don Ramón had also bought merchandise which they expected to resell in the monterías at a considerable profit. They had a caravan of their own consisting of thirty-eight mules, all loaded. The animals did not belong to them but had been rented for the march from the arrieros who were leading the caravan. Payment was not according to the number of animals hired but in relation to the weight of the merchandise carried. Thus, they only paid for the freight while the owners and drivers of the animals were sort of a transportation enterprise.

  It seemed convenient for certain reasons and inconvenient for other reasons that the two labor agents had allowed the large traders’ caravan to join their labor troop. It was inconvenient because at the camping spots not enough fodder would be found for so many animals at the same time. Many of the camping sites lacked pastures and the men had to find and cut leaves off certain trees, the foliage of which the animals accepted for fodder. The more animals came to rest simultaneously at the camp sites, called parajes, the deeper had the arrieros to penetrate the jungle to provide fodder in the needed amounts.

  The caravan was taking along sufficient corn. In fact so much that out of each ten pack animals, three did not carry any merchandise but only corn. The mules and horses, however, could not live on corn alone. They were liable to get colics and belly-cramps and might even perish. To have them in good shape for carrying their heavy loads they needed an abundance of fresh green fodder.

  For this reason it was inconvenient for the agents to have so many animals along with their troop, because the drivers of the animals who were carrying the trading goods of the agents, had to work too hard and they became bad-tempered. But none of the troops wanted to march two or three
days behind the first troop, because in that case the second troop would find all the camping sites barren and deprived of the last miserable little blade of grass. Even with the incredibly fast growth of vegetation in the jungle, it took three weeks or four before sufficient new foliage could be used for fodder.

  The parajes were not, as one might think, selected because of a whim of the first caravan leader who marched through the jungle.

  In the first place, the camp site has to have water, although frequently it is nothing but a puddle left over from the last rain. Water is not to be found just anywhere in the jungle.

  Large stretches of the road are so swampy that it is difficult for the animals to get through. Then again for many miles there are stretches so rocky, so steep and so mountainous that no adequate place can be found to pitch camp. Other parts, for miles and miles, are infested with mosquitos, and others with ferocious large horseflies which madden the animals.

  The parajes had been cleverly selected by the first experienced caravan leaders who marched through the jungle guided by Indians. These pioneers learned to know how much of a load their animals could carry and how long each day’s march had to be. And that is the reason why each paraje is exactly one day’s march from the next for loaded pack animals. But owing to swamps or rocky trails, or because of high mountain passes, some stretches along the road are harder to make than others and so take more time. Therefore certain camp sites, in actual distance as measured in miles, are closer to the next one than others. But as far as marching time is concerned they are all more or less at equal distance.

  This limited distribution of parajes inside the jungle is also one of many reasons why a fugitive worker cannot escape smoothly. If his flight is noted and the hunters mounted on horseback are sent after him within thirty hours the fugitive has no chance. Not as long as he is in the jungle. Once out of the jungle he may escape if extremely lucky. Inside the jungle he is bound to a definite trail and to established camp sites. Anyone well acquainted with the jungle will hardly undertake an attempt to run away because he knows that he will probably be caught in three days at the most.

  Thus, while pack mule caravans joining a labor troop may spell certain disadvantages for the recruiting agents, they also offer, on the other hand, certain advantages.

  The traders and the arrieros of such big caravans are not Indians, not recruited mahogany workers. They are ladinos and some of the mule drivers can perhaps be taken for near-ladinos, so to say. These humans, feeling superior to Indians, increase the general staff and the corps of officers for the agents. They constitute, in every respect, a sort of militia or auxiliary police. Suppose a mutiny breaks out among the workers, the traders and the arrieros form a considerable armed reinforcement for the agents. The traders as well as the leaders of the caravan carry guns in their holsters. Some of the merchants and their assistants carry besides shotguns for hunting.

  Throughout the twenty years during which, up to that time, the exploitation of hardwoods in those regions had been carried on, only one serious mutiny had occurred. This mutiny was the basis for many terrifying narrations with which traders and agents passed the time during the long evenings when, in their travels through villages and fincas, they sat with finqueros and rancheros, after supper, on the porches, smoking, swinging in rocking-chairs or lounging in hammocks.

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  Don Anselmo Espíndola was a capable and experienced agent. He had received a commission to recruit from twenty to twenty-five men, Indians of course, and to take them to the montería Los Zendales. He had bought only six from fincas because he lacked the necessary funds to pay off the high debts of the others.

  He came to the region of the Bachajones, who lived in independent villages and settlements. There he collected some twenty men who, for some reason or other, needed ready cash and had no prospect of getting it except by signing a contract to work for one year in a montería.

  Don Anselmo had not been able to wait for the Candelaria fair to march with a larger troop and in the company of other agents. By agreement, he had to deliver his men at once to their future working place.

  A boy of about fourteen was to serve him as a sort of assistant.

  Labor agents, though ruthless in their trade of tricking and buying up Indians, are men whom only this country can produce. An agent does not know the meaning of fear. Not a muscle in his face will move if somebody pushes a loaded gun into his ribs or if he wakes up and finds somebody standing over him with the point of a machete at his throat. But while he has no fear, he is certainly not brave in the accepted sense of the word. Rather, he is completely indifferent to the value of life. The agent looks into the bore of a gun and says to himself: “Pues, mi hora ha llegado, my hour has come, and there is nothing that can be done about it.” This, however, does not in the least mean that he will not fight. If he sees a possibility, he will defend himself to the last breath. If he is so cut to pieces that there is no hope of saving his life, he’ll keep on fighting; now no longer to save anything, but to take revenge so that his opponent won’t leave as healthy as he came. Should he, at the moment of his death, perceive that his antagonist is also dying, he won’t accept a reconciliation to gain a seat in Heaven. He has won his paradise once he sees his adversary die half a minute earlier than himself.

  Don Anselmo was no exception to this type.

  The twenty-six Indios, going more or less against their will to the monterías, were, owing to the separation from their families, in the worst imaginable temper. Bachajones belonged to an independent tribe whose members were well known as proud, obstinate, quarrelsome men, always ready to attack, men who would never fully submit to anyone, not even to established authority. To drive Bachajones for twelve to fifteen days alone through the jungle was a task which no ordinary man would have had the audacity to undertake. Nobody familiar with the conditions would have called any man a coward who refused the chore. Don Anselmo had accepted the commission without flicking an eyebrow, which in itself proved that he was no ordinary man. He knew the road and knew the men he was leading—their reputation, their strong character. He told himself: “If I get these men through, I’ll make a fair pile of money. If I fail, well, the buzzards will pick my bones, in company with the wild pigs and red ants. Suppose I take on three men as drivers; there won’t be much profit left. So, whether I like it or not, I got to go alone with this little chit of a youngster and see how matters come off.”

  The three days’ march to the little ranch where jungle travelers obtained their necessary supplies passed without incident. Nevertheless, Don Anselmo heard mutterings, and noticed that the muchachos fought with one another. After each period of rest, the getting up and making ready to continue the march was accompanied by gestures of laziness and with visible unwillingness. Grumbling grew more frequent than was usual on such a march.

  But he consoled himself with the thought that, once in the jungle, humor would improve. There the men would not meet any acquaintances; there would be no huts inhabited by Indian peasants or ranch hands to remind them of home. They would fall into the sort of stupor typical of soldiers on forced campaign marches, who trot along without thinking any more of why they march, where they march or how long they are going to march. They arrive at a state of mind in which they will even march for hours in a circle without realizing it.

  Don Anselmo knew that the men, with heavy packs on their backs and constantly under the influence of the same surroundings, now marching, now resting, now up again to continue marching, after a few days would become utterly depressed because of this monotony which deprived them of all power to think beyond a single question: When do we reach the next camp site?

  They marched in a long single file, one after the other. The narrow trail did not permit any other formation.

  Don Anselmo had two mules which carried his own necessities and those of the boy, together with food for both, plus corn for his own horse, that of the boy and for the two pack mules themselves.

  T
he boy rode at the head of the group. He was followed by the pack mules and, after them, Don Anselmo.

  About twice every hour and wherever the path allowed it, Don Anselmo stopped his horse, dismounted, tightened the saddle girths, stood against a tree, lit a cigarette, slowly mounted again and followed the troop. He gave this action the appearance of a desire to stretch his legs. But, in fact, he did it to let the whole troop pass by so that he might count and see that nobody lagged behind.

  The fact that a man remained behind did not necessarily imply an attempt to desert. It might have been the need to take something out of his pack, or to change the arrangement of his pack to distribute the load differently; or he might have stubbed his bare toe against a rock, or felt the need of going behind a tree, or wanted to roll himself a cigar. There were scores of plausible explanations. If a man was missing, Don Anselmo waited for a while. When the man did not come along he rode back to see what had become of him. When he found him and saw that the man had a reason for lagging behind, he would shout at him: “Hey, you, que pasó, what happened? A thorn in your foot? Let’s see. Wait, I’ll pull it out. Now, on your way and hustle. The others are far ahead. Come on, come on!”

  If somebody was really missing once camp had been pitched, Don Anselmo had to mount his horse again and look for the man. It could have happened that he had hurt himself and was unable to walk.

  The fourth day was unusually hot. The men seemed very tired. Owing to the heat and the heavy humid air, the march presented great difficulties while crossing steep mountain ridges. At each brook they squatted down, cooled their necks, took out their gourds and drank. Most of them did not merely drink but kneaded a piece of pozol in the water to make the drink more refreshing and give it, at the same time, considerable nourishment value.