Still A Dangerous World

Virus

Part 4 of 30

I’ve given a lot of thought about what a dangerous world we have, and that was before the virus. And if this wasn’t the only thing we had, I’d say check out Option #2. That's what they used to do when they got sick and tired of where they lived -- Columbus. They sailed off to find something better. The big trouble with that approach is that after you've found everything here, there’s nowhere else to look.

I watch a lot of space shows on YouTube and there’s literally nowhere else to go, with a couple caveats. There’s the moon, which is essentially uninhabitable unless you want to live in an 800-pound spacesuit, with one advantage being the gravity is so horrible 800 pounds is manageable to get around in but completely lacks comfort. And there’s lots of other planets, but they're all so far away that just getting there is pretty much a death sentence. Our hopes of a space federation, a federation of planets, at this point is just crazy talk.

Even if we found a decent planet, and gone so many light years away to do it, it’d be the 100th generation of the people who left earth who’d govern and inhabit it once the mission was complete -- they’d no doubt be pining for the green green grass of home they never knew and spend a hundred generations getting back. I myself am already past my prime and couldn't make it. At this point I’m just a fizzled out nothing, barely able to crawl out of bed, especially with this virus creeping around The Big City.

So outer space is off the table. The best we can do is settle back into the local vibe, the things of earth, and tune into it as best we can, with the mystic OM underlying the whole thing, and the ever-fascinating mother and father the earth has been for millennia. If it weren’t for this virus, and the last virus, and the virus before that, and the virus we’ll have a few years from now, it’d be paradise. But it gladdens me that we’re doing our best. At least I hope this is our best. If we could do better but we’re not on purpose, that’d be sabotage, and I don’t know, we’re not going to get anywhere that way. Try harder, people!

Think of our society as the folks on that that exploring boat. They needed a common goal: “We’re going THAT way. If you’re not going THAT way, we’re going to throw you overboard, and save our provisions, including toilet paper.” The dangers of the world when it comes to sea serpents, monsters of the deep, and all lurking monsters of any size, even microscopic, like viruses, are such that we need the same spirit. Because viruses are not discriminating when it comes to trouble. But I'm sure we'll all make it! We hope for the best.

I guess I’ll say no more on this doctrine, a form of government among the more dangerous elements. (It’s not really a doctrine but a riff.) You’re on this mission to outer space (even though we’re staying here), get with the program, or … Next Stop, The Deep. You must have known the terms when you were born here. You stepped forward and made that decision. Again, get with the program.

Once Saved, Always Saved

Chapter 25 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The End of the Trail

We've reached the end of the trail for "Head Hunters of the Amazon" by F.W. Up de Graff. Chapter 25 is only five pages long. But there's a lot of interesting nuggets in it, 'Where's the Gang Now?' stuff.

It tells us that Up de Graff with Morse took a steamboat from Iquitos to Manaos. Then he had to wait a week or two for an ocean steamer to get there to take him to New York. The delay was nearly the cause of his downfall. Because he met another guy who'd left South Africa shortly after a gold shipment disappeared there. Who proposed that they go in together and hold up the bank in Manaos where he knew a gold shipment was that had arrived from England. The guy went in and out of the bank and pronounced the project "a cinch." But finally gave it up when nobody would help.

The same guy then proposed they go to Venezuela where diamond fields had just been found. Up de Graff actually says they made preparations to jump into canoes, having stowed their provisions, etc., when he got a letter from home saying they really wanted to see him. So he gave up the idea. But before he sailed, he met his old friend William Game, just returned from the head-waters of the Jurua, suffering with "berri-berri." I looked it up: "Thiamine deficiency," usually caused by poor diet or alcoholism.

Game had news of Jack Rouse, who'd gone with Game on a rubber expedition with a few Indians. The Indians robbed them of their canoe and deserted. Game and Rouse were soon out of rations. They lived a few weeks, then got berri-berri, which Rouse died of. Game didn't have the strength to get Jack's body out of there, so he climbed on a balsa log and floated down to the first plantation, and after that took a boat to Manaos. Up de Graff never saw him after that, but later heard he was off to the Klondike.

Flash forward approximately 15 years, "not many years before the World War," Morse was standing in the entrance of a New York hotel and saw a guy with a white-bellied spider monkey (maquisapa), doing an organ-grinder gig and passing the hat. That turned out to be Ambusha (Charles Pope)! Who promised to meet Morse later that night, but he never returned.

Back to Up de Graff waiting for the steamboat, still in South America, he went ashore and met a man at the United States Counsul, Mr. K.K. Kenneday, who collapsed when he told him he was F.W. Up de Graff. Kenneday had been looking for him for years, with mail for him piling up in his office all that time. They figured he was dead.

Sailing away, Up de Graff reflected on his whole journey, then arrived in New York on Nov. 18, 1901, seven years to the day since he sailed for South America.

Guess I'll say a few things about myself. I discovered this book in the 1970s. I had it at the place where I worked and we looked at it, found little passages and laughed about them. We enjoyed a little bit of the adventure but thought everything was funny. I had a similar book of exploration with a picture in it of a guy being carried on a bed by natives. I thought that was this book, but it's not. Then my copy of "Head Hunters" was somehow lost in a series of moves.

Then a few years later I found another copy at a book sale, also now decades past. I've recently again gotten rid of a bunch of books when I moved, but kept this one, still intending to read it but never getting it done. Summarizing it as I have now, of course I had to read huge bits of it, get the gist of the chapters, etc., but as for actually reading it word for word, I still haven't done it. And knowing me, I probably never will.

But a few years from now I will have made my way to New York. I will have a white-bellied spider monkey, doing an organ-grinder gig. My copy of "Head Hunters of the Amazon" will be with my stuff. A guy who read my series all the way through -- and thought it was fascinating enough that he was prompted to rob steamers in South America of bank shipments -- will walk up and say, "Aren't you the guy from the internet, Grandma Slump, who wrote about this book?" I'll have the immediate impulse to deny it three times, the monkey will kiss me on the cheek, the Lord will suddenly appear, very disappointed in me, but I'll die and go to heaven anyway, because Once Saved, Always Saved.

Amen?

Sick of Monkey, Taking Pills

Chapter 24 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Crowning Folly

Up de Graff went through a lot but he still wasn't ready to go home. The spirit of the wilds had possession of him. Then he heard of a get-rich-quick scheme concerning the rubber trade, but the only crew he had left was Morse. And Morse was on his way out, leaving him with an Indian boy, Supaitranca. Still, his mind was made up, so they set off on the journey. He spent a few months wandering through swampy forests but didn't find the Indians he was seeking and very little rubber. Then the boy died of fever.

At that point Up de Graff had no living thing to keep him company, not even a parrot. It was a very lonely place. He walked through the forest, but all he saw was the same thing, forest and never-ending swamps. He lived like an animal from day to day and had a hard time finding enough food. My personal opinion, that would be terrible. No food, not even a parrot to keep me company with its meaningless chatter... "Rawk! Cannibals, I'd run if I were you!" Cannibals never eat parrots unless they're terribly hungry.

But he made it back to the town of Barranca, and in a few days Morse reappeared, having news of a "sure thing" concerning exploring. Up de Graff was skeptical, but Morse gave a glowing account of a possible cattle and cedar business in a particular place. He even had a bag of English gold which an Iquitos merchant had advanced him for the venture. This convinced Up de Graff. So off they went, confident of success. 

They had an Indian companion who fell ill of fever the first day, then he became weak and could do no work. They talked it over with him and he agreed to be put on a raft with provisions and to be shoved off toward Barranca. So he was gone.

A few more days and they were demoralized. Ahead was three long months of travel before they would reach a particular place on the river. They were depressed. Then as they happened to be looking out toward midstream they saw in amazement a young Indian girl, Breginia. They talked to her. She was alone. She decided to accompany them. And she was of great value to them, knowing the various dialects of the country, being a good lookout-person, etc. She even knew the arts of tracking and hunting animals, supplementing their dwindling food.

But as they went on at length, they were again out of food. They went on. Up de Graff got sick. But he was able to kill a monkey and eat it and take some Holloway's Vegetable Pills, which was restorative. As they were headed back toward civilization, Breginia departed, because there were guys ahead who would've enslaved her. Up de Graff recalled her fondly, that she saved their lives.

What do you think? Is this journey almost over? I'd say! The chances of finding another companion like Breginia weren't good. And Morse was gone again. And it was all wearing on Up de Graff. It's wearing on me and this is a 100+ years in the future. I'd be saying, "If I never see another drop of river water it'll be too soon! Monkey might be good for survival, but frankly it's making me sick. And Holloway's Vegetable Pills may make you feel better but ... Hmm, you're right, these really are good medicine! Pass me that box!

Shrunken Heads Made E-Z

Chapter 21 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Jivaro Heads

What's a book on head hunters if you never get to the hunted heads and what happens to them? The subject's been mentioned a few times but I feel like we're on the brink here of something more. What they got busy doing when they had a victory on the battlefield. Up de Graff calls the scene a never-to-be-forgotten day, concerning these relics of war. You're in for a real treat. Or if you're the kind of person who gets sick easily, and I definitely am, you might want to sit this one out.

The enemy left their dead and dying behind in their flight. The victors dashed forward to take the most prized spoils of battle, the heads of the slain enemy. They went from corpse to corpse with stone-axes and bamboo knives and other instruments to gather and string these emblems of victory. The explorers being right there in their midst were also pressed into service helping with these practices. Up de Graff says, deflecting any criticism, that "had we attempted interference, we were but five in a horde of fiends, crazed by blood and lust."

He says the stringing of the heads is an art done to facilitate their transportation. They are strung on thin pieces of pliable bark from saplings. The bark ropes are passed through the mouth and out at the neck. We've heard it in western movies how they're going to "string 'em up," but this is a whole different thing. It doesn't make it any less deadly. But in the westerns that's the process of dying, not the aftermath, which, if I recall, is being buried with your boots on.

The party next got down to looting the houses from which the defeated enemy had come. Taking everything of value. Such as Peruvian coins, cups and saucers, knives, handkerchiefs, spear-heads, etc. Then they set fire to those places and that was that.

There was another party of the Antipas who had separated from the others earlier, storming a group of huts up the creek. That other group was on their way back to rejoin the others. They were laden with nine heads of the enemy, some tied in pairs by the hair and slung round the neck of their conquerors. Gruesome enough for you? This procession was led by a diabolical-looking creature, described by Up de Graff as "a short, fat savage; laden with his share of the spoils, grinning in triumph, with his teeth stained black and filed to a point, his thick-set shoulders spattered with the blood of his victims..." Sounds like a real sweetheart.

Up de Graff reflected on how these spoils of war would eventually be displayed in the glass cases of a great museum or be included in the collection of a curio hunter somewhere in the world.

The procedure of crafting a shrunken head is spelled out in some detail on page 276 and following. There are free PDF files of the book, and if you search therein for "The ceremony commenced with the placing of the heads in the sand" you can read all about it. I however am excused from any and all blame for what you do with this weird knowledge, and ask that you don't tell me what it is. I will leave it as your own business, between you and your clergyman, and of course the local police. But, crap, the detail! I'm about to be sick.

The Night Before War

Chapter 20 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

War

A native leader, Tuhuimpui, confronted the explorers, "We have heard that you have come searching for gold... You will be killed, so we have come to help you back to safety." Up de Graff responded that they could take care of themselves. The leader replied, "We will help you ... Let us join forces..." Up de Graff believed Tuhuimpui's object was the same as the others, getting his mitts on the canoe full of presents. But they still made a bargain.

Tuhuimpui's escort gave the explorers some 200 men from tribes joined in a common mission. The first day everything went great. They had plenty of choices for meals because of the natives' hunting skills. Then day after day they pushed upstream. Nightly the explorers watched the natives with the same suspicion that they were trying to get possession of their things. But they tried to stay diplomatic. I'm imagining they'd be like, "Can I watch your canoe full of presents?" And we'd be like, "No, thanks, I'm good."

As far as exploring went, they made some interesting experiments with electric eels. The eels are so charged with electricity that you can't possibly keep hold of a metal instrument if you make contact with one. When Up de Graff tried to cut the head off an eel the machete flew out of his hands and his arm was temporarily paralyzed. Electric eels, though, make delicious eating, no cleaning necessary. Slice one like you slice bread and they fry up pure white and firm. How would you like to eel up a feel? I mean, feel up an eel?

Tuhuimpui and his men had now been with the explorers two weeks. Around then they started gearing up for war against the Huambizas. Tuhuimpui's tone was grave. "Now indeed we shall return with many heads." That evening a few from Tuhuimpu's Jivaro force went to spy out the land. Later Tuhuimpui came to the explorer's shelter with a gourd full of dark paint, or stain or dye from huito, a kind of walnut. War paint. The explorers also joined in, right down to darkening Jack Rouse's bald spot! And the scouting party returned. I'm eager for this, put our heads together and come out ahead.

The Indians began preparing themselves for the war-dance. Then came thunder and rain. In a half hour it passed. In the morning they had breakfast, then the time came for the attack, Oct. 27, 1899. The group split into two parties, with the explorers bringing up the rear. The Huambizas were right there ... somewhere. With a great yell, our attackers leapt from their cover and rushed into the scene of the slaughter. But it turned out to be not what they expected. They didn't fire a shot in either attacking or defense. The scene of action revealed only a handful of men and women natives apparently milling around.

Anyway, that was a real downer, but I guess the chapter had to be what actually happened and not the Battle of the Ages, the Battle for the Head of Every Huambiza SOB. Anyway, "Give Peace a Chance," I guess.

P.S. One other nugget of information: The explorer named Game lost his shoes in the mud and only one was ever recovered.

Our Bullets Will Chase You

Chapter 18 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Turning the Corner

Pitacunca (the Jivaro medicine man, whom they called Pete) led the way in his canoe, making giant strokes. Up de Graff reflected on Pete's size (massive), his strength (the embodiment of strength and deviltry), and considered his own security as a white man. He didn't believe he could trust them but didn't completely believe that his rifles would be enough to save himself and team. He calls the Jivaros cunning, knavish, and diabolical, with the courage of wild animals in battle but purely looking out for their own interests. I'm myself a nice guy to everyone, but I'd rather not have overnight guests.

In a few hours they were at the western mouth of the gorge, the Pongo Menseriche. They saw some monkeys and decided to take down some for food for the rest of the trip. They were after the howling monkey, called cotos. Those with shotguns were bested in the hunt by those with blow-guns. But they still ended up with around two dozen of them. Up de Graff himself got three, but his were more of a mess (shotgun spray) than those taken with a blow-gun. We used to get rabbits with a shotgun. And it's worth mentioning one of my own adventures, cleaning rabbits while wearing my mom's fur coat. It was a mess and she was mad.

It was Pete's advice not to try the passage of the Pongo that night, but to lash the canoes together, then they'd run the minimum of risk. After dark, then, they moved a ways upstream and pitched their camp on a sand-spit. The two white men kept watch, one at a time, spelling each other every couple hours. Their biggest fear was losing their allies, "who were liable to disappear if the fancy took them." But all slept soundly. And they heard the Pongo's mighty roar on the night air. That'd be great, white noise like thunder.

They were in the luck with the river the next day. It was just right for passing back up the gorge, the canoes strapped together and a log between them. Sweeping clear of the eastern mouth of the gorge, they came in full view of their camp and were greeted by their fellow explorers. Since Up de Graff and Game were a day late, the others had almost gone out looking for them (as planned). They were also glad to see the extra plantains. And Up de Graff himself appreciated the hot coffee and milk the others had. That might've been coconut milk though, probably was, we haven't see references to cows.

Pitacunca took one glance at the camp and the explorers and turned around. He and his people retreated 20 yards away, sat down, and started a dismal wailing chant in a minor key. They seemed distraught at the sight of so many white people as well as their kit. It seemed to Up de Graff that they would never stop "yowling." They continued for about a half hour, then settled themselves by the campfire.

Up de Graff needed to wait for the water to go down at the Pongo before leaving. So for safety sake he showed how accurate they were at shooting small game, as a warning to the natives, particularly the Huambizas. Get this: He said, If the Huambizas "really aroused our anger, even though they might be half a dozen miles up-stream and round three bends, we should sent our bullets off to chase them and them to sleep." But when the natives started getting restless, the explorers decided to get going, choosing to risk the river instead of the people. You see your chance, you take it. Better to get up a head of steam than lose your own head. Let's head out, folks, while we got a head to head out with!

So they set out, and waged eight hours' war against the seething waters.

Rum, Guns, Anarchism

Chapter 14 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Borja

Up de Graff's expedition had use of the steamer to go up-stream as far as the steamer would go. So on they steamed, being the first steamboat in a long time to navigate the Marañon above that particular station. But only two days of hunting and lounging on the deck brought them to the highest point the craft could manage, where they necessarily stopped.

While halted and cutting fuel, Up de Graff had his first disillusionment as to the prowess of Ambusha the cook. He took Ambusha into the woods to look for game, but the latter was so incompetent at reading or making trails and keeping track of his location that in no time he would've been forever lost. For example, he looked at a well-used trail of tapirs and discerned it as having been traversed by "a war-party of Indians with women." To us that'd be like mistaking a cowpath for the interstate highway!

One other night after the steamer had returned downstream, Up de Graff's hunting resulted in four monkeys roasted for supper. They made a paste of the brains which along with hardtack made delicious sandwiches resembling paté de foie gras. Speaking of delicious animals, Jack later bagged a snow-white alligator measuring about five feet and prepared it for supper. They even had leftovers from that particular meal, all white meat of course. But we have a little bad news too, that they lost two dogs that jumped overboard and disappeared into the forest, most likely to be killed by tigers.

A little more of the Ambusha follies was in the offing. Ambusha always remained near the camp, never missing a chance to drink his fill of the rum. Up de Graff noted in his journal, "When he is not occupied with cleaning his rifle, he is busy reading up anarchism." They came to the unanimous decision to relieve Ambusha of cooking duties. Rum, guns, anarchism. They believed he was more proficient at mixing poisons than cooking, so he could be a danger to everyone.

Having broken camp one morning and stowing their stuff in the canoes, one of the guys caught sight of a tapir swimming. Jack had a gun ready, and being a crack shot, raced off and shot it, with everyone going to drag it to the river. Estimated at 600 pounds, it was of course tough to drag, but once in the water Up de Graff got astride it with a paddle and floated it down to camp. They cut it up for meat and cured it in the smoke of the fire, judging the feet and snout of the thing as being the greatest delicacies. You can still get pickled pig's feet, but as far as tapir goes, I haven't seen any in a while.

Another day as they pushed upstream they came to Borja, where a colony (est. population 100) once was. In the years since then it was overgrown and obscure. But it was still recognizable by gigantic limestone boulders, with the place being notable for its closeness to the mouth of the Pongo Menseriche, a gorge through which the Marañon River runs [Wikipedia].

True-False: Teeth Grow In Mouths

 Chapter 11 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Iquitos

Iquitos was a town that sprang up a la western boom towns and flourished as long as commercial possibilities lasted. Up de Graff says when he was there the population was about 3,000. Later it grew to around 20,000. But by the time of writing his book, copyright 1925, Iquitos was again the home of only a handful of natives. A little sociology there, of which I'm neither qualified nor intellectually grounded enough to fully explain. And I've explained some arcane things, like the fauna of various backwater creeks I fell in as a kid, that I wisely summed up as "weeds."

He and Jack Rouse paddled into Iquitos on December 28, 1898. That detail will be on the test, people, Know It! They were "be-whiskered tramps" walking down the street, except they had a lot of rubber for sale and so they weren't hard up. Remember I said something about them picking up rubber here and there? I thought it was basically enough rubber to fill a suitcase, but according to page 28 it was two tons of rubber! With that kind of money they could get cleaned up and find accommodations at a hotel, the Hotel Roma. A room with actual beds! It wasn't a bank of sand, mud, and trees, but it was still nice.

They soon moved from there, only eating at the hotel, and went to "bunk" with a Dr. King, an American. He was an enthusiastic individual and must've been a colorful guy, because Up de Graff's take on him was: "The doctor made Vesuvius look like an iceberg." That's going to be a guy you can glean some interesting information from! Dr. King had tried various money-making enterprises in Iquitos, such as selling patent-medicine. Then he discovered that dental work was more in demand. So he made his own diplomas and certificates and started pulling teeth!

Sometimes Up de Graff puts "Doctor" in quotes, sometimes not. There was one patient who'd been on the point of death for days. He was worn out by fever and the attentions of "Doctors," including Dr. King, and died. His death certificate was a work in creativity, the cause of death being "a congestion of the elementary canal between the gall-bladder and the lungs, causing the cold bile to rise and cake round the heart." A tragic situation, yes, but you gotta admit, no more tooth ache!

Jack and Up de Graff at this point were waiting to book passage back to New York. When they met another American there to explore (Edward Morse), then another guy (Charles Pope), known to the natives as "Ambusha" because he ground his teeth when he slept; "Ambusha" refers to a bird that sings at night. As time went on, Up de Graff and Jack changed their minds about leaving, and now the mission was on to find Inca gold! By the way, Ambusha barely made the expedition, being notoriously known for having an oily manner, shiftiness, obviously a liar, and a student of anarchism and toxicology.

Test: When did Up de Graff and Jack paddle into Iquitos?

Tapir, Canoe & Time Travel Too

 

Chapter 9 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Passage Money

The explorers were doing great till a tapir smashed their canoe to bits. I'm not going to ask for a show of hands, but I'd bet all of us hate when that happens. You think being blindsided and sideswiped by a semi truck on the interstate is bad -- that's an accident -- tapirs and canoes is like cats and mice, if you make it 20 feet without an attack, you're lucky. 

OK, I'm going to assert something, something true that you probably won't believe. My grandpa was born the same year the exploration began, 1897. And some years ago he turned me on to a few coordinates that his people passed on to him. Because the Up de Graff team actually lost their supply of bananas that day when the tapir hit the boat. Then later, with the coordinates and willpower, Grandpa failed to make it back in time to help. So they were hungry all those years. It took a later generation, me, to build on Grandpa's willpower, and with the added incentive of being able to see him getting his diapers changed, I was able to focus with such intensity on a stack of calendars, and, yes, achieve the impossible. 

Up de Graff indeed stuck to the cover story; it's in his book: Page 104, "We gave thanks to Providence for endowing the bananas ... with a specific gravity of less than 1.00. We were able to rescue them after a short swim..." The word Providence is code, his admission that something extraordinary happened, not just pertaining to the buoyancy of fruit. For I myself came up out of the waves -- indistinct, not fully manifest -- with 40 cents worth of bananas, of inestimable value if it meant the team's survival. Can you see the distinction between me and the bananas? They're bright and sharp, I'm shadowy, only briefly there. That's all I'm claiming. In and out of the river before the piranha could threaten the family jewels. And later I was able to see baby Grandpa getting his diapers changed, real diapers, not disposable.

They finally came to the Napo River and it was a couple hours to meet up again with Andrade -- back to civilization -- and they were outfitted with new supplies. Food, pots, kettles, not bananas, which they had plenty of, guns, fishing supplies, and clothes. And they were off, lots of supplies, but also vampire bats and the usual pests. There was more trouble with tapirs. One tapir dived under the poop (p. 108), not something its family was happy about that night. 

As far as problems, Up de Graff was attacked by the fever. He was shaking, then had an attack of sweating. It was so bad, week after week for months, that'd he feel the fever returning, and he could only briefly recover by shaking. Jack quipped that he'd missed his calling, "You'd have made your fortune shaking down Brazil nuts." (p. 111). 

Month after month passed, a lot of it monotonous. With suffering. Sickness. Then the boat became detached from its moorings one night and started down the river without them. Jack dived in to save it, but they were both swept out of sight. When the morning light came, still no Jack. In the afternoon, though, Up de Graff heard singing -- and considered it a hallucination, much like the miraculous fetching of the bananas -- when Jack walked in! With no assistance from me.

A Great Ranch, No People

 

Chapter 8 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

A Phantom People

Jack brought back interesting news: "I've found a trail -- as big as Broadway!" Up de Graff was exhausted and in pain, but news of a trail had a positive effect on his weary leg muscles. He got up and went through a gap in the thicket and saw the path. It was five yards wide and a well-used trail, with lots of footprints. His instinct told him it must lead to a large ranch. Where there could be food and shelter.

About 500 yards ahead they saw the signs of a clearing, then in a few minutes they were in the open, with rows of banana-plants, yuca, yams, and sweet potatoes. The ranch (chacra) was three or four acres with a house on one corner, a big gable with sloping roof. This could be good, it could be bad. But they figured they may as well fit in with whomever and see about something to eat. Let me end the suspense by saying no one else showed up!

They really made themselves at home, kind of nasty, really, by cutting a window in the wall and trimming the ends of the place, so they could see anyone who appeared. They made a fire to cook by. There were hot coals already there. Inside there were lots of spears, round earthenware pots, stone hatchets, fire-making material, blow-guns, some masata in a pot, and a dozen stone fireplaces ranged round the sides of the building, and dishes. The fire obviously meant someone was there just recently. So they were wary about being attacked and used the weapons for security, if needed. 

The explorers lived there three weeks. They still had injuries from their previous days of disaster, and tried to recover. For example, their feet were festered from the thorns, still embedded under the skin, so they used machetes trying to dig them out. It's all unpleasant, ranging from loose nails, watery matter exuding from under them, to sores between their toes with an unpleasant odor, to microbes, etc. A first aid kit would've come in handy and maybe Dr. Kevorkian. "Kill me, kill me now," I might've said.

After three weeks' convalescing, they were again exploring. They made a different camp for themselves, but still went back to the ranch for food. Weeks and months went by. They ate a land-tortoise.  Then Jack was "bitten by a bad snake and already felt queer." He killed the snake, then Up de Graff went to fetch it. Because if Jack were to swallow the gall-bladder of the snake by which he'd been bitten, and apply a ligature to the affected limb above the bite and a hot coal to the bite itself until it was cauterized, he'd be OK! Amazingly, in 48 hours he was OK, except for giddiness and bleeding at the nose and mouth. My mom was a fearsome medicine woman with a bottle of red dope, baby aspirin, heating pads, and humidifiers, but even she didn't know the benefits of snake gall-bladders...

They loaded the canoe with supplies from the ranch and pushed off.

Who Needs Mules, You Got Men

Chapter 4 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Jack Rouse

Up de Graff left Quito with two Indian muleteers and four mules, headed downhill for Papallacta. The mountainous area made the going rough. Arriving there, he made his way to the governor's house. He presented his passport, which the governor couldn't read. Up de Graff read it to him, embellishing the text to say that the governor was to give him eight guys to help on the journey. (They later had to abandon the animals because the trails below were only good for foot travel, making me think, How'd they get up there? They must've been born on top of the mountain by virgin birth and possibly without a mother!)

The governor responded to the president's supposed command and got eight of his best guys, apparently with nothing else to do, to help carry Up de Graff's things. They actually offered to carry Up de Graff himself, since that was other times done for priests, but he preferred to walk.

The group went down about 8,000 feet, then the Indians cautioned him not to make any noise or it'd rain non-stop crazy, in sheets, as much rain as anyone would be unlucky enough to see. But he, wanting to prove their fears folly, fired his rifle. And guess what, the rain came down in sheets. Not his best decision.

They came into Archidona where there was another governor, who put up Up de Graff in his house, where he slept well. Up de Graff flashed his passport again and said he needed a canoe and this governor was also quick to help. He would deliver a canoe for him in the town of Napo. So he -- our hero -- was ready to get going in a couple days, off to Napo.

He set off, the forests swallowing him up, and recalled again the great explorer Stanley. Up de Graff looked ahead himself to unlocking a thousand secrets of those little-explored areas, if you discount the wealth of knowledge the natives in those places had for thousands of years, which .... What can you say? .... he did.

Then at the town of Napo, Up de Graff had to wait a tiny bit for his canoe to be ready, when someone came up behind him and said, "I've heard you're pulling your freight downstream." That was Jack Rouse, who joined him in the journey.

A few things stand out in these amazing details. Just telling the governors they were to help him in certain ways when those instructions hadn't really been given, that's balls. It pays to know how to read. And how about him shooting his gun when the Indians coming down the mountain told him to keep quiet? I'm sure I would've thought those guys knew what they were talking about without making a mess for myself and the others.

And who among us would prefer to walk if you had eight guys offering to carry you? "Yes, I'm a priest, upsy daisy." Take a book, get another governor to fetch me an umbrella, read a little, maybe doze off, of course giving the strictest orders, "When we get there, put me down and let me walk in the town first, just so they know who's in charge here."

Turning Toward Adventure

Chapter 3 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Exodus

Our chapter opens with F.W. Up de Graff still working at Salinas for the Cordovez family. There had been a revolution and its head was Alfaro, who became President. Some of the folks were completely opposed to Alfaro, but once the jig was up they changed their clothes and marched in support of him. Gotta stay on the good side of power... In terms of democracy, though, this might mean there's only half as many people as we think we see!

When the revolution kicked into gear, Up de Graff happened to be there (in Guaranda) on business and took in some of the action. Then headed back to the Cordovez estate. A few days later a party of 20 officers show up to arrest him. But he'd had some warning, so he showed up at the front door with a gun. They wisely handed him the warrant and left.

Skip this, skip that, he finally left the Cordovez place for good, no longer entirely welcome, and was staying in a "hotel" (his quotes) in Riobamba, which was a worse dwelling-place than he had on the estate. He wondered, What shall I do, what shall I do? Then took a horse-drawn stagecoach to Quito, where he ended up meeting with President Alfaro and getting a passport for other travel in South America.

At the end of this chapter he shares a letter he wrote to his mom, telling her that "tomorrow" (Jan. 10, 1897) he'd be leaving on foot on an expedition toward the Napo forest, about 600 miles away, with some Indians employed to carry his equipment. He expected to camp on the Napo River, build some canoes, and start on a 4000 mile trip. I like this part: "I take absolutely no money with me," except what he'd need years later to get back to New York. The rest of his cash he invested in machetes, and beads and trinkets for trading with the Indians.

He finishes the letter with basically, 'Don't write back,' because there'd be no way he'd get the letter. And that was it, he was off!

That'd take a lot of bravery. One, I'd hate to be involved with a bunch of (probably) crooked cutthroat politicians in the midst of a revolution. I'd barely survive peacetime there. It's always better to fly a little more under the radar, which hadn't yet been invented. Still, Up de Graff lives a fairly humble life in his journeys henceforth, off to see the headhunters and escaping the powers that be (Alfaro, Cordovez, revolutionaries) who might've also had his head.

I'm trying to process his thinking process. Which must come down to this, get out there, go for all the gusto, if you live or if you die, it'd be worth it for the sheer adventure. And, importantly, for the riches of gold he expected to find. I'd probably be much more skeptical about the gold. Even if you found all of it you'd ever want, the idea that you'd get out of there with it is farfetched. The place is crawling with cutthroats. You really think you're going to be boarding the boat later, declaring your only possessions, a hat, machete, and three tons of gold? Don't think so!

But the adventure of it would be great, gold or no gold.

The Cordovez Brood

Chapter 2 of 25 -- Head Hunters of The Amazon

A Land of Opportunity

Recall, Up de Graff went to Ecuador on the invitation of a friend from college days and fraternity. Being a guy who loved outdoor living, Up de Graff went hunting. This wasn’t just squirrels or rabbits like I used to hunt, but monkeys, turkeys, wild pigs, parrots, deer and jaguars. He remembered how hunting monkeys (baboons) really excited his enthusiasm. But it was the taste of them that stood out so clearly in his memory, saying, “The gastronomical possibilities of a baboon probably occur to only a very few of the millions who gaze at him through iron bars.” I'm not able to disagree.

Beyond that, he met the rest of the Cordovez family, including a brother most famous for the picturesque cursing of the peons. Which, though I disapprove, it'd still be nice to have a sample, maybe extending to a minute. “You worthless shiftless son of a bitch, I’m cutting you off from rum at the fiesta! You can die of thirst for all I care!”

But it was the father of the clan whom Up de Graff ranked the most egregiously worst of the bunch, and this goes along with modern sensibilities of fairness, honesty, and respect. Meaning, I may as well brag, I am personally more refined than the average Cordovez (of that particular group, now dead). Few of us are as wealthy as they were, but their riches seem to have been amassed in large part via hook or crook.

I’ll try to tamp down my righteous anger and stick the bottle of vitriol back in the cupboard and remain as dispassionate as a person of my sensitive sensibilities can reasonably be expected to muster or attain.

Further, Up de Graff says the Cordovez menage at Riobamba included, in addition to the terrible old man himself and his sons, his wife who kept house. The old man was generally unkempt, having little use for soap and seldom changing his clothes. But my qualms with the old man — it’s something of a simmering rage, threatening to boil over any minute — has to do with his abominable treatment of others. Which Up de Graff also had a hand in, to the extent he could stand it, when he finally quit.

Old Man Cordovez sent him to Salinas. Which is an interesting place for its elevation and views all around. North of there are mountains that rise over 22,000 feet above sea level. Making the average everyday mountain look like a pimple. On a good day, when the sun’s just right, other mountains have to pack it in in frustration.

The main sins of the Cordovez family and the old man in particular have to do with him not paying his workers, and additionally always scheming to keep them in servitude by being indebted to him. I thought I had a bad boss or two, but this guy was scheming people into perpetual slavery. And I have a hard time overlooking that, no matter how pretty the mountains are.

Headhunting South America

 

Chapter 1 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Beginning of the Trail

Fritz W. Up de Graff in the U.S. (1890s) had a frat brother from South America, D. Enrique Domingo Cordovez, called the Count. They talked about the backwardness of his country Ecuador, which fired in Up de Graff a determination to go help make some modern improvements. Maybe street lights, shoes on horses, and eventually cars and the internet. Lots of big dreams.

But he and his team first had to deal with other exploration and discovery, finding their way around forests where in just a few minutes you could be lost forever in a swamp or bog. It’s no small undertaking to avoid the undertaker there unless you were swallowed whole by an alligator or burned at the stake in one of the worst pagan rituals. The darkness lit only by wild flames, discouraging war cries, the sharpness of handmade spears, and a total absence of law enforcement added to the generally bleak outlook.

Still, other explorers of the past had done their thing and lived to tell, like Stanley from “Dr. Livingstone, I presume” fame, in Africa. Up de Graff’s youthful, untamed spirit vibrated in sympathy with the Count, probably the same feeling young men get today when it’s Porn Week on streaming TV. How will it work out? Will there be a happy ending worthy of the name? Will he find vast treasures of gold, caves of gold, trenches glistening with unbridled, untamed, unparalleled quantities of gold, shimmering, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen waxen GOLD?

Personally, I don’t know what I’d do with gold if I found it. I'm sure no one would really respect my rights when I registered my find: “I claim the gold of South America, having found the main vein at such and such coordinates, in my neighbor's backyard.” 20 minutes later I’d be overrun with guys with pick axes and guns aimed in violent intent at one another and me. It’s the kind of thing -- finding gold -- you should never tell another person, including friends, who’d step over you in a second in their lust and crazed abandon. It'd be better to find cotton candy.

Anyway, Cordovez tamped down some of Up de Graff's hopes, assuring him that there was indeed the possibility of making “a handsome capital,” just fabulous fortunes, which were already ripe to be had with various enterprises in America. But in 1894 to an adventurous spirit, “a handsome capital" was good enough. So off he sailed in 1894 with only $100 in his pocket, hoping for great adventure. He was there for seven years without so much as a day off.