“Macushi people call him all Waurupang.”
“It's hopeless,” said Dr. Messinger. “Don't you think that possibly we have struck the upper waters of the Waurupang?” suggested Tony, “and have crossed and recrossed the stream as it winds down the valley.” “It is a hypothesis,” said Dr. Messinger.
When they were near water they forced their way through blind bush; the trail there was grown over and barred by timber; only Indian eyes and Indian memory could trace its course; sometimes they crossed little patches of dry savannah, dun grass growing in tufts from the baked earth; thousands of lizards scampered and darted before their feet and the grass rustled like newspaper; it was burning hot in these enclosed spaces.
Sometimes they climbed up into the wind, over loose red pebbles that bruised their feet; after these painful ascents they would lie in the wind till their wet clothes grew cold against their bodies; from these low eminences they could see other hill tops and the belts of bush through which they had travelled, and the file of porters trailing behind them.
As each man and woman arrived he sank on to the dry grass and rested against his load; when the last of them came up with the party Dr. Messinger would give the word and they would start off again, descending into the green heart of the forest before them.
Tony and Dr. Messinger seldom spoke to one another, either when they were marching or at the halts for they were constantly strained and exhausted.
In the evenings after they had washed and changed into clean shirts and flannel trousers, they talked a little, mostly about the number of miles they had done that day, their probable position and the state of their feet.
They drank rum and water after their bath; for supper there was usually bully beef stewed with rice and flour dumplings.
The Indians ate farine, smoked hog and occasional delicacies picked up by the way — armadillo, iguana, fat white grubs from the palm trees.
The women had some dried fish with them that lasted for eight days; the smell grew stronger every day until the stuff was eaten, then it still hung about them and the stores but grew fainter until it merged into the general indefinable smell of the camp.
There were no Indians living in this country.
In the last five days of the march they suffered from lack of water.
They had left the Waurupang behind and the streams they came to were mostly dry; they had to reconnoitre up and down their beds in search of tepid, stagnant puddles.
But after two weeks they came to a river once more, flowing deep and swift to the Southeast.
This was the border of the Pie-wie country and Dr.
Messinger marked the place where they stopped, Second Base Camp.
The cabouri fly infested this stream in clouds.
“John, I think it's time you had a holiday.”
“A holiday what from, mumsey?”
“A change … I'm going to California in July.
To the Fischbaums — Mrs. Arnold Fischbaum, not the one who lives in Paris.
I think it would do you good to come with me.”
“Yes, mumsey.”
“You would like it, wouldn't you?”
“Me?
Yes, I'd like it.”
“You've picked up that way of talking from Brenda.
It sounds ridiculous in a man.”
“Sorry, mumsey.”
“All right then, that's settled.”
At sunset the cabouri fly disappeared.
Until then, through the day, it was necessary to keep covered; they settled on any exposed flesh like house-flies upon jam; it was only when they were gorged that their bite was perceptible; they left behind a crimson, smarting circle with a black dot at its centre.
Tony and Dr. Messinger wore cotton gloves which they had brought for the purpose, and muslin veils, hanging down under their hats.
Later they employed two women to squat beside their hammocks and fan them with leafy boughs; the slightest breeze was enough to disperse the flies, but soon as Tony and Dr. Messinger dozed the women would lay aside their work, and they woke instantly, stung in a hundred places.
The Indians bore the insects as cows bear horse-flies; passively with occasional fretful outbursts when they would slap their shoulders and thighs.
After dark there was some relief for there were few mosquitoes at this camp but they could hear the vampire bats all night long nuzzling and flapping against their netting.
The Indians would not go hunting in this forest.
They said there was no game, but Dr. Messenger said it was because they were afraid of the evil spirits of the Pie-wie people.
Provisions were not lasting as well as Dr. Messinger had calculated.
During the march it had been difficult to keep a proper guard over the stores.
There was a bag of farine, half a bag of sugar and a bag of rice short.
Dr. Messinger instituted careful rationing; he served them himself, measuring everything strictly in an enamel cup; even so the women managed to get to the sugar behind his back.
He and Tony had finished the rum except for one bottle which was kept in case of emergency.
“We can't go on breaking into tinned stores,” said Dr. Messinger peevishly.
“The men must go out and shoot something.”
But they received the orders with expressionless, downcast faces and remained in camp.
“No birds, no animals here,” explained Rosa.
“All gone.
May be they get some fish.”
But the Indians could not be persuaded to exert themselves.