M. Miguel tried hard to read a friendly meaning into this remark and continued, “It was only at Las Bonitas that my two friends and I realized, during a conversation between your nephew—”
Sergeant Martial’s lips began to tighten—a bad sign—and he interrupted M. Miguel. “Excuse me—a conversation?”
“Between Monsieur Jean de Kermor and the governor. During this conversation, we realized that you planned to get off at Caicara.”
“I don’t believe we need anybody’s permission,” the old campaigner retorted sharply.
“No, of course not,” M. Miguel continued, closing his mind to the likelihood that his proposal would be poorly received. “But, learning the reason behind your trip—”
“One!” Sergeant Martial muttered between his teeth, as if counting up the number of times he would be forced to respond to this kindly geographer.
“—the circumstances under which your nephew has come in search of his father, Colonel de Kermor—”
“Two!” Sergeant Martial intoned.
“—and knowing that you plan to go up the Orinoco as far as San Fernando—”
“Three!” Sergeant Martial snarled.
“—I’ve come to ask you, since my associates and I are going to the same place, if it wouldn’t be more convenient, cheaper, and also safer to make this trip from Caicara to San Fernando in the same boat.”
If ever there was a sensible offer, this was it. What earthly reason could there be for turning it down? If they picked a dugout canoe big enough for all of them, the five travelers would certainly be able to continue their journey under the most favorable conditions.
So Sergeant Martial should not have had the slightest reason to oppose the idea. Yet, without even a word to his nephew, and like a man whose mind has been made up from the outset, he answered caustically: “Very honored, sir, very honored! It is possible that your proposal would be cheaper, but more convenient? No—at least not for our purposes!”
“But why is this arrangement not suitable for you?” M. Miguel asked, rather surprised that his proposal was deemed unacceptable.
“It is unsuitable because it does not suit us!” Sergeant Martial snapped.
“I’m sure, Sergeant, that you have your reasons for answering this way,” M. Miguel went on. “But since my wish is simply that we help each other out, I think I deserve a more courteous reply!”
“My apologies, monsieur,” Sergeant Martial answered, seeming to realize he was on shaky ground. “But I had to refuse your offer.”
“A person can refuse something in a polite way. Where are the good manners you Frenchmen are so famous for?”
“Monsieur,” the old soldier replied, growing angrier, “this isn’t about manners! You made a proposal, I’ve got my reasons for not accepting it. I told you so straight out, without beating around the bush. Now if you have a problem with that—”
M. Miguel’s lofty air did not have a calming effect on Sergeant Martial, whose patience was running very thin. At this moment Jean de Kermor stepped in, saying, “Monsieur, please forgive my uncle, he didn’t mean to be discourteous. It was extremely good of you to make such a proposal, and any other time we’d be delighted to take advantage of your kindness. But we need a boat all to ourselves, one that we can use according to our needs. It’s possible that, in gathering information along the way, we may want to change our itinerary, to stop over in this town or that. In a word, we need complete freedom of movement.”
“Very well, M. de Kermor,” M. Miguel replied. “We don’t wish to hinder you in any way. And despite your uncle’s rather, uh, chilly response—”
“The response of a retired soldier, sir!” Sergeant Martial declared.
“Yes, of course! All the same, if my friends and I can ever be of service to you during your trip…”
“My uncle and I both thank you, monsieur.” the young man replied. “And believe me, if the need arises we won’t hesitate to ask for your help.”
“Did you hear, Sergeant?” M. Miguel added in a half-playful voice.
“I heard it, M. Geographer,” Sergeant Martial answered gruffly, still not willing to unbend despite these overtures from M. Miguel, who was in truth a decent and good-hearted man.
Then M. Miguel held out his hand to Jean de Kermor, who shook it cordially. This made lightning flash from the eyes of his fierce old uncle, along with a deep-throated rumble of thunder.
When Sergeant Martial and the boy were alone, the old soldier said: “How’d you like the way I handled that fellow?”
“You handled him rudely, and you were wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Totally.”
“Well, it would’ve been worse to share a canoe with those three Venezuelans!”
“You were perfectly right to refuse, uncle, but you could’ve been more polite about it!”
“I don’t have to be polite with some interfering—”
“M. Miguel wasn’t interfering, he was sincerely trying to help. And his proposal made complete sense … if only it could have been … but after turning him down, you should have thanked him and left things on a friendly footing. Perhaps he and his associates can be of assistance to us—they’re sure to have contacts in San Fernando, contacts who could help me find my father, and you, your commanding officer.”
“So … I was wrong?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“And you were right?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Thank you, nephew.”
In central Orinoco the smallest dugout canoes are hollowed out from the trunks of large trees, among others the cachicamo. The biggest vessels, made from tight-fitting planks, have curved sides that sweep up to an arch-shaped prow. These sturdy boats are built to take plenty of wear and tear, from scraping against the river bottom in shallow water to being dropped on the ground as you carry them up the riverbank around impassable rapids.
In the center, secured by a stay and two shrouds, stands a mast to which is rigged a square sail, good in tailwinds and mild side winds.3 The skipper steers by using a kind of long oar as a rudder.
The fore part of the vessel is wide open from the mast to the prow. This is where crewmen stand during the day and sleep at night. The whole crew usually consists of ten Indians, a skipper and nine sailors.
The aft part, from the mast to the stern except for the steering post, is covered by a deckhouse, a sort of rounded roof made from palm leaves secured by long strips of bamboo.
This deckhouse serves as the vessel’s cabin. It contains some bunks, simple mats on beds of straw, kitchenware and tableware, a small stove for cooking, plus a supply of fish and fowl to cook. These cabins run five to six meters long, out of a total length for such boats of ten to eleven meters, so you can divide a cabin into several compartments with curtains made out of matting.
On the Orinoco these boats are called falcas. When the wind is right, they can hoist sail, but it is often slow going due to the rapid currents between the many islands dotting this river. If the wind drops, they can be propelled by hand—in midstream with a pikestaff, or along the bank with a towline.
These pikestaffs are solid bamboo and double as barge poles, or palancas, for the crewmen in the bow and as a boat hook, or garapato, for the skipper in the stern. The towline, or espilla, is made from the ultraelastic fibers of the chiquichique palm. It is a slim