UP THE
AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS.

Transcriber’s Note: Map is clickable for a larger version (5.4 MB).

MAP TO ILLUSTRATE “UP THE AMAZON & MADEIRA RIVERS”

by E. D. MATHEWS, Assoc. Mem. Inst. C. E.

W. & A. K. Johnston, Edinburgh & London.

London: Sampson, Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 188, Fleet St.

UP THE
AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS,
THROUGH
BOLIVIA AND PERU.

BY
EDWARD D. MATHEWS,
ASSOC. MEM. INST. C.E.

LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1879.

(All rights reserved.)

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

DEDICATED TO
COLONEL GEORGE EARL CHURCH, F.R.G.S.,
CHAIRMAN OF THE MADEIRA AND MAMORÉ RAILWAY COMPANY,
BY HIS
OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT
EDWARD D. MATHEWS,
ASSOC. MEM. INST. C.E.

PREFACE.

A few years ago I was Resident Engineer of the projected Madeira and Mamoré Railway, to be constructed in the Province of Matto Grosso, in the Empire of Brazil, and as nearly as possible in the centre of the Continent of South America. From various causes the prosecution of the enterprise fell into abeyance for some considerable time. When the works were temporarily stopped, several reasons combined to induce me to return home by way of Bolivia and Peru. During that journey I kept up my ordinary custom of keeping a rough diary, and I have since dressed up my notes into something of a consecutive form. The resumption of the railway works has led me to think that some interest would attach to a description of a route across South America that has yet been but little travelled over. It has also occurred to me, that nowadays, when the Eastern trip to India, China, Japan, and home viâ San Francisco and New York, has been done by so many there may be adventurous spirits in search of new worlds to conquer, who would be pleased to know of a journey offering the combined attractions of canoeing on the magnificent affluents of the Amazon and a journey in the saddle across the Andes. My endeavour therefore has been to give all the information in my possession regarding the method and expense of travelling over the route indicated.

In grateful remembrance of many kindnesses received, I have dedicated my labours to the indefatigable worker who, for many years past, has devoted his life to the noble enterprise of opening a way to the markets of Europe for the many and varied products of the Republic of Bolivia and the Province of Matto Grosso in the Empire of Brazil.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

FOOTNOTES

[1] From a sketch by the Author.

UP THE
AMAZON AND MADEIRA RIVERS.

CHAPTER I.

Brazilian coast—True and false Salinas—Dangers of the mouth of the Amazon—Pará—Steamers on the Amazon—Amazon Steam Shipping Company, Limited—Vicinity of Pará—European residents—Climate.

After about twenty days’ steaming from Liverpool with southerly and westerly courses, the low-lying coast of the north of Brazil appears, and navigators who are not acquainted with the locality have considerable trouble in making out the pilot station of the Salinas.

The false Salinas are about half a day’s steam to the east of the true, which, again, are a few hours’ steam from the mouth of the Amazon River. At the true Salinas there is a lighthouse and a small village, a large red house, visible from the deck of the steamer, being the barrack in which the pilots for Pará live.

The steamer in which I had a passage had been chartered specially for the conveyance of the railway staff to which I belonged. The captain knew nothing at all of the spot to which he had undertaken to navigate his ship, and took the vessel considerably to the east of the Salinas; we were therefore a night and a day coasting about in soundings. At dark, a slight gale gave the sea the most phosphorescent appearance that, in the course of a good many voyages, I have yet seen. Every wave, as it curled over, broke in vivid phosphorescent fire, and it appeared as though we were steaming through a sea of flaming spirits.

The mouth of the river Amazon has many shifting banks and reefs of which no accurate information exists, and vessels are frequently lost in attempting to get up to Pará without a pilot. In 1873, three vessels, laden with iron for the Madeira and Mamoré railway, were lost, one after another, on the reefs near the Braganza lightship, which had shifted from her moorings and remained away from her station for many months. More pilots are required at the station of Salinas, for it has often happened that captains of vessels have got tired of beating about, waiting for a pilot to come off, and have attempted to enter the river alone, only to lose their vessels and cargoes.

The river Pará may be termed an outlet or arm of the river Amazon, and on its right bank the city of Pará is situated. The land on the left bank of the river forms the island of Marajo, which appears to be subject to periodical inundations, but is valuable as a feeding-ground for cattle. The rise and fall of the river at Pará is about twenty feet at highest tides.

In front of the city the river affords splendid anchorage for almost any amount of shipping, but the wharfage is very badly arranged, as there is no pier or jetty at which vessels can unload, consequently much time is lost in transhipping cargoes from the vessels into launches, and from these to the wharves. The practice has been to build out these wharves into the river at low water; and as each successive wharf has been completed, the river has silted up its frontage, and so rendered necessary the building of a new one further out. The “Rua da Praia,” which doubtless was the “Street of the Shore” some fifty years ago, is now the third line back from the river, and so the city is extending itself out into the water instead of backwards into the country. A wharf on screw piles, and a jetty with a cross-head wharf at its end, would probably not cause the silting, and would not cost more, while it would be more durable than the badly built stone walls that are now from time to time put up in front of each other.

The bay of Pará presents a cheerful aspect, from the number of vessels generally found there. The Red Cross line, owned and admirably maintained by Messrs. Singlehurst, Brocklehurst & Co., of Liverpool, Booth’s line, Garrison’s and another American line between Brazil and New York, all touch at Pará, and the Amazon Steam Shipping Company, Limited, always have some of their steamers lying in front of the wharves. The trade of the Amazon valley is already sufficient to maintain a considerable number of steamers in the river, the finest and largest of which, built by Messrs. Laird and Co. of Birkenhead, were formerly owned by the Baron Mauá. The Baron sold his steamers and workshops, with the subventions from the Brazilian Government to the Amazon Steam Shipping Company, Limited, formed in London a few years ago. This company, being desirous of maintaining its purchased monopoly of the trade of the Amazon, has bought up the two Brazilian companies that also traded on the river. One was called the “Fluvial Paraense,” and traded from Pará to Manáos, and to several small towns on the islands near Pará. This company’s boats were all built by Messrs. Pusey, Jones & Co., of Delaware, on American principles, with cabins on upper deck, and are very suitable for river navigation. The other company was the “Alta Amazonas Company,” owners of three or four small steamers, built by Laird & Co., that traded on the upper waters of the Amazon, and on its confluents—the Madeira, Purus, and Rio Negro. There are also several other steamers on the river, owned by private firms, which pick up all the freights left by, and even give great opposition to, the powerful English company. A new enterprise has lately been started in London, with the object of placing tugs and barges on the Amazon, and the Madeira and Mamoré Railway Company will doubtless run its own craft between Pará and San Antonio, the terminus of its railway on the Madeira River. The Amazon, therefore, is likely in future years to bear a considerable increase of steam shipping on its broad bosom, for attention seems to be almost universally directed to the magnificent facilities that it offers, for the ready export to the European markets of the produce of Northern Brazil, Peru, and Bolivia.

The city of Pará has not much to boast of in architecture; nevertheless, from the river, it has an imposing appearance, from the number of its churches. The convent of San Merced and the president’s palace, amongst old buildings, and the new theatre, a very elegant structure, are all worthy of notice. The streets are mostly broad and well paved, fairly lighted with gas by an English company, and kept decently clean. There is a very good market-place, and water is now being laid on to every house. Excellent hired carriages ply, at moderate prices, for the accommodation of the richer city merchants; while a tramway, worked by a locomotive and cars, takes the humbler individual out to join his family circle in the cooler districts of Nazareth, a very pretty suburb of Pará, where the principal merchants have built many elegant villa residences. As most of the roads run down avenues of very handsome palm trees, the effect of the whole is charming. There are also two public gardens, maintained with a good deal of taste.

The Europeans resident in Pará are extremely hospitable, and the staff of engineers and others to which I was attached, took away with them to the solitudes of the Madeira River most grateful recollections of the kindness, attention, and good wishes bestowed on them during their stay in Pará, more especially by the English and German consuls.

Pará does not enjoy a very good reputation for its climate, but I do not think it is so bad as is generally supposed. It has a fair alternation of wet and dry seasons, and the air is so pure that it is said that persons suffering from consumption rapidly recover after a short stay there. Yellow fever and small-pox sometimes linger a long time amongst the lower classes, being maintained a good deal, I believe, by the exhalations at low tides from the silted-up mud in front of the river wall. As I have said, it is probable that this silting up could in future be avoided by erecting a screw-piled pier instead of a wharf wall; and if the country behind the town were cleared further inland, the plague of mosquitoes might be materially decreased.

A trip up the Amazon is extremely pleasant, for the steamers of the Amazon company are commanded by very accomplished and amiable Brazilian captains. The table is very fairly found for one that can accustom himself to Brazilian cookery, and a liberal ration of Portuguese “vino verde” is supplied to passengers. The upper deck, covered with a double-planked water-tight awning which protects one from the hot sun, affords an agreeable lounge during the day, whilst at night it forms the general dormitory where each passenger slings his hammock and mosquito net, if he has been thoughtful enough to provide himself with these indispensable articles of a travelling equipment for Brazil.

CHAPTER II.

Bay of Marajo—Lighthouses—Rule of the road for steamers—Vegetation on the Amazon—Rubber trees—Boa Vista—Corralinha—Breves—Parainha—Gurupá—Mont Alegre—Cattle-feeding grounds—River Tapajoz—Santarem—American settlers—Obidos—Manufacture of charqui—Villa Bella—Serpa—Navigation of the Amazon.

The start up river is generally made from Pará soon after midnight, in order that the wide estuary termed the Bay of Marajo may be passed before noon of the following day, as the trade wind that sets in towards the afternoon raises too high a sea for the steamers built with overhanging main decks.

In the immediate neighbourhood of Pará there are some sugar plantations and brick and tile factories, which have a pretty appearance on the river banks, but as soon as the steamer passes the bay and gets into the narrow channels which are at the junction of the river Pará and the main stream of the Amazon, the scenery becomes flat and monotonous. There are several well-kept lighthouses on the banks of the bay and on the islands therein, but more will be required as the navigation increases. Some of the channels through which the steamers work their way are so narrow, that there is hardly room for two steamers to pass each other in them; some are therefore used for the ascending journey only, while others serve for the downward passage; and so well is this “rule of the road” kept by the Brazilian pilots and captains, that collisions are of very rare occurrence. On the main river the rule is that ascending steamers should keep to either bank, by preference the right, whilst descending steamers have the centre of the river and the full force of the current let free for them.

The islands and the mainland in the lower part of the Amazon are covered with a dense vegetation, almost impassable by any living being but the tapir, or “anta” as it is there called, the lianas and water plants being closely intertwined and growing amongst the lofty trees of the forest. In these low-lying lands a considerable population of Brazilian, Portuguese, negroes and half-castes live, their occupation being entirely confined to the collecting of the rubber for which the city of Pará is famous. This tree (Siphonia elastica) grows in groups, small paths called “estradas” being cut through the localities where it most abounds. The lands being mostly subject to flooding at high water, all the houses are built upon piles; and as no cultivation can be carried on, the dwellers therein are entirely dependent on the steamers for their supplies of provisions. Nearly every house has a small wharf projecting out into the river, to which the steamers can haul up and receive the firewood prepared for them, or take in the rubber, on their return journeys to Pará. In consequence of the daily flooding of these lands, it is not strange that the people have a washed-out and sallow look, and appear to suffer greatly from fever and ague.

Leaving Pará behind us, the first places passed on the upward journey are Boa Vista and Corralinha, the latter a little town that, from the steamer, looks very pretty with its white church and houses. On the second day, Breves, a small town on a very narrow channel of the Amazon, is arrived at. It is a small, unimportant, and very unhealthy place, being built on land that cannot be a couple of feet above high water. Then Parainha and Gurupá, small villages, are passed, and Mont Alegre is reached on the third day. Here there are large pampas, on which cattle are reared in great numbers.

These “fazendas de ganado,” or cattle-runs, are very valuable properties, especially those that have hilly lands on them, where the cattle can take refuge during the periodical inundations. The fourth day brings the steamer to Santarem, on the Tapajoz River, a short distance from its junction with the Amazon. The Tapajoz is a fine river of clear darkish-coloured water, very different in appearance to the whitish water of the great river, which always contains a certain amount of sediment.

Santarem is a very pretty town of about 3000 or 4000 inhabitants, and is built upon rising ground on the right bank, its fine church showing to great advantage. The climate of this place appears to be delightful and the lands of very good quality. On a range of hills a few leagues from the town, some American settlers have established themselves, and seem to be well satisfied with their location. They grow sugar-cane largely, selling their sugar and rum to great advantage in Santarem.

Obidos, about a day’s steaming from Santarem, is the next town on the Amazon, and has more inhabitants than any of the places yet passed. Here there is a small fort, and a few artillerymen keep up a show of barring the passage of the river to any possibly hostile craft. Large stores of firewood are kept on the river-side for the steamers, most of which call here to embark bullocks or their necessary supply of fuel. In Obidos a great trade in “charqui,” or jerked beef, is carried on, it being the emporium to which the owners of the estancias send their stocks. Obidos charqui appears to enjoy a special fame throughout Brazil, and is preferred to that made in the southern provinces of the empire. To acquire a taste for it takes considerable time, although, “faute de mieux,” I have managed to make many a good hearty meal from it. It is curious to note the clever manner in which the fresh meat is cut out into great sheets, called “mantas,” or blankets. These sheets of meat are rubbed with salt, and after being dried in the sun and wind, are rolled up into bundles, which are tied up with lianas and are then ready for sale. The price of a Brazilian arroba of charqui, weighing thirty-three pounds, varies from six to ten milreis, say from fourpence to sevenpence per pound. Obidos is about the highest place on the Amazon at which the daily influence of the tides is felt, the river rising and falling about two feet at this place; against a tide of about twenty feet at Pará.

Above Obidos, high lands on the right bank of the Amazon mark where the provinces of Pará and Amazonas meet: these hills are known as the Serra dos Parentins. The small town of Villa Bella on the right or southern bank of the river being passed, Serpa, opposite the river Madeira, is reached on the sixth day’s navigation from Pará. Here, in view of the opening up of trade with Bolivia viâ the Madeira River and the Railway of the Rapids, the Brazilian Government has lately established a custom-house; and the town, though but small now, will doubtless become of importance in the course of a few years. Unless the steamer in which one is voyaging is on a special trip up the Madeira, a visit will have to be paid to Manáos, the capital of the province of Amazonas, for it is there that the larger steamers remain, and passengers for the upper waters of the Amazon, the Purus, or the Madeira, have to take the smaller but still comfortable steamers that ascend these rivers.

The navigation of the river Amazon is free all the year round, between Pará and Manáos, for vessels of any tonnage or draught, if we except the alleged existence, in September or October of very dry years, of a sandbank near Villa Bella, on which it is said that vessels drawing more than eight feet have grounded; but if they have, it has, in my belief, been owing to faulty pilotage, for I think there must be good water always throughout the whole of the course.

CHAPTER III.

Manáos—Trade direct with Europe—Obelisk commemorating opening of the river Amazon to all flags—Climate of Manáos—Absence of mosquitoes—River Madeira—Rubber-collecting preferred to agriculture—Mode of collection and preparation of the rubber—Guaraná.

Manáos, a small but well-built town of about 5000 inhabitants, is situated on the banks of the Rio Negro, whose black waters offer a great contrast to the white but muddy waters of the Amazon. The town is clean and fairly paved, and the stores, kept principally by Portuguese merchants, are extremely well filled with general articles. The authorities of the province, led by their intelligent and talented president, Doctor Domingos Monteiro Peixoto, are evidently desirous of improving the condition of the place by every possible means, and concessions and subventions are given to any scheme that promises to be of public utility. Premiums on cattle imported to Manáos are given; a contract for lighting the town with gas, and a liberal subvention for a water supply are offered; while the sum of £10,000 per annum was given to a concessionnaire for the organization of a company to run steamers direct from Manáos to Europe, six times during the twelve months. There is also a German house lately established, whose vessels are towed up the Amazon without having to unload at Pará, the house receiving a considerable drawback on the duties payable according to the general tariff. A good public school where boys are taught useful trades and handicrafts exists, and appears to be well managed. Some Germans were engaged in Hamburg, and brought to Manáos as teachers of carpentry, masonry, smith’s-work, and other useful occupations, and were paid good salaries, but could not settle themselves down to steady work or to Brazilian fare; they were therefore sent back to Hamburg, at great loss and expense to the province.

There is at Manáos an obelisk erected to commemorate the opening of the river Amazon to free navigation by all flags. This took place in 1867, and was a politic act on the part of the Emperor of Brazil, which is much appreciated by all the dwellers on the river. For the present this privilege is only given as far as Manáos on the Amazon, and Borba on the Madeira, but there is no doubt but that it will be extended to all the navigable waters when commerce calls for further facilities.

As a field for emigration, Manáos offers many advantages; its climate is good, and there are no mosquitoes or other insect plague, for although these abound on the Amazon and other rivers, there are none on the lower part of the Rio Negro. The blackness of the water of this river is said to be caused by the tannin imparted to it by the trees on its banks, and the presence of this substance, though perfectly harmless to human beings, seems to be fatal to the production of insect life. After a stay in Manáos, one wishes that all the waters of South America could be impregnated in like manner, so that the fearful plague of flies and mosquitoes might become unknown throughout the land. Grants of good agricultural land would doubtless be made by the provincial authorities, and as there is a well-established city, and constant communication by steamers with Europe at least once a week, emigrants would not feel so lonely as they do in districts less accessible.

The Madeira is much narrower than the Amazon, and may be said to have a general width of about half a mile to 1000 yards. The current is, however, much swifter than that of the Amazon, and runs, when the river is at half flood, at about four miles an hour. The banks are, as a rule, much higher and better defined than those of the Amazon, there being few, if any, lagoons on its course from Serpa to the rapids.

The only trade of consequence at present on the river Madeira is the collection of rubber, the forests on either bank abounding in groves of the Syphonia elastica, the tree that yields this valuable product. The rubber trade, as at present carried on, on this river, is a most delusive one, and few, if any, of the speculators have gained fortunes from their labours. In consequence of the large profits that were made when the river was first opened up, the “seringueiros,” as the collectors are called, devote all their time to working the trees already discovered, or to finding out new ones; therefore agriculture is entirely neglected, and all provisions have to be brought from Pará; for, in many cases, the seringueiros will not tell off an Indian to hunt or fish, labour being so scarce that, in order to send as much rubber as possible to their creditors in Pará, the seringueiros must get all the work they can out of their Indians in the season favourable for entering the forests. This season may be said to last from April to November. The “estradas,” or roads of rubber trees, yield well on the Madeira, but some are much more prolific than others; trees on lands that are inundated at times only, yielding better than those on very low or on elevated grounds. The method of collection is, that small tin pots, possibly holding about a third of a pint, are hung on the tree closely under an incision made at an angle so that the sap of the tree may run into the pot. These are emptied daily into convenient vessels, which are carried to the peon’s hut near by. Fires made from nuts of the motocu palm are then made, and the sap being emptied out into large vessels, the operator dips a kind of flat wooden shovel in it, and immediately holds the shovel over the smoke, which causes the sap to coagulate quickly. The smoke from these nuts is found to effect this much quicker than any other process; and from the large demand for them, these nuts are in some districts getting very scarce, the absurd practice of felling the tree for the sake of the nut having been much resorted to. The operation above described having been frequently repeated, the coagulated sap attains a thickness of about a couple of inches; it is then cut on one side, and the shovel is withdrawn, leaving the rubber in its marketable shape, its price being regulated according to its freedom from impurities. There is, however, very little difference in quality of the “bolachas,” or biscuits, as they are called, the price generally being about 26 to 30 milreis, say £2 12s. to £3 per Brazilian arroba of 33 lbs., according to the demand or the crop. A low quality, called “sernamby” in Pará and “negro-head” on the London market, is a collection of all the scrapings of, or droppings from, the vessels, and, being full of impurities, fetches only about half the price of the “bolachas.”

The only other exports from the Madeira River are Brazil nuts (Bertholetis exelsa) and Sapucaya nuts (Acythis ollaria), which are collected and shipped to Pará, principally for exportation to the United States.

Guaraná, collected principally at the town of Maués nearly opposite to Serpa, but situated inland upon a small stream of the same name, forms an item of considerable value in the trade with Bolivia and the province of Matto Grosso, and is a preparation of the fruit of the guaraná tree (Paullinia sorbilis).

The beans are ground up, and pressed into cylindrical masses of about eight or ten inches in length by one and a half to two inches diameter. The quality varies in accordance with the evenness of the paste and its freedom from impurities. The taste is slightly acrid, and its property of astringency renders it valuable in diarrhœa and other kindred sicknesses; but in the central parts of South America it is freely taken as a beverage, and there are many Bolivians who would fast all day, and even forswear their beloved “chicha,” rather than miss their glass of guaraná and water, taken at daybreak, immediately after rising. What the peculiar virtues of the guaraná may be, I cannot say; for, though I tried it many times, I discovered none at all. Some people consider it a specific for sick headache, but my experience does not allow me to recommend it as a perfect cure. Probably it sustains the body in a similar manner to the coca plant; for I have seen many Bolivians who positively could not begin their day’s work without their glass of guaraná. In order to drink it, the mass is rasped down on the dried tongue of the pirarucú fish, until about a teaspoonful of powder is obtained, and this is taken with half a pint of water sweetened to the palate. So great a sale exists for this article both in Bolivia and in Matto Grosso, that traders on the Madeira River never make the return journey without taking several hundredweights amongst their cargoes, and some are content to load up their canoes entirely with it.

CHAPTER IV.

Borba—Tobacco—Island of Araras—Piedras de Uruás— Cachoerina—Exaltacion—Manicoré—Mundurucu Indians—Marmélos—Bayetas—Juma—Mission of San Pedro—Crato—Old penal settlement—Umaitá—Parententin Indians—Missionary efforts unable to reclaim these savages—Praia of Tamandoa—Turtles—San Antonio.

The first village arrived at in the ascent of the Madeira is Borba, an old Jesuit settlement about twelve hours’ steam from the junction of the Madeira and Amazon. Tobacco of excellent quality is grown at Borba, and fetches about two milreis, or four shillings, per pound. The method of preparing the tobacco is very simple, the picked leaves being strung up in the roof of the hut until properly dried, when they are, by hand, pressed into a stick-like form of an inch and a half in diameter, and being tied closely round with split cane, are sold in “masas” of from four to six feet in length.

Ascending the river, Sapucaia-oroca and Arauna-cuara, rubber gatherers’ huts are passed, and the Island of Araras is reached on the third day’s steaming in the river. This island is of considerable size, and is the property of the Amazon Steam Shipping Company of Pará. It is very rich in rubber and nut trees, and sarsaparilla and other drugs are found there, but no minerals.

About three hours’ steam above this island, “Las Piedras de Uruás,” or the Rocks of Uruás, are reached. These form the first danger to navigation, and, uncovered at low water, leave only a channel of about fifty yards wide, a rather tortuous passage for the steamer. A careful pilot can, however, always take a steamer drawing not more than eight feet through with perfect safety; while from high to half-flood water, the rocks offer no obstruction whatever.

Next in order, Cachoerina and Exaltacion are passed, the former a single house only, and the latter one of the largest rubber settlements on the river. On the fifth day the village of Manicoré is arrived at. It is a settlement of the Mundurucu Indians who have been brought into entire subjection, and who, though proverbially lazy, are quiet and well disposed. At this village are several storekeepers who trade with these Indians.

Marmélos, a collection of sandbanks requiring caution on the part of the pilot when the river is low, come next in order. Then Bayetas and Juma, both rubber stations, and San Pedro, a government mission under the care of Franciscan friars, are passed in succession. Crato, one of the best cleared spots on the river, is reached on the eighth day’s journey: here there are good grazing grounds, and the place is now remarkable for its healthy climate, though strange to say, not many years ago, perhaps less than thirty, it was used by the Brazilian Government as a penal settlement where prisoners of very bad character were kept, the climate being then so bad that their term of imprisonment was soon cut short by their death. About three miles above Crato is Umaitá, a thriving Portuguese settlement belonging to Don Juan Montero, who is the wealthiest settler on the Madeira River. He has a small steamer of his own that trades between Umaitá and Pará. Das Abeillas, a Brazilian rubber collector’s head-quarters, is the next station passed, and then an ascending steamer enters on the reserve of the Parententin Indians, and steams through some score or so of leagues of lands where no settler has yet been able to keep a footing. It is supposed that, about two centuries ago, these savages were Christianized by the earlier Jesuit Fathers, and that, in consequence of some bad treatment, they revolted, and are now deadly enemies of any settlers, whether whites or mestizoes. The idea is strengthened by the fact that a raid on one of their temporary settlements, practised a few years ago by the Portuguese of Umaitá, in retaliation for a murderous attack on a rubber gatherer’s hut set up near the territory roamed over by these savages, found roughly carved crosses and figures that might be supposed to represent saints, in the huts of these Parententins. However this may be, they now have the reputation of being cannibals, and no settler dares to set up a hut on their territory, although it contains very rich growths of rubber trees.

The Brazilian Government does not allow the improvement of these savage races by the only practical method, namely extermination, but trusts to the efforts of the few missionary friars to whom is entrusted the work of proselytizing the untamed tribes of the interior of the empire. These efforts might doubtless be successful in partially civilizing milder tribes, such as the Mundurucus of the Amazon, the Pamas of the Purus, or the Caripunas of the Madeira, but they are perfectly unable to tame fierce tribes, such as the Parententins of the Madeira, the Ycanga Pirangas of the Jamary, or the Sirionos of the River Grande of Eastern Bolivia, tribes that refuse to hold any converse with the white faces, but attack suddenly with their arrows whenever they can come across an unprepared party. For these irreclaimable sons of the forest there is no taming method other than the rifle and bullet, and it is no use trying to shirk the fact that they must be removed out of the way of the opening up to commerce of the Amazon and its tributaries.

The termination of the Parententin territory is marked by the junction of the river Machado on the eastern or right bank of the Madeira. Above this point the huts of rubber gatherers are again met with, and on the ninth day’s steaming on the Madeira, the “Praia,” or sandbank of Tamandoa, which at low water forms a vast and barren deposit for many miles of the river’s course, is reached. In the dry season, when the river is low, in the months of August and September, enormous numbers of turtles frequent these sandbanks for the purpose of depositing their eggs. On one occasion, passing this bank in a canoe at daybreak, I saw an extraordinary sight. For miles, as far as the eye could reach down the river, which hereabouts runs straight for some six or seven miles, were continuous rows of turtle at the water’s edge; the rows being eight and ten deep, many thousands of turtle must have been collected together. The business of gathering the eggs of these turtles for making oil, and catching the turtles for food, is one of the regular occupations of the settlers on the river, who flock to these sandbanks in great number at the time of lowest water.

On the tenth day’s journey on the Madeira, and about the sixteenth from Pará, the steamer should arrive at San Antonio, the first of the rapids of the Madeira River. The total distance from Pará to San Antonio is said to be about 1600 miles, the upward journey generally occupying fifteen to sixteen days, while the return has been made by a steamer belonging to the National Bolivian Navigation Company, in six days and seven hours.

CHAPTER V.

Madeira and Mamoré Railway—Ocean steamers can ascend to the first rapid—Brazilian outposts—Difference between high and low water below the rapid—Rainfall—Temperature—Scenery—Marks on rocks—Glossy black deposit on rocks—Trees of the forest—Brazil nuts—Alligators—Peixebois, pirahybas, pirarucus, and other fish—Tapirs, how shot—Onças, and other animals—Birds, wild turkeys, ducks, etc.—Insects, mosquitoes, ants, etc.—Snakes, etc., etc.

From San Antonio the railway commences that is in course of construction by the Madeira and Mamoré Railway Company. This line, which is to run upon the eastern side of the rapids, has for its object the establishment of communication between the navigable waters of the Mamoré and Guaporé or Itenez in Eastern Bolivia, and the Madeira and Amazon in Northern Brazil. The length of the line will be about 180 miles, and it is estimated to cost £6000 per mile, with a metre gauge. At foot of the rapid of San Antonio the river forms a bay on the right or eastern bank of the river, on which the wharf and terminus of the railway will be built. For eight or nine months of the year, ocean-going steamers could ascend the Madeira and make fast alongside the bank, but for three months of the dry season, August to October, steamers that do not draw more than three to four feet will have to ship the produce brought down by the railway to San Antonio, and tranship into the ocean steamers either at Manáos, Serpa, or Pará.

My object being to describe a route of travel, it would be out of place to remark at length upon the commercial importance of the enterprise of the Madeira and Mamoré Railway; I would therefore claim attention for it principally on the ground that it will afford means of rapidly passing the barrier placed by the falls of the Madeira River in the way of navigation from Bolivia and the province of Matto Grosso, in Brazil, to the Amazonian outlet to the Atlantic Ocean. No doubt exists in my mind that the railway will draw to itself a very considerable and important traffic, as it will open up provinces in Bolivia and Brazil that at present have no means whatever of exporting their valuable products of either mineral or agricultural industry.

San Antonio bears a bad reputation for ague and fever, but I lived there for nearly two years and did not suffer any serious attack, and the place is rapidly improving now that a somewhat extensive clearing has been made. A Brazilian outpost, or “destacamento,” with about thirty soldiers under the charge of a captain-commandant, is maintained, the next destacamento being on the river Itenez, in the province of Matto Grosso. The Madeira River below the falls has a total difference of forty-eight feet and a half between the highest flood water in the rains, and its lowest water in the dry season. The highest water is generally reached in the month of March, while the lowest obtains in September. The rainfall at San Antonio, according to measurements taken by me in 1872 and 1873, may be said to be about ninety inches per annum. There are six months of dry season, from May to October inclusive, and from January to March seems to be the wettest quarter. The heat, at times, is great in the dry season, the thermometer sometimes rising, to 95° Fahr. in the shade; but, speaking generally, the temperature is not nearly so high as might be expected from the latitude of the place, the highest and lowest average temperatures for the year being 82° to 88° at day, and 69° to 75° at night.

SAN ANTONIO—RIVER MADEIRA (LOOKING DOWN STREAM).

At San Antonio on the railway side, or right bank, of the river, the land is hilly, and the islands forming the rapid have a pleasing look, as they are covered with foliage. Below the settlement is a spit of rock running out into mid river, and uncovered at low water. On these rocks are many peculiar grooves or marks on the sloping surfaces; they are about a finger’s depth, and cross each other at different angles, while some are quite distinct and separate from the others. It has been suggested that these marks are the work of some of the tribes of the district, but my opinion would rather be, that they have been caused by glacial action. At the rapid of Ribeirão there are some carvings on rocks uncovered at lowest water only, that represent animals, birds, and circles or squares, and these of course are due to human agency; but the occurrence at all the rapids, and the great number of the straight grooves, decidedly favours the view that they are not the result of manual labour. The rocks at all the rapids are covered with a glossy black substance, which seems to be a deposit left by the waters during floods, and possibly enamelled by the sun’s heat during the dry season. If I recollect rightly, Humboldt noticed this deposit on the rocks of the upper waters of the Orinoco, and defined it to be a deposit left by the flood waters of the rainy seasons, but as I have not his “Travels in South America” at hand to refer to, I may be incorrect in this reference.

The forests are of lofty trees, many being of very valuable timber for house building and for railway purposes. Rubber trees are plentiful, also Brazil nuts and cocoa trees, the latter in a wild state but yielding very excellent fruits. Sarsaparilla, vanilla, copayba and annatto abound, also fustic and other dyewoods, while many of the barks and bejucas or sipoys might be utilized as fibres. The Brazil nut tree Bertholetis excelsa is perhaps the handsomest tree of the forest, its dark green foliage showing to great advantage over the top of its neighbours. The fruit when fresh is very agreeable and sweet, being very different to the nut as sold dry and tasteless in London.

Of fish and game, the forest and the river yield an abundant supply to the settler or traveller. Besides turtle in any quantity, alligators are in great numbers. The former is a favourite food of the Indian labourers of Brazil and Eastern Bolivia, who are also not at all averse to a dish of the latter; and I can vouch for the fact that the tail of a young alligator not more than three or four feet in length is a most excellent dish, being as nearly like filleted sole as can be imagined. When the reptiles grow to a larger size, the flesh has a very repugnant flavour and smell of musk. Amongst fishes may be mentioned—the boto, which has the shape of a large porpoise, but is white-coloured and has a snout or proboscis about a foot in length. The peixeboi and pirahyba are very large, many being seven and eight feet in length; they, as well as the botos, are only killed for the oil that can be extracted from their carcases by boiling. Pirarucus of very large size and weight are found principally in the back waters or lagoons bordering on the river, and are much sought after for salting down, in which state they form the staple food of the settlers on the Madeira. I have heard that a fair-sized pirarucú will give from five to six Brazilian arrobas (of 33 lbs. each) of salted fish, and as I have seen them over ten feet long and eighteen inches to two feet in diameter, I can give them credit for yielding such a large quantity of solid food. The pescado, a fish with scales, and to be caught from one to three feet in length, is the best eating fish in the river, and is equal in flavour to fresh cod or bream. This fish is curious from the fact of its having two stones situated in the broad bones at the top of the head, just above the eyes. The tambaqui, dorado, surubi, pintado, and the joão may also be named as good eating fish, while the fisherman will often wish heartily that the palometa fish could be exterminated at once and for ever. This fish is flat and small, seldom passing a foot in length, but has a very large mouth for its size, full of the sharpest possible teeth, with which it not only takes the bait from the hook without any danger to itself, but has also been known to take a good-sized piece out of a bather’s leg.

The only large animal in the country is the tapir, sometimes called the “anta,” and sometimes the “gran bestia.” He is a very timorous and inoffensive animal, and must be shot at night-time, the practice being for the huntsman to set up what is called a “chapapa,” or raised platform of poles, sometimes placed in the fork of a conveniently situated tree. This platform must command the pool of mud where the tapir comes for his nightly bath and supper of succulent roots; and some hunters place a candle or small lamp near the pool, the light of which attracts the stupid beast. A moonlight night is, however, the best for the sport, if such it may be called, and as soon as the animal shows, the contents of one barrel are generally sufficient to bring down the game. The tapirs are as large as a fair-sized Brazilian bullock, and the flesh is much like beef in taste. There are also “onças,” a species of small jaguar, and tiger-cats of small size; wild pigs, or peccaries, in great number; capybaras, or river hogs; squirrels and other small rodents, monkeys in great variety, small deer, sloths, ant-eaters, armadillos; “lapas,” or “pacas,” a rodent whose flesh is capital eating; and “lobos,” or otters, of great size and fierceness.

Besides numerous small birds of great beauty in their plumage, such as toucans, humming-birds, “carpinteros,” and “campaneros” or bell-ringers, there are hoopoes, or “ciganas,” which are uniformly reckoned as unclean, and the ever-present forest scavenger, the vulture, or “souchu,” called “urubu” in Brazil and “samura” in Central America. A more pleasant and useful list would comprise—“pavas” and “guachacas,” species of wild pheasants; “mutuns,” or wild turkeys; “perdrices,” or wild partridges; “patos royales,” or black ducks—the finest duck in the world; “marecas,” or Orinoco geese—a brown duck equal, I should think, to a canvas-back; sheldrakes, snipes, widgeons, teal, herons, storks, and numerous other water fowl. From this list it may be seen that the locality offers plenty of occupation for the sportsman who is content with small game, and is not ambitious of leaving his name on the roll of the mighty hunters of “greater game.”

The insect plagues of the district have still to be mentioned; and certainly, when one looks back upon the sufferings undergone from the attacks of these brutes, one is tempted to wonder greatly why such plagues exist. Many fine arguments have been brought forward by the advocates of the theory that everything in nature has its use, in order to prove that some good results from the existence of a mosquito, but I who have suffered for years from these pests have hitherto failed to discover any benefit in their attacks, and cannot see the excellence of the design that exposes a human body to be the breeding ground of a “gusanero,” a beast of a fly that attacks you, you know not when, till after three or four months you know that he has done so, by the swelling up of the bitten part into a fair-sized boil, from which issues a maggot of perhaps an inch and a half in length. I have heard it said that the bite of a mosquito is beneficial, as it thins the blood of a dweller in swampy tropical regions; but if this were so, they might be arranged to carry out this beneficial design without causing exquisite pain to the party operated upon; but the theory is an incorrect one, for there are spots on the banks of the Amazonian rivers where there would be much less fever if the countless hosts of mosquitoes or “carapanas,” “gusaneros,” “marigueys” and “tavernas,” could be exterminated. The ant tribes are also very numerous and objectionable, coming raiding at times in such numbers that there is nothing left to do, but, snatching up your clothes and bedding as quickly as you may, make tracks to a new location. The larger ants are very venomous, their bite causing intense pain, equal almost to that caused by scorpions or centipedes, which, also, are pretty numerous in the dead wood and rotting leaves of the forest. Snakes, also, are plentiful, the deadly coral snake, and a yellow and black fellow called the “tiger,” being the species most frequently met with. The former is seldom seen more than about a foot in length, while the latter is frequently met with eight or ten feet long and four to six inches in diameter. A list of these insect and reptile plagues gives a rather horrible idea of the district, but the annoyances are lost sight of in the excitement and pleasure caused by travelling through new solitudes and territories so far removed from all civilization; and at nightfall, when on the march, one lays down perfectly at one’s ease on an outstretched hide, without giving a thought to any of the venomous creatures that possibly pass over the sleeper just as they would over a log of wood intervening in their path. A good mosquito-net, or bar, as it is sometimes called, is a perfect safeguard to the intrusion of any of these creatures, provided that the falling sides and ends are well secured from being raised by wind during the night: but I would especially advise a traveller to avoid the ordinary net that outfitters and others always recommend so strongly. The mariguey of the Madeira is about the size of a midge, and will lodge on the net, and having walked inside will torment the inmate beyond belief. The only materials that circumvent him entirely, and yet allow for ventilation, are ordinary figured muslins, or a thin blue unglazed calico with a small check pattern, both of which can be had in Pará at moderate prices.

CHAPTER VI.

Rapids of the Madeira River—Journey undertaken—Canoes, Indians, and other requirements for the journey described—Articles good for trading with savages—Provisions, etc.

The journey onwards becomes rather laborious, as canoes must now be the means employed for the ascent of the rapids and the upper riverine systems of Eastern Bolivia and Western Brazil. I made this journey in 1874, starting from San Antonio on the 24th of April, in company with some Bolivian merchants who were returning to their country with general stores purchased in Pará, for sale in the department of the Beni in Eastern Bolivia. When prosecuting my journey, I endeavoured to note down whatever might have called for notice during the day’s run, and although incurring, perhaps, the risk of being rather tedious, I think it will now be the best plan to copy the notes I then entered in my diary, in order that the rapids and other portions of the route travelled over may be described in proper order.

GARITEA, OR TRAVELLER’S CANOE, RIVER MADEIRA.

But, first, it is necessary to describe the arrangements requisite for the ascent of the rapids and the Mamoré to the most eastern towns of Bolivia. Large canoes, called on the river “batelãos,” or “igariteas,” are the craft required, a good and useful one being from eight to ten yards in length, by about four or five feet beam; they draw from two to four feet of water, and will carry from three to six tons. A crew of not less than ten peons and a captain is required for a canoe laden with, say three tons, and the Bolivian Indians of the Beni are the best paddlers or “marineros,” the Brazilian peons not being so expert in getting the canoes over the many miles of broken water that have to be encountered. It is unwise to attempt to make either the upward or downward journey with single embarkations, because at, at least three of the rapids, the canoes have to be totally unladen and dragged over the portages, which invariably have to cross a small but steep hill, and one crew is quite unable to haul the canoe over any one of these hills. It is best, therefore, always to arrange a party of three or more canoes, before commencing the ascent or descent of the rapids. Canoes travelling singly are also much exposed to attacks from the wandering families of savages on the river banks, while parties of three or more canoes in company have rarely if ever been molested. A small canoe, or “montaria,” is extremely useful for the purpose of sending the cable ahead of the large canoe, when a strong current is met with that the paddles are unable to overcome. This cable should be about fifty or sixty yards long, and may be of good hemp or piassava; there should be one for each canoe, and the test of the strain of at least thirty men should be applied to each cable before the journey is commenced, as breakages of bad cables cause an immense amount of vexation, and a great deal of danger. The canoes have a cabin at the stern end, made of palm leaves, covered with a raw hide if possible. In this cabin the “patron,” or owner, arranges his small stores, guns, books, etc., and, with the addition of a narrow hair mattress, manages to make of it a very snug abode, which serves for his parlour by day, and sleeping quarters at night, except when amongst the rapids, when it is always safer to sleep on shore, for fear of the canoe breaking away during the night, and taking its sleeping occupant over the nearest rapid below. Besides, it is not advisable to trust one’s self too implicitly in the hands of the Indian marineros, for cases are on record where an Indian, to be revenged on his patron for some well-deserved punishment perhaps, has cut the rope by which the canoe has been made fast, and has sent his patron to his last reckoning in a brutal and treacherous manner; and it must be borne in mind that, in a crew of Indians, there may easily be one black sheep, however tractable and good-natured the majority are. I have never had cause to complain of treachery or vindictiveness on the part of the Bolivian Indians, and believe that if they are kindly and honestly dealt with they are most trustworthy in every way; but discretion is the better part of valour, and it is well to be on the safe side, which is, amongst the rapids, the river bank, and not the cabin, or “camarota,” of the canoe. It is also well to provide each canoe with a short length of chain and a good stout padlock, for securing it to a tree at nightfall.

The traveller will naturally furnish himself with firing-irons after his own heart, but I would recommend him to add to his own particular fancy, a Winchester sixteen-shot repeating rifle, for they make splendid shooting, are light, portable, and carry a good armament ready at hand in case of a brush with savages. A double-barrelled shot-gun; a pair of revolvers (not fitted with cartridge extractors, which invariably get rusted and clogged up unless they are taken to pieces and cleaned thoroughly every day—an almost impossible task), a good hunting knife, or “machete,” for clearing one’s path amongst the reeds on the river bank or through the forest, and a good assortment of fish-hooks and lines, will about complete the inventory of “materiel de guerre” advisable. To preserve one’s guns and knives from the rust which covers them completely in one night if they are left ungreased, I found that the best thing was “Andiroba oil,” which can be obtained in any quantity in Pará or Manáos. This oil is expressed from the nuts of the Andiroba tree (Xylocarpus caropa), and is used in Brazil for lighting purposes principally. It makes, however, a first-rate lubricant for machinery, and the way it protects steel or iron from rust is simply marvellous. Guns and pistols should be rubbed clean about twice a week, and then, if the oil is laid on lightly with wool or tow, they will keep their polish and browning in the dampest spots. A stock of knives, axes, machetes, beads, fish-hooks, and ready-made canvas or common flannel shirts should also be taken, in readiness for the chance of an amicable “pow-wow” with the “barbaros,” as the traveller will naturally be desirous of bringing away a record of his visit, in the shape of arrows, bows, necklets of seeds, feathers, teeth ornaments, etc., from these gentry. As for provisions, it is well not to despise the humble farinha, charqui, or bacalao, although most Europeans find it difficult to bring their palates to this plain diet; but when the ducks have been wild, or the exigencies of the journey have hindered the traveller from procuring his supper from the fresh meats afforded by the forest or the river, he will find that the good appetite his day’s work with the canoe has given him, proves a good sauce, even to a dish of charqui soup, rice, and farinha. I found that a spoonful of “Liebig’s Extract,” added to the “chupe,” or thick soup, which is the only dish known to Bolivian peons, rendered it both palatable and nutritious. Some live fowls and a few tins of vegetables, salmon, herrings, or sardines would not be amiss, as one must prepare for a voyage of about seven weeks between San Antonio and Exaltacion, the first town arrived at in Bolivia. For liquors, the river affords good potable water for those that are teetotally inclined; but temperance principles are good for those only that cannot keep their drinking propensities within bounds, and I do not think that a European can keep his health in any tropical climate without a small and regular supply of some stimulant. A bottle or two of brandy in case of illness, a box of claret, or a garrafão of “vino verde,” will be as much as the traveller can find space in his canoe for, especially as it is vitally necessary to have a good supply of cachaça (ordinary white rum, made from sugar cane, and called aguadiente, caña, pisco, or cachaça, according to locality) for the Indian crew, who need a ration, about a wine-glassful, night and morning, and also whenever they have to work at hauling the canoes in the water for any length of time. The traveller also will not despise a nip of cachaça when the wind blows coldly, and at night a little in a bowl of tea is very agreeable. As a preservative against fever, I have found it a good plan to take, every morning at daybreak, before coffee or eating, a small quantity, say about two and a half or three grains, of quinine, in a small glass of any kind of spirit; and this plan, if carried out regularly, will, I believe, take a man safely through any of the most malarious districts of South America. A capital preparation which a traveller in the tropics should, in my opinion, always be provided with, is Angostura bitters, which are made at the city of Angostura, on the river Orinoco, in Venezuela. These bitters, besides having great preservative properties against fever, for cascarilla or quinine bark is doubtless their principal ingredient, are about the finest appetizers that I ever met with. A small cocktail made with Angostura will give any one an appetite for the roughest and plainest meal that can be imagined, and I am confident that the immunity that I have enjoyed from ague has been mainly owing to my use of these bitters, as I have thereby been enabled to keep up my appetite, and make a square meal where others have been quite unable to do more than look at, and perhaps turn away from, the dishes of charqui and farinha which are often the only fare to be met with in Brazil.

CHAPTER VII.

A start made—Canoe heavily laden—San Antonio rapid passed—Slow progress made—Method of passing over strong currents—The current of Macacos—The Bay of Theotonio—Canoe nearly swamped in same—The Falls of Theotonio—Fish at foot of falls—Franciscan mission to the Pamas—The portage of Theotonio.

On the 24th of April, I woke up all hands at 3 a.m., and we had the last boxes packed, the fowls caught, put in the coop, and all on board ready for a start at seven o’clock. On calling over the roll of oarsmen, or “marineros,” as they are called, we found that a Bolivian boy was missing, having hid himself in the forest, so as to be left behind; for there are many of these Indians that are so lazy that they would rather remain on the Madeira River than undergo the hard work of the ascent of the rapids on their way to their own country. The canoe was very low down in the water, the top of the gunwale not being more than three inches out, and she therefore leaked rather badly round the top seams; but as the wood swelled from the immersion, the leakage decreased. We took about an hour and a half to get from the right or eastern bank of the river, below the rapid of San Antonio, to the other side, where the shortest land portage for the baggage is found. On the passage across, the canoe hung several times in the strong current, as the crew were not yet practised together, and I had a good deal of shouting and encouraging to do in order to avoid being carried some distance down stream. The Bolivian Indian’s term for “putting on a spurt” is “churka,” and a good crew of twelve or fourteen paddles will make even a heavily laden canoe almost leap in the water when the paddlers “churka” well together. A Bolivian paddle is oar-shaped, and about four or five feet in length, by six inches width at the blade; but a Brazilian one is much shorter, has a crutch-shaped handle and a round blade fifteen or sixteen inches diameter: both paddles can do excellent work in strong hands. I had to send back to the other side for a few things that, of course, had been forgotten, including my two retriever dogs, “Jack” and “Burro,” who got safely through the journey up the rapids with me, but had some narrow escapes from the alligators. By the time we got the baggage over the portage to the upper side of the fall, it commenced to rain heavily, so the tarpaulins were brought into service, and the night was passed above the fall, the empty canoes having been hauled up the rapid on the San Antonio side, and passed across the river above the fall. On the 25th, the cargo was all on board again by 7 a.m., and the ascent of the river recommenced, much hard work being met with in the frequent strong currents, or “correntezas.” We stayed for breakfast in an igarapé, or small stream, opposite the Macacos hut, and in the afternoon passed the first current of the same name by roping, stopping at dark between the currents.

Any one who has not travelled in a canoe up stream on a broad and rapid river like the Madeira, is almost unable to imagine the delays and vexations caused by the slow progress that is all that can be made. The canoes must always be kept as close as possible to the bank, for out in mid-stream the paddles would be quite unable to keep way on the boat, while near the banks there is generally a little quiet water. When currents are arrived at that cannot be surmounted without the use of the cable, roping must be resorted to, and then one can’t do more than perhaps twenty yards in as many minutes, for the overhanging bushes give great trouble to keep clear of, while at the same time they are very serviceable to haul by.

The 26th, Sunday—but not a day of rest, for the men prefer continuing the journey, and one cannot carry provisions sufficient to allow for one idle day in seven—we started at 5.30 a.m., after a cup of tea, and soon came to some very hard work, roping over the second current of Macacos, which we passed quite through by about 10 a.m. The land hereabouts is rather hilly on the eastern or left side, the rocks in some places rising twenty or thirty feet above the water even when the river is full. We arrived at the cataract of Theotonio about mid-day, after being very nearly swamped in the rough water below the fall. The river widens out at the foot of each one of the principal rapids, and in the case of the Theotonio, the greatest fall on the river, the bay is of very considerable size. The water here is always in a more or less agitated state, from the effect of the principal fall, which is about twenty-six feet in height, and when the wind blows up stream, the waves rise so much that canoes run great danger of being swamped. The captain of my crew took us out too far in the centre of the river, as he was anxious to avoid being thrown into the surf on the bank; but the canoe was so heavily laden that the waves dashed over the sides, and we ran great danger of swamping. Some of the crew took fright, and by rising up and ceasing to paddle, endangered greatly the safety of the canoe, its occupants, and cargo. However, by encouraging them by words and prompt action in baling out the water that had entered the canoe, we happily got to the foot of the fall, and hauled up the canoe on the flat rocks.

The fall of Theotonio is at all times a most majestic one, but is more especially so at low water, when the full effect of the cataract can be seen. The river here is probably more than a mile in width, the fall being divided into three parts by rocky islands. I had previously visited this fall at a time when the river was almost at its lowest, and was then able to walk on the uncovered rocks almost to its centre. One could then stand right in front of the horseshoe fall and thoroughly enjoy the grand sight of the foaming and splashing waters. Any amount of fish may be caught in the pools below the fall during the months of low water, and wandering bands of the savages are then frequently met with at this rapid. At my first visit the pools were so full of fish, that some Brazilian soldiers who accompanied me were able to spear, with the greatest ease, some very large tambaquis. The fish appear to attempt to ascend the river and get stunned at the foot of the rapid, for they can be seen in the pools, rolling about rather than swimming in a natural manner. On the right or western bank of the river, at this fall, there was, during my time, a mission established by a Franciscan friar, “Frai Luis Zarraga,” an Italian of good education and most pleasing and courteous manners. He had at one time as many as 200 savages of the Pama tribe, that appears to have its hunting grounds between the Madeira and the Purus Rivers, which, near the Theotonio Fall, are probably not more than fifty or sixty miles apart. These savages appear to be very mild and tractable, but the Fraile found it impossible to keep them at the mission for more than about two to three months at a time; they would then leave him, promising to return in a certain number of moons. This wandering custom appears to be a characteristic of all the savage tribes of the interior of South America, and is doubtless governed or suggested by the exigencies of hunting. When the river is full, the ravines also have plenty of water, and the fish and game go up to the sources of the waters, following the water in its downward retreat during the dry season; and the savages, who have only their hunting and fishing to depend upon for food supplies, are thus forced to be almost continually on the move.

The afternoon of the 26th was occupied in transferring my garitea and baggage to the upper side of the fall. The portage is about 600 yards in length, and passes over a rocky hill about fifty feet in height, the canoe being passed over it on rough rollers made from boughs cut from the forest near by. The Bolivian merchants, in whose company I had arranged to make the journey, were waiting at Theotonio for me, and I very soon saw how useless it would have been to have attempted to have made the journey alone. These other patrons sent about five and twenty men to assist my crew in passing the canoe over the hill, which was done in about an hour, safely and without much trouble. We also carried over about half the cargo before nightfall; and, my tent being set up, I passed a good night, the morning part being delightfully cool.

CHAPTER VIII.

Currents above Theotonio—Loss of a small canoe—Theft of rum at night by one of the Bolivian boatmen—The rapid of Morinhos—Crew turn out to be very weak and slow—Plan for securing a good crew—The river Yaci-Paraná—Morning fogs—Igarapé of the Caripuna savages—Capitan Cinco’s Island—Buena Esperanza—Rations given to the boatmen.

On the 27th, the rest of the cargo was on board, and breakfast over by about mid-day, when we started in line, I being last of the total file of seven canoes. About a couple of miles above Theotonio, we came to a very strong current, and had to pass over a very dangerous point of rock, getting over safely with hard work and much shouting. About 5 p.m. we came to a current by an island, the current being very strong, and the worst we had yet passed. Señor Morales sent his montaria to assist me in getting to a point of safety for the night; but the montaria was badly managed in passing the prow of my garitea, which was tied in mid-current to a tree, and, owing to this mismanagement, she struck a rock, filled, and was sucked under my canoe, and away in a moment. The four men in her fortunately escaped, by jumping on the rock and clinging to the branches of the tree, from whence they passed into my canoe. We had a dreadfully hard time for about a couple of hours, and had my rope broken we should have gone down stream at a rapid rate; but, fortunately, all went well, and we got to where the other canoes were made fast for the night, about 100 yards ahead, by 8 p.m., and had a bad night, as, in consequence of arriving so late, we were unable to cook a supper or set up the tent.

The next day, the 28th, we started at daybreak, about half-past five o’clock, and stopping for a short time only, about ten, for breakfast, concluded a good day’s work by half-past-five at night, when we arrived at some small shanties of palm-leaves, that had been set up by the engineers of the railway when cutting a road through the forest for the entire length of the river amongst the rapids. Here we should have passed a tolerable night, had it not been that one of my men got to my stores, and stole sufficient cachaça (white rum) to make him not only very drunk, but also so offensively noisy, that I had to get up several times during the night and quiet him, not only by threats, but also by a mild application of corporal punishment. It is a very bad plan to be continually beating one’s peons, or Indian servants, for every fault they commit. A patron who always has a blow or a bad word for his men cannot expect even Indians to esteem him or work willingly for him; but it must be borne in mind that there is no law or authority to appeal to in the solitudes that have to be travelled through in the centre of South America: in fact, the patron must be the judge, and frequently the executioner as well, of the law; and for serious offences, such as gross insubordination, theft, or continued drunkenness, there is no other remedy than a judiciously applied whipping. The best plan will be found, when the necessity arises, to form a court of which perforce you must constitute yourself both judge and witness, condemn the criminal to a punishment proportionate to the offence, and have the sentence duly administered by the captain of the crew. Thus the men will see that they are not arbitrarily punished, and a proper amount of discipline will be maintained; but I am bound to say that the Bolivian Indians can be perfectly well managed with a very slight show of authority.

The next morning I had a good deal of trouble to get my drunken reveller on board, and very soon after starting he dropped his paddle in the river, probably doing so on purpose, in order that he should not be made to work. This was very annoying, but it was of little use punishing a man in his condition, so we had to make the best way we could with one paddle short. About half-past eight in the morning we got to the next rapid, called “Morinhos,” during a heavy fall of rain, and made preparations for ascending by a channel on the right or eastern bank. The upper part only of the cargoes of the canoes was unloaded at this rapid, and the crews assisting each other, all the craft were passed through the broken waters in about four hours. Some 200 yards above the fall we had some heavy roping work, and my canoe again struck on a rock in a full current, giving us altogether five or six hours’ hard work to get free; but at length we got off again, and roped ahead to where the other patrons had awaited us. Arriving by night at the resting-place, or “pascana,” as it is called, is very unpleasant, as the boys have not time to put up my small tent or screen of waterproofs, and paddling after dark is very dangerous. Hereabouts it became clear that my crew could not keep up with the other canoes, so I asked the Bolivian patrons to go ahead and leave me to my snail’s pace; this, however, they refused to do. The reason for my delay was clearly that I had a most wretched crew in my canoe, great in number—being sixteen in all—but worthless in quality; and also they were men of different villages, and therefore did not work well together. To travel amongst the rapids with any degree of pleasure, one must be able to do as did one of the Bolivian patrons, Don Miguel Cuellas, who owned three of the largest canoes; two of the others belonging to one Señor Juan de Dios Molina, and the remaining one, besides my own, to Don Ruperto Morales. Each of Señor Cuellas’ canoes was manned with men from one village, two having none but Baures, while the other had Itonamas only; thus the men understand their captains, and work with will like a machine. Where practicable, the plan is to find a good captain and let him select his men from amongst his own “parientes” or relations.

On the 30th we did a good day’s work, my crew improving a little, and at night we stopped on the left bank, opposite the mouth of the river Yaci Paraná, that enters the Madeira on the eastern or Brazilian side. The night was passed in a wild cane brake, a kind of reed called in the district “chuchia,” and from the straight tops of which the savages make their arrows. The morning of the 1st of May broke with a very heavy fog, which, hanging over the river, did not lift until the sun attained full power by about eight o’clock. We made our start, however, at 4.15 a.m., and during the whole day paddled straight forward, the only troubles being in places where the fallen trees stretching out from the banks forced us to go out into the river where the current is always very powerful. These awkward spots being of frequent occurrence, my poor fellows could not keep up with the other crews, but after a very hard day’s work we got, at 6.30 p.m., to an “igarapé,” or ravine, on the left bank, where one of the Bolivian patrons had waited for me. This igarapé is known as the “igarapé de los Caripunas,” as these savages have a “malocal,” or clearing, in the forest about eight miles from the river. They are often to be met with hereabouts, but I was not fortunate enough to come across them. The fogs were on again the following morning, but, nevertheless, we started at 4.30 a.m., and crossed over to an island known as Capitan Cinco’s, this being the name of the head man of the savages of the Caripuna tribe. We coasted round this island until about 10 a.m., when we crossed over to the mainland on the railway side of the river, namely the eastern or Brazilian side. From 11.30 a.m. to 1.30 p.m. we stopped for breakfast about half a mile below where the other canoes had pulled up. In the afternoon we paddled on till half-past six at night, when we got to some huts left by the railway engineers, and known by the name of “Buena Esperanza;” the Bolivian patrons having arrived there as early as three o’clock in the afternoon. Here I had a conversation with the Bolivian patrons, and sought their advice as to the slow rate at which my men managed to paddle the canoe, and heard, to my disgust, that there was a report going about that my rations to the crew were insufficient, and that some of my men had said so. The rations I had been giving my men were daily ¾lb. of charqui (jerked beef), 1½lb. of farinha (yuca flour), some rice, flour, sugar, coffee, and a liberal serving of cachaça (white rum) night and morning. The meat, rice, and farinha were, in my case, larger rations than those given by the Bolivian patrons to their men, while the sugar and coffee were extras altogether; and the other men only got tots of cachaça after working in the water, or any other specially trying work. I was very much annoyed at this wretched lie, the fact being that my crew was composed of a thoroughly worthless set of fellows; too lazy even to make themselves a cup of coffee before starting in the early morning.

CHAPTER IX.

The rapid of Calderão do Inferno—Attacks of fever and vomiting—Caripuna savages—Death of a Bolivian boy—Earth-eating practised by the Indians—Death of Mariano, a Bolivian boatman—Peculiar custom prevailing amongst the Indians—The Falls of Girão—Miseries of a wet night.

The following day we arrived at the foot of the rapid bearing the suggestive name of “Calderão do Inferno,” or “Cauldron of Hell.” This name is given to a succession of six rapids extending over about a mile and a half of the river, the upper one being the principal, with a fall of about eight feet; the lower five are called the “Rabo,” or tail, of the “Calderão.” These were all passed on the left or Bolivian side of the river, the whole of the 4th and part of the 5th being occupied in passing the cargoes over the land portage used for overcoming the upper rapid. This portage is very little short of a mile in length, and the road being very rough and rocky, the men had very hard work. The canoes were hauled up empty through a creek or channel between the islands and the mainland. The mornings now were always foggy, and the sun during the day seemed to be exceptionally powerful, and several of my crew were sickening with fever. I myself had rather a bad attack of vomiting, and had to take as much rest as possible while the cargoes were being carried round the fall. A cup of tea made from some sort of balsam, and given to me by one of the Bolivian patrons, had good effect in allaying the sickness, but I found the most relief from two or three draughts of Lamplough’s “Pyretic Saline,” a medicine that every traveller in South American forests should carry. At the upper portage of this fall we found two of the bark canoes, belonging to the Caripuna savages, who have a “malocal,” or clearing inland, near this rapid. The canoes appeared to have been abandoned for some time, as they were full of mud, having probably been sunk on the bank, according to the custom of these savages, when the river was at its flood height. The savages did not show, and we had no time to spare to search for them in the interior. Travellers must be on their guard in the neighbourhood of this rapid, for the tribe bears a very bad and treacherous character; and although they have been friendly to many passers-by, and were so to the engineers who cut the track for the railway, they have attacked small parties with great ferocity.

On the 6th it was nine o’clock before the last of my packages was carried over, and all the canoes started, the Bolivian patrons having again kindly waited for me. Above the fall we had much roping and pulling up stream by the bushes, although some of the other canoes that had good strong crews were able to get on with paddles only. The sun was terribly hot and overpowering, so at mid-day I ordered my men to stop and finish their breakfasts, which they had had to take very hurriedly before starting in the morning. One of my Bolivian boys, a lad about fourteen or fifteen years old, had been complaining yesterday and to-day of fever, so I had allowed him to leave his paddle and lie down on the top of the cargo, the only available space for idle hands. Just as the canoe touched the bank I saw him fall back from a sitting posture, and to my horror, when I got from my cabin to him, I found he was evidently dying. I applied smelling-salts to his nose, and bathed his forehead with cachaça, the liquor nearest to hand, giving him also a spoonful to drink; but he died quickly, and apparently without pain. This was another blow to add to our misfortunes, especially as we had a man very ill at the time, and with too good reason feared that the shock of poor Bruno’s death would prove too great for him. The boy Bruno had been in my service for nearly eighteen months before leaving San Antonio, and was always a weak and sickly boy, besides being afflicted with the disgusting vice of “earth-eating,” so common to many of the Indian tribes of South America. I had succeeded in keeping him from this practice whilst I had him in regular service at San Antonio, but it appeared that at the rapid of Morinhos he had seen some particular kind of earth that aroused the dormant habit, and, indulging himself too largely, his stomach must have got into a thoroughly disorganized state, so that he was unable to resist the intense heat of the sun.

It was melancholy work, paddling up stream all day with the dead body of the boy on board, and another of the Indians in a dangerous state; but the longest day comes to an end, and at 3.30 p.m. we crossed over to the Brazilian side of the river, just below the last rock of the Girão Falls. The hills near this fall show bold and high as one ascends the river, and we arrived at the port, a small bay at the foot of the fall, about seven o’clock. During the night my forebodings as to losing the other sick man, Mariano, were verified, as he died about daybreak. This was the man who at Morinhos stole liquor, and fell into the river during the night; he then caught cold, and had been ailing ever since. I gave him the best remedies that I had at hand, also wine, arrowroot, and beef-tea, made from Liebig’s “Extract,” and I could not see that there was any sickness that should cause his death; but, about a couple of days ago, his squaw and other relations evidently made up their minds that he ought not to recover, and in accordance with a custom that exists with many of the Indian tribes, they gave him numerous commissions to those members of his family and other friends that had preceded him in their last journey. I have frequently observed the existence of this custom amongst Bolivian Indians of the Beni: when one of them falls sick, his immediate friends and companions seem to settle amongst themselves whether the sick man shall recover or not; and if their verdict is unfavourable, the poor man gets no remedies and very little, if any, food or care. The prediction is therefore brought to realization, and as the fatal moment is seen to draw near, the friends deliver to the moribund messages to their relatives or acquaintances that have beforehand joined the majority.[2] It is quite useless to leave a sick Indian to the care of his fellows only, and in all cases where these Indians are brought together in numbers, attendants and nurses of other races must be provided for the care of the sick. I myself was very unwell about this time, and was quite unable to do more for my sick than give out medicines and wine, or arrowroot, etc., for them. I could not sit up with them at nights, and, unfortunately, I had no companion or head man that could be depended upon.

The next day, the 7th of May, we buried poor Bruno and Mariano at about mid-day, side by side, at the foot of the fall, and setting up a rough wooden cross over the graves, left them to the solitudes of the forest. The crew in consequence of these deaths were very downhearted, and not much work could be got out of them this day; the canoes were, however, emptied of their cargoes, and hauled over the land portage, to the upper side of the fall. This portage is nearly half a mile in length, and is over very rocky ground; the canoes are therefore exposed to suffer damage if the men are not careful to keep them on the rollers. The whole of the 8th of May was taken up in repairing the canoes, and in getting the cargoes transported over the portage, and put on board again above the fall, ready for a start on the following day. The night of the 8th was very wet and miserable, the rain coming down in torrents nearly the whole night long. It was very late in the evening before we got all our baggage re-embarked in the canoes, and as we should have lost some time in the morning if I had ordered my tent and camp bedstead to be set up for the night, I had decided to pass the night on a hide with a waterproof sheet stretched on sticks and strings overhead, little guessing that we were to have such a wet night. I shall not easily forget the wretched night I passed. To have any light was impossible, and so I had to keep my blankets tucked in under the waterproof awning as well as I could in the dark. With all my efforts I could not keep the drippings of the sheet overhead clear of the outstretched hide, so after a very little time I found myself laying in a hide full of water, my gun and revolvers alongside of me also coming in for a good wetting. The men must have suffered far more than I did, for they had not put up any shelters at all, and were simply laying on the bank of the river, exposed to the full fury of the storm. I therefore looked forward to a fresh succession of fevers and other illnesses amongst them.

FOOTNOTES

[2] This custom of the Indians, seems by the following extract from Josephus to have had its prototype in eastern lands in times of very ancient date.

Josephus, “Wars of the Jews,” book 7, chap. 8, s. 7. In Eleazar’s speech to the Sicarii, when advising his followers to put themselves to death rather than fall alive into the hands of the Romans, occur these words:—“We, therefore, who have been brought up in a discipline of our own, ought to become an example to others of our readiness to die; yet if we do not stand in need of foreigners to support us in this matter, let us regard those Indians who profess the exercise of philosophy; for these good men do but unwillingly undergo the time of life, and look upon it as a necessary servitude, and make haste to let their souls loose from their bodies; nay, when no misfortune presses them to it, nor drives them upon it, these have such a desire of a life of immortality, that they tell other men beforehand that they are about to depart; and nobody hinders them, but every one thinks them happy men, and gives them letters to be carried to their familiar friends that are dead; so firmly and certainly do they believe that souls converse with one another in the other world. So when these men have heard all such commands that were to be given them, they deliver their body to the fire; and, in order to their getting their soul a separation from the body in the greatest purity, they die in the midst of hymns of commendations made to them; for their dearest friends conduct them to their death more readily than do any of the rest of mankind conduct their fellow-citizens when they are going on a very long journey, who, at the same time, weep on their own account, but look upon the others as happy persons, as so soon to be made partakers of the immortal order of beings. Are not we, therefore, ashamed to have lower notions than the Indians?”

CHAPTER X.

The rapid of Trés Irmãos—Meeting with the Pacaguara savages—The river Trés Irmãos—Wild turkeys.

On the morning of the 9th, we left Girão at six o’clock, with all our blankets and clothes thoroughly wet, and with no chance of drying them. No coffee, either, could be had, as no dry sticks could be found; so we had to be content with a nip at the flask, and a tot of cachaça served all round to the crew. We had more rain during the day, everything in consequence being dull and dispiriting. I had a smart attack of shakes and fever at night, probably from the severe wetting endured the previous night. I stopped work at about four in the afternoon, so as to give time to get some kind of shelter ready and some supper cooked, passing the night in the camarote or cabin of the canoe, as I was afraid of the damp on shore after the heavy rain of the previous night.

For the 10th there was nothing special to note; the weather improved, and we made pretty fair progress. On the 11th we came, about 8 a.m., in sight of the hills of Trés Irmãos, or the “Three Brothers,” the highest hills I had yet seen in the district. We passed the rapid of the same name towards nightfall without any difficulty, and very little towing work. This rapid is only troublesome to travellers when the river is low; when there is plenty of water it becomes merely a corriente. As we were making our canoes fast for the night a short distance above the rapid, we heard voices below us, and, stealing up out of the deepening shadows, saw a bark canoe approach, with three men and a child seated in it. They were the first “Barbaros,” or savages, that I had seen, and were objects of great interest to me. They were of the tribe called “Pacaguaras,” and have their “malocal,” or clearing, on the river Trés Irmãos, which runs into the Madeira on the Brazilian side. They are not to be confounded with the Caripunas that are generally met with at the rapid of Calderão do Inferno, and were very careful to let us know that they were Pacaguaras, and not Caripunas. The three men were of very fair features, two of them rather good-looking, and, except in their adornments of feathers, very similar to the Bolivian Indians of the Beni, although, perhaps, a shade lighter in colour. Their hair is jet black, cut squarely above their eyebrows, and hanging down behind almost to their shoulders; they have no whiskers or beard. The absence of these facial appendages seems to be a characteristic of the savage tribes of the interior of South America, and I observed that these Pacaguaras seemed to be much surprised at the length of these adornments of some of the travellers, and would take hold of one’s whiskers, giving them a good pull, possibly with a view to see if they were false; when, finding that they adhered firmly to the faces, they would burst out into a hearty laugh. They were dressed in shirts and trousers that they had received from the engineering parties that had lately been up the river, but in their natural state a few feathers and a little string form the whole of their wardrobe. It is said that when once they put on an article of clothing that is given to them, they never remove it until it drops to pieces, and certainly the state of the shirts I saw them in warranted the report. Their language appears to be a succession of semi-articulated sounds, shrugs, signs, and much laughter, and the word “shuma,” which is said to mean “good,” stands them in great stead in their conversation with passers-by. Some of them have picked up a few Spanish and Portuguese words, and the first question they address to one is to ask one’s name; and if they hear a new one, they give it to the next child that is born in their malocal. The three men that paid us a visit were named Patricio, Isiriaco, and Gregorio, while the head man, or “Capitan,” of the tribe is one Mariano, who, however, is not a true Pacaguara, but a runaway Cayubaba, from the town of Exaltacion in the Beni. They were very friendly to us, and seemed to be very pleased to see my mayordomo again, as they had known him some months before, when he was up the river with the railway engineers. We gave them some cachaça and some biscuits, and they promised to bring us some yucas and maize in the morning, and, bidding us good-night, they paddled away in the dark at a rapid rate. Their bark canoes are wonderful structures, being about fifteen or sixteen feet long, and made out of one single piece of bark, about half or three quarters of an inch in thickness, tied tip at either end, and stretched out in the middle, the stretchers forming the seats. These canoes are rather heavy to carry on land, but, sitting very lightly on the water, are driven along rapidly, with very little exertion on the part of the paddlers. They also appear to be very safe, and will go up or down all the smaller rapids. There is generally a small fire carried at one end, where a sufficient quantity of earth is placed to prevent the canoe being burnt. If all the “Barbaros” were like these Pacaguaras, they would give but little trouble to travellers or settlers, a little stealing being probably the only annoyance to be anticipated from them.

CASCARA, OR BARK CANOE OF THE CARIPUNAS AND OTHER TRIBES OF THE RIVER MADEIRA.

The next morning, the 12th, we started early, and tried to go up the river Trés Irmãos to the malocal of the Pacaguaras, but were unable to go so far for fear of being separated from the other canoes. The river near its junction with the Madeira is about 200 yards in width, is very deep, and is very abundantly stocked with fish; indeed, all the rivers and ravines that debouch into the big river amongst the rapids are full of fish at the junction, as it would seem that the fish like to frequent the quieter waters there met with. While we were breakfasting at a small clearing about a mile or so above the rapid, three of the Pacaguaras came up with a quantity of fine fresh maize, but no yucas or plantains; and they made us understand by signs, and pointing to the sun, that they had not had time to go to their clearing, where the plantains and yucas were growing. We bought the maize from them by barter, giving them an axe, a machete, or cutlass, and some fish-hooks in exchange; and I also obtained a couple of sets of the capybara teeth that they use as ear ornaments, for they can hardly be called ear-rings, as they are stuck behind the ear by a small piece of wax. I presented the Capitan Mariano with an accordion, with which he seemed highly pleased, and they parted from us evidently very contented with our treatment of them.

Up to the present time I had but little chance of shooting, but nevertheless generally managed to get a shot at a pava or a mareca while the canoe was en route, although, as I was always behind the other canoes, I only got other people’s leavings, in stray birds that had escaped discovery, or that had returned to the river bank, possibly thinking that all the canoes had passed. To-day, however, I was fortunate enough to bag a “mutun,” or wild turkey, a very handsome black bird, with a bright yellow horn-shaped wattle over his beak. He had a fine fleshy breast, and made us a capital supper. One of my best men, a Canichana Indian, was down to-day with a very bad attack of ague fever.

CHAPTER XI.

San Louise—Track across the big bend of the river—Corrientes and Remansos—The rapid of Paredão—Violence of one of the Indian boatmen during a fit—The rapids of Pederneira—La Cruz—Probability that the country is level in the interior on the right bank of the river—As Penhas Coloradas.

On the 13th, we started at daybreak, and passed the hut called “San Louise” about 8 a.m. From this hut the track cut by the railway engineers turns inland, and crosses the big bend of the river, coming out again at the hut called “La Cruz,” near the rapid of Araras. From 8.30 to 9.30 a.m. we were roping through currents below the rapid of Paredão, so called from the wall-like appearance of the rocks, that break up the fall into several channels of broken water that one sees glistening about half a league before getting up to them. The approach to Paredão for the whole of this half-league is about the worst we have yet encountered. We came up on the right bank, and had to encounter a constant succession of “corrientes” and “remansos;” this latter being a return current that in many places, especially bays, runs up stream inshore with great force, until, meeting the down current at some projecting point, it again takes the downward course. The remansos hereabouts are particularly dangerous, for the river bank is sheer rock, and the current drives the canoe with such force towards the rocks, that it would certainly break in pieces with the shock if it were allowed to strike. More by good luck than by good judgment, we escaped the danger, although once or twice we were running great risk; once in the remanso, and once in a great “rebujo,” or boiling up of the water, which probably takes place over a sunken rock. Arriving at the foot of the fall, we made fast for the night. There was a slight wave on from the cachuela; but, as we were moored against a mudbank, it did not do us any damage. We had to put off the unloading till next day, as the creek up which the canoes have to be pulled for this purpose is so narrow that only one boat at a time can be got up it. The cachuela is one of the prettiest yet passed, being broken up with large islands and rocks into three channels, up the eastern one of which we are to pass.

The next morning, the 14th, we were occupied till about eleven o’clock in getting our canoes over the fall, and reloaded again at the upper side. From the top of a rock I superintended the hauling up of my canoe over the projecting corner of a miniature promontory, and was surprised to see the immense amount of strain on the rope, although the canoe was being pulled through water; and I looked on with some fear and trembling, not only on this occasion, but always when I saw my only means of locomotion dependent entirely upon the holding together of a few strands of hemp, and my ropes were unfortunately of very inferior quality, and far from new. To-day, two of my men were ill, the one with fever and the other with an epileptic fit. So violent was this poor young fellow in his throes, that we had to tie him tightly with cords, or he would not only have done himself some injury, but would probably have ill-treated some of the other men. I never before saw such a curious case; for the sufferer, a young man of about eighteen or twenty, did not seem to lose consciousness, although he refused to answer, or even to speak, but ground his teeth, and, foaming at the mouth, would seize a stick or paddle, and, rushing at those nearest to him, would scatter them far and wide. He put me very much in mind of what I had often heard of in India, but fortunately had never seen—a mad Mussulman running amuck in a Hindoo bazaar. We managed, with difficulty, to get a lasso over our madman, and then to tie him securely, and in about a couple of hours he came to his senses, but was not thoroughly well for at least a week after the attack. We paddled on through quiet water all the afternoon until, about 5 p.m., we made fast about a league below the next cachuela, called Pederneira.

On the 15th we started in good time, and by 7.15 a.m. were at the Pederneira Falls, which we passed in three ropes’ lengths. The river was much broken in centre, and the waves were rather high; but on the right side there was no other difficulty than that caused by a strong current. It is said that, at low water, this rapid is a bad one, and I could see that there are many rocks below the level of water to-day. The country hereabouts appears to be level on both sides of the river, and is consequently uninteresting. At 2 p.m. we came to some islands, and a rapid that has not had a name given to it. At low water it is said to disappear altogether; but to-day it looks quite as formidable as Trés Irmãos or Pederneira. We crossed the river below the islands, and had some tough pulling to avoid being drawn into a current and on to rocks near the left bank, getting successfully across about 100 yards above the dreaded dangers, and, keeping on up the river-side, came shortly to some rocky points and strong currents. Here one of the Bolivian patrons sent the small canoe and four men to give me some help, which was very acceptable, as my men were almost knocked up after a hard and long day’s work; and we got to the sleeping-place by about seven o’clock.

Next morning, the 16th, we started very early, probably before 3 a.m., and at daybreak crossed over to the right bank. The mornings have generally been foggy and cloudy for the last few days, and this, together with the slight attacks of fever that I suffered from at Calderão and Girão, entirely prevented my endeavouring to fix positions by observations; and, besides, I dare not stay behind the other canoes, or I should be left to get over the upper rapids with my weak crew, and probably break down at Ribeirão, where the land portage is very steep. This morning, the pavas were very abundant. I got a couple before breakfast; several others that were wounded got away into the bush, and there was no time to look for them. At 3 p.m. we passed by some high banks of rock and red earth on the right bank, cut down straight by the river. One big lump from them has fallen down into the river, and forms a conspicuous landmark, in the distance looking like a large canoe. In the evening I got three more pavas, and one of my men got a very fine “perdrix,” as they call it, although to me it appeared more like a jungle fowl. It had a most wonderfully fleshy breast, and was as tender as a young chicken; so we were excellently well off for fresh meat to-day.

The 17th we made another early start, and passed the hut called “La Cruz” about 7 a.m. At this spot the track cut by the engineers of the railway across the big bend of the river comes out again, the distance between the two huts of San Louise and La Cruz being about eighteen miles. The whole of this distance was described to me as perfectly level and dry, by several of the Indians who had accompanied the engineers and Señor Ignacio Arauz, the Bolivian patron who furnished the peons for the work, and to whose energy and perseverance the successful cutting of the track alongside the rapids was mainly due. I had in my canoe a very intelligent Bolivian, of rather a superior class, who had been one of the “mayordomos,” or foremen, under Señor Arauz, and this man assured me that from the track over the big bend, looking eastwards, no sign of hills could be seen, but only a vast undulating plain covered with low scrub or brushwood. Señor Arauz has also assured me that there are no hills to be seen; and a short walk inland, together with all the evidence that I could collect leads me to the belief that a cut across the interior, entirely avoiding the greater bends of the River, say from the Trés Irmãos River to the Ribeirão Falls, would not only shorten the length of the line of railway, but would locate it where the smallest amount of earthwork and bridging would be met with.

After breakfasting about mid-day, we tried to pass under the high red cliffs called “As Penhas Coloradas,” which rise straight up from the water a height of perhaps 100 feet. The current runs very strongly under these cliffs, and we found it impossible to pass underneath them, there being no foothold for the men to pass with ropes; and there are no bushes available for the “ganchos,” or long hook-ended poles, which are of great service all through the journey. We had, therefore, to cross over to the left or Brazilian shore, and thereby lost all the ground we had gained since breakfast; and we got across at 3 p.m., just in front of where we had started from after breakfast. We had some good sport with the pavas before nightfall, four of them falling to my gun; and about 5 p.m. we arrived at a very strong corriente, where, to my great joy, one of my Bolivian friends had left three men to assist me. With this extra help, we were able to overcome the current by paddles only, and arrived at the sleeping-place before dark.

CHAPTER XII.

The rapid of Araras—Farinha and sardines for supper—Difficulty of treating the Indians successfully when they are sick—The current of Periquitos—Arrival at the Rabo do Ribeirão—The Bolivian Indian’s chaunt at night—Passage of the Rabo do Ribeirão—Quantity of farinha consumed by boatmen, in the form of “shebee”—Canoe aground in the bay below the main fall of Ribeirão—The river Ribeirão—The portage of Ribeirão—Curious marks on rocks.

The following morning, the 18th, another very early start was made, and at daybreak we heard a gunshot from the other side, and knew thereby that the Bolivian patrons had crossed over to the other side, to which I accordingly made haste to follow; but we soon had to recross, on account of strong currents amongst the islands that are below the rapid of Araras. These constant crossings of the river cause one to lose much ground, as in mid-stream the current always takes one a considerable distance down stream, and it requires very strong pulling even in a small canoe to cross from bank to bank in a straight line. After coasting round the islands we finally went over to the right bank again, and ascended the rapid by one rope’s length of hauling for about eighty feet, so that this cachuela was, in the then state of the river, passed very easily. It is said that when the river is dry it should be ascended on the left bank at this rapid, but at full river there is a very heavy “olada,” or wave, on that bank. We got to another of the engineering stations, called “Barracão das Araras,” about half-past eleven, and called a halt for breakfast; but before we could get our meal cooked, a heavy storm of rain fell and put out all the fires, so that we had to eat our food in a half-cooked state. A soup with farinha, rice, and onions, in a semi-raw condition, is not the most palatable of dishes, but a good appetite never fails one up the rapids; so we make the best of circumstances, and thinking ourselves lucky even to get a half-cooked breakfast, paddle on till 5 p.m., when the rain again bothers us, and we pull up for the night, and content ourselves with a dish of wetted farinha and sardines for supper. Many people would fancy this but a poor repast, but I found on many occasions, when perhaps time or circumstances did not allow any cooking to be done, that I could satisfy my hunger very well indeed with these homely articles. The mode of preparation is very simple indeed: take a bowl full of farinha, and pick out the small sticks and lumps that are always found in Brazilian farinha, and then moisten with sufficient water to make the grains soft but not pappy, break up three or four sardines and mix them with the farinha, pouring a little of the oil over it as well. The dish is then ready, and wants nothing but good appetite for sauce.

The next morning, the 19th, was damp and dull, and we started somewhat later than usual, the men being tired and downhearted with the rain. My Canichana, Candido Cayuva, passed a very bad night with the ague—and I do not wonder at it, for he must have got thoroughly wet through during the day—and, indeed, it was a miracle that he did not die during the night. He complained last night of pains in his chest, and I gave him twenty-five drops of chlorodine, and some arnica to rub where the pain was most violent. He felt much better after this, and I found out this morning that, feeling so, he had, like a madman, bathed at nightfall in the river; consequently he had a strong return of fever during the night, and it was indeed wonderful that he survived. So difficult is it to treat these Indians with any chance of success, for at any moment they will commit some foolish act that may carry them off at a moment’s notice.

We arrived at the corriente of “Periquitos” about half-past ten, and although the cachuela was rather fierce, and the wave somewhat high, we passed the canoe safely up the right bank without any very great deal of trouble or danger. We kept on at work till seven in the evening, when we got up to the last corriente of the “Rabo do Ribeirão,” and, arriving after dark, had to make the canoes fast in a most awkward place, where they bumped on the rocks all night in a wretched manner, so that one got very little, if any, sleep.

Besides being kept from sleep by the constant bumping on the rocks, we were treated by our men to more than the usual nightly allowance of chanting. The Bolivian Indians of the Beni, having been civilized by the Jesuit missionaries, are exceedingly superstitious, and when on a dangerous journey are very regular with their nightly orisons, the refrain of which forms a prayer to the Virgin (“a livrar nos siempre de todo mal”) to “deliver us always from every ill.” These words are sung to a rather solemn chant, and as many of the men have very fair voices, and not at all a bad idea of harmony, the singing at night, if one be not too near to it, has a very soothing and pleasant effect. The passage of the rapids of Ribeirão, being considered both difficult and dangerous, accounts for an extra allowance of the chanting the night before the first corrientes were ascended.

The passage of the “Rabo,” or tail, and the main fall of Ribeirão occupied us three whole days and part of the fourth. The Rabo extends for about five miles below the real fall, and is a succession of whirlpools and currents, extremely dangerous to canoes either on the upward or downward journey. The downward journey is by far the most dangerous, as the canoes have to be steered in full course through the boulders and rocks scattered over this length of the river, which here has an average fall of about four and a half feet per mile.

At daybreak on the 20th we commenced the arduous ascent, and by breakfast-time had overcome eight severe corrientes. The next one was about three quarters of a mile in length, being one continued current, running possibly about eight miles an hour for the whole distance. We failed to get to the top of this corriente before dark, and had to dodge inside a sandbank, which fortunately afforded a resting-place for the night.

On the 21st we started as soon as we could see—for amongst these strong currents it is impossible to move in the dark—and proceeded up the creek formed between an island and the right bank of the mainland. Here also the current is very strong, and forms, one may say, a continuous cachuela, up which we have to pass in ropes’ lengths. The progress made was consequently slow, and as the greater part of my men were sick, I was greatly dependent on my Bolivian friends for assistance. Fortunately I had good stocks of cachaça (white rum) and farinha (yuca flour), and at each stoppage I plied the men of the other canoes with a tot of rum and a handful of farinha; so they helped me along willingly. This farinha they eat constantly during the journey, putting about a handful into a gourd or calabash (“tortuma”), filling up with water, and they seem to find much refreshment from this preparation, which they call “shebee.” So fond are they of it, that frequent halts for “shebee”-taking have to be allowed, the mayordomos and others of a higher grade adding a little sugar to the mess when they can obtain it; but this latter luxurious addition the poor peons seldom get, although mine had it throughout the voyage, for I had taken a large stock of coarse sugar with me. In the afternoon we had to partially unload the canoes in order to ascend the current known as the “Cuerpo del Rabo,” or the “body of the tail,” and at dusk made fast at the top, and set to work carrying overland the cargo taken out of the canoes, so that we might be ready again for an early start next day.

Next morning, the 22nd, we started at 6 a.m., after having had to catch the fowls, of which I still had ten left, and which the boys had allowed to escape from the coop, that had got much broken in the work of carrying it over the land portages. I feared they would all be lost in the forest, but when free they appeared to be quite dazed, and were caught without very much trouble, a couple of wildish ones being shot as the quickest means of stopping them. Roping and hauling by the bushes, we proceeded but slowly, but soon got a sight of the “salto” itself. This is the main body of the fall, with a drop of about fourteen feet; and imposing enough it looked, being much broken up into islands, with huge waves breaking heavily over the numerous rocks. The river at the Rabo and at the fall is very broad, and this probably accounts for the name of Ribeirão, or “great river,” being given to this part of it. Two corrientes were ascended by roping, and then a short stretch at the paddles brought us to another, the thirteenth of the series forming the “rabo,” and which we ascended between the land and a large tree that forms a point. This is at times the last current before entering the remanso that takes the canoes up to the foot of the main fall. There proved, however, to be two more before we got into the bay with its “remanso” and “olada,” that form the chief and most dangerous features of the passage of this salto. One of my Bolivian friends lent me a second captain, and I took the men out of the small canoe, or “montaria,” so that I passed these dangers with fourteen paddles going and two captains aft, each using his big paddle for steering, one on either side of the “popa,” or stern. It is a great help throughout the journey to have two good captains behind, for when strong currents or dangerous bits of river have to be encountered, one of them can keep the boat in its proper course; while the other encourages the paddlers forward, keeping them together in their strokes by shouts and good sounding thumps of his heel on the projecting boards on which the captains have to stand behind the “camarota,” or cabin.

The wave, or “olada,” was not nearly so bad as that met with at Theotonio, and as the canoe was much lighter we passed very well, the only approach to a casualty being that we grounded on a sandbank in the bay, on which a canoe preceding us had struck also, but which it was impossible to avoid from the set of the current right on to it. However, the peons jumped into the water with great alacrity, and pushed us afloat again before the waves had time to swamp us. I had heard a good deal of the danger of this “remanso” and “olada,” but with a good crew and captains, and a garitea well up at the prow, I don’t think it is much to be feared. The unloading place for the land portage is a short distance up the mouth of the river Ribeirão, which comes into the big river a stone’s throw below the fall on the right or Brazilian side, and we got safely into quiet water up the Ribeirão by about 1 p.m., overtaking two of the Bolivian patrons who had got ahead of me, and had already passed their canoes and cargoes over the portage.

The “arrastre,” or portage, is not nearly so steep as at Theotonio or Girão, being, perhaps, an ascent of one in eight for about 100 yards over a pretty even bed of rock, then one in twelve over earth for another 200 yards, level for 200 more, and then sharp down to the river in about a further 100 yards, at the rate of about one in four.

We got our cargoes unloaded, two canoes being hauled over the portage before dark, my own being left for the following day. To drag the heavy canoes up the ascent taxed all the powers of the thirty men that we could get together for the work, but by dint of cachaça and shouting we got the craft over without assistance from the patrons who had preceded us.

The accompanying sketches of curious marks to be seen on rocks at three of the rapids, were made by Mr. Alan Grant-Dalton, who was my able and indefatigable assistant engineer during our stay at San Antonio. My ascent of the rapids having been made whilst the river was in flood, these marks were all under water, and I was consequently unable to inspect them; but I have been assured by many travellers that Mr. Grant-Dalton’s sketches are exact and faithful copies of the inscriptions. Most probably they are the work of the Caripuna, or other wandering savages, for the Bolivian Indians ascending and descending the river are not likely to have wasted their time cutting these figures out of the hard rock.

CURIOUS INSCRIPTIONS ON ROCKS AT DIFFERENT RAPIDS.

At Trés Irmãos, 40 feet below highest flood water.

At Ribeirão, 35 feet below highest flood water.

At Madeira, 35 feet below highest flood water.

CHAPTER XIII.

Bad arrangements of the Bolivian patrons for rationing their men—The rapid of Misericordia—Tradition attached thereto—Meeting with canoes from Bolivia—The Madeira rapids and the junction of the river Beni—Nomenclature of the river Madeira in its different sections—The rapids of Layes—Wild cocoa trees—The Falls of Pao Grande.

On the 23rd, in Ribeirão, we woke up all hands at daybreak, and got the last canoe over to the upper side. I would have liked to have stopped for the day at this fall, so as to give the men a few hours’ leisure, that they might fish in the quiet water of the river Ribeirão, wash their clothes and rest a bit; but the Bolivian patrons were for going ahead, so we passed the cargo over and got ready for a start by about 2 p.m. We were to proceed that day as far as the next rapid, called Misericordia, and there delay while hunters were sent to try for some wild pigs or other fresh meat, as the stocks of that article remaining to the Bolivian patrons were getting rather low.

It appears to be the custom with Bolivian patrons to start with barely sufficient provisions for the time they expect the journey to take; they don’t provide any surplus in case of delay. Then during the first days of the journey they give the men excessively large rations, in order that they may be well satisfied at starting, and so for the last two weeks of the run the men have to be put on half, or even less than half, rations. For instance, one of the Bolivian patrons advised me that the ration of rice should be half a pound daily, besides farinha; at this rate one could not carry enough rice for all the journey. And certainly the quantity is more than necessary; from three to four ounces per man daily being quite enough to thicken the “chupe,” or soup, which is the stock dish of the Bolivian peon. This system is quite characteristic of Bolivians, both Indians and Carayanas (i.e., those having Spanish blood in their veins), for they cannot take anything by degrees; they must finish it all at once. Thus a bottle of wine or cachaça must be drunk at one sitting, and the next day they will go without. So also with their chicha-drinking; they will prepare a huge quantity, and get through it in one evening, then go without until another “fiesta” day or other suitable occasion calls for a fresh brew. At starting it was reckoned that we should do the journey up the rapids, and to the village of Exaltacion, in about five weeks; but a month has now passed, and we have at least another week’s work to get through before we get out of the rapids. At this time I still had provisions in farinha and charqui for three weeks further, and had been able to spare four “alquieres” (bundles of 1 cwt. each) of farinha, and treat the men of the other canoes to cachaça every day for some time past. Charqui was somewhat scarcer, for we had counted upon game, but had only met with a few pavas, there being no time available for sending the men into the woods.

We got to Misericordia at 4 p.m., and unloaded half the cargoes, passing two canoes before dark up a creek on the right bank, at the end of which there was a very steep bit of rock, with very little water on it upon which to get the canoe over. This cachuela is especially dangerous, although at first sight it appears a mere corriente; but the river swirls over a point of rock and forms a succession of whirlpools from which, they say, a canoe, if once drawn in, can never escape. In ascending, this rapid must be passed by the creek on the right bank; but at low water it is said that the rapid does not offer much obstacle, although I am inclined to think that this information is very uncertain. The aforesaid channel on the right bank offers no obstacles that cannot be overcome by hard work in unloading or hauling, and is therefore preferable. The descent should be made almost in mid-channel, while, if anything, steering to the left rather than to the right bank. There is a tradition that the name of Misericordia was given to this rapid after a dreadful occurrence that is said to have happened in the early part of this century, when a party of Brazilian soldiers from the province of Mato Grosso descending the rapids, one of their canoes wrecked in mid-stream; some of the men succeeding in temporarily escaping to the rock, on which, their comrades being unable to afford them any help by ropes, or approach them with canoes, they were starved to death in sight of, but absolutely out of the reach of, their comrades. If this story be a true one, it is difficult to determine whose fate was the hardest; that of those who perished seeing their end approaching by slow but sure degrees, or that of their sorrowing comrades on the mainland, who were unable to afford any help to the sufferers on the dreadful rock. With this fearsome tale attached to the spot, well may the Bolivian Indian, on nearing the cachuela, fervently chant the solemn “Misericordia! Misericordia! livra nos siempre de todo mal.”

On the 24th, we found that the canoes left the night before below the rapid had grounded from the fall of the river, and we had to take a little more cargo out so that they might float, when we got them hauled up the creek over the rocks, and reloaded by eight o’clock. Just as we were starting, we saw three canoes coming down the river from Bolivia, and got news that the country was in a state of revolution. This was a bad augury for the success of my journey through the Republic; but there was no help for it but to go ahead, and take things as they might be. We also learned that the Brazilian consul in the Beni provinces had recently been assassinated by one of his own Brazilian servants in his estancia, a few leagues below the village of Exaltacion. I was pleased to find that this outrage had not been committed by Bolivian Indians, who are, as a rule, much quieter and more tractable than the mixed races of Brazil. Proceeding onwards from Misericordia, our canoes kept on the right bank, arriving at nightfall at a good stopping-place, after having passed over four strong currents, and leaving the main part of the next cachuela to be passed on the following morning with the canoes half unloaded.

The whole of the 25th was occupied in passing the principal fall of the Madeira Rapid and the currents above it. The junction of the river Beni occurs amongst the currents above the principal fall, and from this circumstance the fall has been named the “Cachuela de Madeira,” as below the junction the Madeira River is said to commence. From the junction of the Beni to that of the Itenez, the river is by some called the Rio Grande, by others the Itenez, and it is only above the latter junction that the Mamoré reigns. Above the Madeira Fall, and in the neighbourhood of the junction of the Beni, the river is much broken up by islands, and consequently the navigation of this stretch is almost, if not quite, as bad as that of the “Rabo do Ribeirão.” At the junction of the river Beni, the river appears as though it divided itself into two parts, and they seemed to me to be almost of equal width and volume of water. This day the south wind blew very strong and cold, and all the men complained greatly, as they had to be constantly in the water.

Early morning of the 26th the expedition continued the ascent of the river, arriving at the rapids of “Layes” about 11.30 a.m. These rapids are formed by two small falls with a current below them, and were passed with canoes half unloaded. Near the fall, but below it, is a wide stream on the right side of the river, and we halted for breakfast here, so as to allow the men time to fish; but they had no luck in consequence of the south wind, which, it is said, hinders the fish from taking the baits. We got clear of the fall and canoes reloaded by about 4 p.m., and, though late, determined to endeavour to overtake the canoes that had got ahead of us, and which we saw up stream above us; but we were only able to get about a quarter of a mile or so when it got dark, and we had to pull up and make fast for the night. This cachuela gave us more trouble than was anticipated; but I fancy that it is better at low water, for the channels then would be better defined: now the channels are amongst rocks, and very difficult to find and to keep the canoes in. In this part of the river I noticed a great many wild cocoa trees, which, although growing almost universally on the banks of the Madeira and Mamoré, are hereabouts more thickly collected together. The fruit of these trees is of very superior quality, and it would require very little labour to organize an excellent plantation.

The 27th we started at daybreak, and got out of the last of the Layes currents by eight o’clock, and came in sight of the bluffs and highlands of the next cachuela, called “Pao Grande,” at which we arrived by 9.30 a.m., pulling up in a capital little port with a good sandbank, but only room for about four canoes at a time. Here we overtook the other canoes that had got ahead, and had to unload all our cargoes, as the fall is impassable with loaded canoes at any season of the year. The channel we passed up is on the right or Brazilian side of the river, and to look at seems to be one of the worst passes amongst the rapids, having two “saltos,” or jumps, each of about four feet in height, up which one would hardly fancy that canoes could be made to ascend. It was wonderful to see how well the Bolivian Indians managed to make the heavy canoes ascend these almost perpendicular falls. They would first seek out a part of the fall that, as well as having plenty of water going over it—say about eighteen inches in depth—should have a good supply of weeds growing on the rocks, as over these weeds the bottom of the canoe slides easily. Then the bulk of the men are set to pull steadily on the two ropes that are attached to the bow, these ropes being spread out as much as possible on either side, so that a pull can be put on right or left as circumstances require. A rope is also kept on the stern, but only requires the attention of a couple of good men, while in the canoe the captain at the helm directs all the workers, and two of the best men in the bows keep the canoe off the rocks as she answers to the pull of the men on shore. In this manner three heavy canoes were passed up this fall in about a couple of hours. On the land side of the channel the rocks stand up about twenty feet above the water, and it was rather an exciting scene to stand on one of these rocks and see the men pulling and shouting down below. My canoe shipped a good deal of water by slewing round as it was being pulled up one of the jumps. This was caused by one of the head ropes being allowed to slacken at this inopportune moment; but, as she was empty, it did not much matter. The path over which the cargoes are carried is about a quarter of a mile in length, and goes over very rocky ground. At dark we had nearly all our cargo over, so stopped work for the night. Weather dull and cold, the wind being still southerly and chilly. The men are, however, improving in health, slight attacks of fever with one or two of them being the only complaints.

CHAPTER XIV.

The river Yata—Meeting with another party descending from Bolivia—The rapids of Bananeiras—Abandoned settlement—Variability of the Bolivian character—The cabeçeiras of Bananeiras—The Sierra da Paca Nova—The rapids of Guajará Guasu and Merim—A few hints on leaving the last of the rapids.

The next morning (the 28th) broke dull and cloudy, but warmer than the past two days, and by about 7.30 the sun came out to cheer us up. The river Yata, which we passed about this time, enters into the Madeira on its left or Bolivian bank, and appears to be a considerable stream, it being perhaps 100 yards in width at the junction. On the right or Brazilian side, opposite to the Yata, are rocks and a very stiff current, which by some travellers have been set down as a cachuela, but which are not now included in the existing nineteen.

Hereabouts we met a canoe descending the river from Bolivia, with about thirty men and four or five women going down to Bayetas, a rubber-gathering station already mentioned as being on the lower part of the Madeira. The men were all Cruzeños, and in charge of a capataz only, from whom I bought a small quantity of fresh Bolivian yuca flour, for which he charged me six hard dollars for about twenty-five pounds, worth at Exaltacion, in the Beni, about a dollar. This generous Bolivian was out of sugar, and begged me to let him have a few pounds. I had a good stock, so gave him five pounds, for which he allowed me a dollar out of the six he took from me for the yuca flour, although, if I had charged him according to his idea of the value of his food supplies in the cachuelas, I ought to have charged him about a dollar a pound. The whole of this day we paddled up the right or Brazilian bank until the first small current below the Bananeiras Falls was reached, when we crossed over to the Bolivian shore, where, about 5.30 p.m., we got stuck amongst a lot of driftwood, our hawsers getting entangled therein, so that we could not get up to the unloading place that night, but had to make fast and pass the night on a small mudbank as best we could.

On the 29th we got up to the port of the Bananeiras Falls by about six o’clock, and found the canoes that had preceded us, with their cargoes passed but the canoes still on this side. The channels for passing the canoes were full of rocks, and very dangerous, the one ours went up being very dry, and giving a great amount of work to the men. Some of the canoes went up a channel lower down stream than that I chose for mine, but had to encounter a drop in the water of about eight feet in as many yards, one of them filling and being saved with great difficulty. As we were detained the whole day at this fall, I took the opportunity of loading up a stock of cartridges for the journey, from the last rapid to the first village in Bolivia (Exaltacion), a journey of about ten days, during which very little time, if any, can be spared for stoppages.

At this fall, about eight or ten years ago, two Bolivians made a small settlement on the left or Bolivian side of the river, with the object of forming a rubber-gathering business. One of them, Don Miguel Cuellas, was returning to Bolivia, having made a small competency out of rubber on the Madeira River below San Antonio. He owned three of the largest canoes of the seven forming our expedition, his portion of the goods for sale in Bolivia going up with us being worth at least seven or eight thousand pounds. He told me that he and his partner lived at Bananeiras for about twelve months, but that they found the yield from the rubber trees to be very much less than that given by the trees below the falls of the Madeira; that their health had been uniformly good, and that they had not been molested by the savages, who seem in this part of the river to roam about on the Brazilian shore only.

Our cargoes were carried over the portage to the eastern side of the island which overlooks the fall, and we were ready to begin the struggle with the numerous currents which are found amongst the islands stretching above the main fall for nearly four miles of the river’s course, and which are known as the “Cabeçeiras,” or heads of the Bananeiras Falls; but the day was too far advanced to think of making any progress before nightfall.

Before leaving this cachuela, I had afforded me a convincing proof of the instability of character and the true selfishness of some Bolivians. There were three patrons in the expedition besides myself, and one of these, a certain Juan de Dios Molina, had arranged, before starting from San Antonio, that he would throughout the journey keep with my canoe, as my crew being known to be a very weak one, I was certain to require constant help at the rapids and currents. Besides having settled this, in the way of business, at San Antonio, this Molina had frequently during the journey assured me, as a friend, that he would not separate from me until we arrived at the townships of the Beni; but I discovered at Bananeiras that for some days past he had been complaining to the other two patrons of the great delays that I caused him, and had declared his intention of abandoning me to my own resources. This he took care not to do until we were almost out of the rapids, as he thought he would have no further need for the services of my small canoe, or montaria—which had been very serviceable to all the party, since the one belonging to Señor Morales was lost in Morinhos—and he also thought that he had obtained from me all the surplus cachaça and farinha that I had to spare, so that he could separate from me without much loss to himself. If Molina showed me the bad side of Bolivian character—and it was not much to be wondered at with him, seeing that he was almost a full-blooded Indian—I was fortunate in finding the good side in Don Miguel Cuellas, who volunteered to assist me, and waited for me amongst the difficult places in the rapids yet to be passed, and never lost sight of me until we reached Exaltacion, which we did two clear days before Molina, much to that worthy’s chagrin. And thus it is with the Bolivians; you will find many crafty, mean, and untruthful characters amongst them, but close by this undesirable acquaintance you are sure to find a generous, warm-hearted, and true friend such as I found in Don Miguel Cuellas, without whose assistance I should certainly have come to grief amongst the cabeçeiras of Bananeiras, or the wandering savages of the upper waters of the Madeira. To Don Miguel I am always bound to give sincere thanks whenever I think of the latter end of my journey on that river.

On the 30th we started, as usual, in good time, and had to cross the openings of channels between islands which appeared to me to be unpleasantly dangerous, as the current ran fearfully strong down them. We got over two of these safely, and then saw Molina cross to an island in mid-stream, which he barely succeeded in gaining. I liked the look of this job much less than keeping to the mainland, for I believe that if we had tried to follow, we should certainly have missed the island, and have been carried down stream right into the main body of the cachuela, for my crew could never have made headway against the powerful current running in mid-river; so, as I had the montaria, I kept to the mainland, and struggled on till about 10.30, when I saw Don Miguel’s three canoes ahead of me on the same side, and unloading part of their cargoes in order to get over a shallow current. On getting up, Don Miguel offered me a pull by his men, which I joyfully accepted, and got over the current well, breakfasting above it, and starting again soon after mid-day. I got on pretty well after this, being generally able to keep at the tail of the largest of the three canoes, called for distinction the “batelão.” These cabeçeiras of Bananeiras are as bad, if not worse, than those of the Madeira Rapid, but not so tiring as those of the Rabo of Ribeirão; we got through the last of them by about half-past three, and paddled on up the left bank till 5 p.m., when we arrived at the stopping-place for the night. The weather was again dull and cold, the morning having been foggy, with small drizzling rain, and as we had no sun, the men kept on their ponchos all day. From where we stopped, one sees the high range of hills called the “Sierra da Paca Nova,” which form part of the Cordilheira Geral; they are a considerable distance from the river, being apparently some thirty or forty miles inland.

The next morning, the 31st, was a very early daybreak, and we started at 5 a.m., there being a thick mist on the river till nearly nine o’clock, when the sun came out warm and bright. When the fog rose, all the seven canoes were almost in hail of one another, and as we had been paddling all the morning without encountering any currents, I found that I was able to keep my place in the file, behind the batelão; so that Molina, who did not wait on the last two mornings, as usual, for me to come up to his “pascana,” or stopping-place, will find it hard work to abandon me to my own resources, as he intended. After breakfasting about mid-day as usual, we arrived at the next rapid of Guajará-guasu, where all the seven canoes met together again, having to unload half their cargoes before they could be hauled over the shallow currents on the left or Bolivian side. Over this cachuela I was assisted by Don Miguel’s men, who gladly accepted their “pinga,” or tot of cachaça, instead of Molina’s men, who had heretofore enjoyed this extra allowance. It was nightfall before we got all the canoes over the rapid, and as hereabouts the men begin to have fears of the “barbaros,” or savages, we got our suppers over as quickly as possible, and then re-embarked the cargoes by moonlight, so as to be ready for an early start.

On June the 1st the day was fine, and the canoes started by 5 a.m., but I had to wait whilst some of my men fetched the montaria over the rapid; however, we soon overtook the batelão, and in trying to pass it at a corriente got foul of its rope, by which the crew were hauling from shore. Fouling the rope sent the batelão round on the rocks, and she being a very heavy craft, deeply laden with iron and other merchandise, gave a great deal of work to get round again and afloat. About half a league above the top current of Guajará-guasu, there is on the left bank a very peculiar thin layer of rock, hollowed out by a very strong and dangerous “remanso,” or return current; the canoes run great risk of being driven on to the bank, and as the layer of rock jutted out about five feet above the water level, we ran great danger from the sharp projections.

At about ten o’clock we came to Guajará Merim (the word “Guasu” meaning “Great,” and “Merim” “Little,” in the Lingua Geral of Northern Brazil), which is the last of the nineteen rapids, and is at the top end of a large island lying between the two Guajarás. This rapid we passed on the left or Brazilian shore, it being at this time of year little more than a corriente, which we easily surmounted by hauling for one rope’s length, and so we passed above the region of the cachuelas, it being the thirty-ninth day since we left San Antonio.

The ascent of the cachuelas has been somewhat wearisome, as we have had to go through thirty-seven clear days of hard and constant labour, battling with the force of the many currents; but with a good crew and pleasant companions, both of which vital necessaries were wanting to me on my journey, I would not at all mind doing the rapids over again. To go with about three or four canoes well manned, and with a couple of montarias, would be much better than travelling with such a large number of canoes as seven; for the last of these has to wait such a long time at all the currents and cachuelas, where hauling by the rope is required before its turn comes. With a well-organized expedition I think the ascent, in this season of the year, might be accomplished in twenty-eight or thirty days. It may here be noted that a good hemp hawser an inch or an inch and a quarter in diameter, and about 200 feet in length, should be provided for each canoe. Piassava ropes do not answer, although from their lightness they are desirable; but they break so frequently, that they cannot be depended upon. Also each canoe should have a double and a single block to match the rope, as these are very useful at the land portages if from any cause the expedition should be short-handed. A good set of tools, a few nails, and some pitch tar and oakum should be provided, not forgetting a few sheets of tin for patching up holes that may be knocked into the canoes by obtrusive rocks.

CHAPTER XV.

Start made up river above rapids with drums beating—The islands of Cavalho Marinho—A party of Baure Indians met with—Rate of progress calculated at two miles per hour—Otters, alligators, and monkeys shot—Steam navigation practicable on the river above the rapids—Stock taken of food-supplies left—Long hours worked.

Having got all the canoes over the last of the cachuelas, we started onwards with flags flying from the bows of the canoes, and with several “cajas,” or drums, beating triumphal tattoos. The Indian boatmen always appear much delighted at having successfully surmounted the cachuelas, although they have to prepare for very long hours of hard paddling up the section of the river from the rapids to Exaltacion, as, owing to this length being much infested with savages on both shores, it is customary to stop as little as possible during the day.

The river above the falls is about half a mile in width, the country on either side being flat, and the banks covered with a very thick growth of “chuchia,” a kind of wild cane that throws out a spear-like point fringed at the top with feathery seeds. From the straight tops of these canes the savages make their arrows, which are generally about five or six feet in length, looking almost more like spears or lances than arrows.

About half-past five in the evening we arrived at the islands called “Cavalho Marinho,” and encamped for the night on one of them, it being always desirable to stop the night at an island if possible, as one is then perfectly secure from any attack by the savages, who in this part of the river do not seem to have any canoes.

The start was ordered very early the next morning, it being 2.30 a.m. only when all hands were called up, and we paddled on amongst the islands for some time before crossing over to the right bank. The islands are several in number, but have plenty of water in all the channels, so that there would be no obstruction to navigation by steamers, although with canoes one has to keep crossing from bank to bank in order to avoid the strong currents found at every bend of the stream. The country remains very flat and uninteresting, but the plague of marigueys, tavernas, and carapanas was something fearful, and much worse than anything I had experienced amongst the rapids. We kept on till 6.30 p.m., after fourteen and a half hours’ work, allowing for the stoppages made for breakfast, etc., during which meal we were joined by a party descending from Bolivia, on their way to the Lower Madeira, on the usual speculation of rubber-gathering. The men were about thirty in number, and were all “Baures” or “Joaquinianos,” and were a very fine set of fellows—indeed, as fine-looking a lot of Indians as one could put together in almost any quarter of the world.

The next start was earlier still, it being but half-past twelve at night when we recommenced our upward journey, by the light of a splendid full moon. The men got very little sleep and rose up very unwillingly, the long stretches of work being most trying, as at night one is sleepy, and by day the sun is very fatiguing.

I calculated to-day that our rate of progress is about two miles an hour. Each stroke of the paddle takes the canoe about a yard and a half, and we average forty-four strokes per minute; this gives sixty-six yards per minute, say about two miles per hour. Yesterday we paddled for fourteen and a half hours, and should therefore have done twenty-nine miles, and I fancy that was about the distance travelled.

To-day we stopped for breakfast at 10 a.m., after nine and a half hours’ continuous paddle, and were off again at 11.30. I heard that Molina’s men have now used up all their farinha, and have but little rice and charqui left; the effect of short commons being very visible with them, for they are generally the last of the file, and in trying to pass us this day they were easily beaten by my men.

In the afternoon I shot a “lontra,” which I take to be an otter, as it has its cave in the roots of trees growing near the river bank. This fellow was of a dark dun colour, and about the size of my dog “Jack,” who was a rather large and well-grown retriever. I had heard that the “lontra” was a beaver; but this was evidently an otter, with five-toed feet webbed, and with an otter-like head and tail, broad and flat, placed crosswise to the body, with the broad sides up and down. “Jack” was very near having a tussle with the otters—for there were three altogether—and he jumped into the river after them, swimming after their heads as they bobbed up and down, and I was obliged to be careful with the rifle to be sure of not hitting “Jack” instead of the otters, of whom I fancy one more was killed besides the one we got into the canoe. At night we roasted the flesh, and I had a bit of the “lomo,” or fillet, which was excellent, and much like fair juicy beef. I don’t know whether otters are eaten at home, but on the river Madeira they are thought fair game, and in fact almost anything that can be killed is now eaten by the men. Don Miguel’s men to-day shot three “caymanes” (alligators) and nine monkeys, all of which were roasted, the monkeys whole, good meals being made, and the joints remaining stored up for the next day. Monkey is good eating, but rather tough; cayman flesh I declined at present, the animals shot to-day being old and musky-flavoured. To-day we worked fifteen and a half hours altogether.

June 4th. The start was made at 1.30 a.m., and we kept up the left bank, the day being fine, and the sun not quite so hot as usual. I have paddled a good deal these last days, and this morning did so from 4.30 a.m. till 9.30, a fair stretch for one quite unaccustomed to such work; but I fancied that I helped the canoe along, for every extra paddle tells, and I got a spurt out of the men every now and again, by encouraging them with a timely “churka, churka!” My men were not in very good form, but what they would have been if, like the other crews, they had been obliged to be on short rations of farinha, charqui, and cachaça, I cannot conceive.

During the afternoon we passed a river coming in on the right or Brazilian bank, and then a long stretch of bank on the left side, falling into the river, causing a very strong current, with many trees sticking up, and greatly obstructing the navigation for canoes, which are always obliged to hug the shore. We got to the stopping-place, or “pascana,” by about 7 p.m., finding Don Miguel and Señor Morales encamped there; but Molina is still behind—in fact, we have not seen him since early morning. At nightfall we passed a large “playa,” or sandbank, on which there were a great many large cranes and other aquatic birds. We worked this day seventeen hours, as we only stopped half an hour for breakfast, the men eating cold otter and farinha. My bag to-day was four small cranes, which made a capital pot at night, and three pigeons, which I got at one shot, and with B B; these the boy roasted for cold luncheon to-morrow.

June 5th. The start was ordered at 1.30 a.m., a slight rain falling; we keep up the left bank, which appears to be the favourite one on this portion of the river, from the idea that the right or Brazilian side is a favourite hunting-ground of the savages. The river continues of a uniform width of about six or seven hundred yards, it being just a good shot for the Winchester rifle from one side to the other. Daybreak is generally a good time to get something for the pot, as one is able to get nearer to one’s game than one can during the day, and this morning I got one very fine black duck (pato royale), and a couple of trumpeters or Orinoco geese (marecas). We christened these ducks “trumpeters,” from the trumpeting noise they make as they fly low over the water, giving one plenty of notice of their approach, in time to pick up the gun and be ready for them.

The river navigation for steamers would be excellent, so far as the depth of water is concerned, but the cutting of the wood fuel would be rather a difficult point to manage. There is, of course, plenty of wood on either bank; but the fear of attacks from the savages will render the establishment of wood-cutting stations a difficult question. The proper way will be for the Brazilian and Bolivian Governments to act jointly, and set up armed stockades on alternate sides of the river, say at distances of fifty miles apart, each one to be garrisoned by about forty or fifty men, who could organize wood-cutting parties, the sale of the fuel going a good way towards the payment of the expenses. In this way the forest would get thinned, and the savages would either make terms or retire further into the interior. The tribe that infests the right or Brazilian side are called “Sirionos,” and those on the left or Bolivian bank are “Chacobos.” These latter, it is said, are sometimes friendly, and have traded with the villagers of Exaltacion; but the former are a fierce and warlike tribe, that refuse to enter into any converse whatever with either the civilized Indians of Bolivia, or with the “Carayanas,” as the Bolivians of Spanish extract are called.

We got up to the pascana for breakfast by about 11.30 a.m., and found that Don Miguel had kindly waited for us since about nine o’clock; however, we came up at the same time as the batelão did, so the delay was not altogether due to us. Knowing that Don Miguel was short of farinha, I asked him how many days we should be in arriving at the village of Exaltacion, so that I might see if I had any stores to spare, as it would be better to reduce my rations than arrive at the pueblos with surplus food, while the other canoes were short. Molina’s men are, I know, on very short commons; but, then, his canoes have stayed behind, so that I cannot share with them. Don Miguel calculated that we should be in Exaltacion by about the 14th, and that about a couple of days before that we should arrive at the “chacos,” or plantations, where we could purchase plantains and other bread stuffs; so, as I have five alquieres of farinha left, and we require one in two days, with full rations of one pound and a half per man daily, I could spare at least one alquiere, which I passed over to Don Miguel, with an arroba of good wheaten flour.

After continuing the journey up the right bank, which is still preferred, as being freer from visits from savages, we saw, about 5.30 p.m., that Don Miguel had crossed over, to avoid a small corriente running pretty strongly round a rocky point; but as I saw that Señor Morales had kept to the same bank, and had stopped for the night about a mile and a half ahead, I managed to rope round the rock, and joined Señor Morales by about 7 p.m., after having had some little trouble in finding our way in the dark round a “playa,” or sandbank.

On June the 6th we started at 2.45 a.m., and at daybreak saw an immense number of monkeys, pavas, and cranes, or “garças,” on the banks and in the overhanging trees; but we were unable to do any shooting, as this morning we had got rather too far behind the other canoes. In this portion of the river there appears to be a great lagoon, not far from the left bank, and the muddy banks of a small “igarapé,” or ravine, evidently running out of the lake were trodden up by the birds’ feet just like a poultry-yard. We did not get up to-day to the breakfast pascana until 2 p.m., as we had a very hard and long morning’s work, having had to cross the river several times to avoid strong running currents, and at one very large and shallow playa we had to pull with the rope, the men walking on the sandbank. We got up to the other canoes very late, and found that Don Miguel had very kindly waited for us as usual, and, to my disgust, I found that the batelão had arrived before us, having probably passed us before daybreak, or having started before us. I had to thank Don Miguel very much for having waited, as otherwise we should have paddled on without any breakfast; as it was, we were quite fagged and dismally hungry, having paddled for eleven hours without any stoppage. We could only give the men just time enough to cook and eat their chupe, and then off again after Don Miguel, who promised to stop at 4 p.m., so that we might get up to the sleeping-place in good time; but he must have gone much further than he intended, for it was 10 p.m. before we got up to him again. My men were much fagged, and it was too late for any cooking, so they had to put up with an extra ration of farinha and a “pinga” of cachaça, whilst my stand-by of sardines and farinha served me for a supper. To-day we paddled for eighteen hours, and it seemed that we were to have several days’ hard work such as this before we get to Exaltacion, for the “barbaros” are said to be very bold hereabouts in the vicinity of the junction of the Itenez, where we now are.

CHAPTER XVI.

Junction of the river Itenez—Short description of the Itenez or Guaporé and its affluents—Fires at night prohibited on account of savages—A capybara shot—Abundance of game above the rapids—False alarms of attack by savages—Cooking-stove rigged up in the canoe—The river Matocari—Hard work towing canoe—Open pampas—Strong gale from the south hinders progress—Chocolotales of Exaltacion—Falling banks—Estancia de Santiago—Value of oxen in the Estancias of Mojos.

June 7th. Starting at twenty minutes past midnight, we were soon left behind by the other canoes, and at daybreak there was a thick mist on, which cleared up by about seven o’clock; but no canoes were in sight. On the left bank there are many lagoons, for the number of ducks, cranes, and other waterfowl hereabouts was very great. We passed a long stretch of falling bank, with some trees overhanging, and looking, as we passed under them, much as though they would fall on us. The current underneath these falling banks is always very strong, and gives great trouble to overcome, on account of the large number of trees and dead wood at the foot of the bank. The river began to widen considerably, and as the wind blew strongly up stream, a very considerable sea soon arose.

About 11 a.m. we got in sight of the junction of a river on the right bank, and at first took it for the Itenez; but it turned out only to be an arm of that river, for, proceeding onwards, we saw the other canoes encamped upon a large sandbank formed between the junction of the Itenez and the Mamoré. The river Itenez, whose waters are clear and dark-coloured, whilst the Mamoré’s are muddy and whitish, is much wider than the Mamoré, which, however, gives its colour to the united waters below the junction, thus proving, probably, that the volume of its waters is greater than that of the Itenez. Both these rivers are exceedingly handsome at the junction, and so fine a “meeting of the waters” it would be difficult to match. This junction may be said to be the point of union of the extensive system of rivers that flow over the northern plain of Bolivia, and down part of the southern slope of the Cordilhera Geral, in the province of Mato Grosso in Brazil. The river Itenez in its higher portions is called the Guaporé, its head waters being separated from those of the river Paraguay by a land portage of but few miles in length. There are but few settlements or villages upon its right bank, or on the tributaries that empty themselves into it on that side, the town of Mato Grosso, near the source, being the one of most consequence, while the fort of Principe da Beira, about fifty miles from the junction, is simply a Brazilian outpost, at which, however, a considerable fortification has been erected. On the left bank there enter two rivers, called the Maddalena and the Baure, or Blanco, which are entirely in Bolivian territory; and on these rivers are some important villages, peopled by different tribes of civilized Indians, who were Christianized by the Jesuit missionaries of the Beni, and are to-day reckoned with that department. On a branch of the Baure River, near the abandoned missions of San Simon and San Nicolas, gold quartz veins of surpassing richness have, for some years, been known to exist, and a Chilian society has lately been formed to work these reefs. With the river Itenez we have nothing more to do; the Mamoré, the sources of which are all in Bolivian territory, being the river up which the journey was prosecuted.

In this part of the journey the Bolivians talk a great deal of the presence of “barbaros,” and orders were given that the canoes should not separate as they had hitherto done; but I had little hope that the order would be carried out, for my men had taken it into their heads to be sick again with fevers and ague, so that my canoe was generally a long way behind the others.

We left the junction of the rivers about 3 p.m., and at 5 p.m. stopped again for the evening meal, starting again in about half an hour, and keeping on till about nine, when we stopped at a large playa for the night. Here the Bolivian patrons gave a good sample of the discipline they maintain with their Indians. The orders were that, as we were in territories supposed to be much roamed over by the savages, we were to start early—as soon after midnight as possible—keep on till breakfast-time, about 8 or 9 a.m., then on again till dinner, about 5 or 6 p.m., when we were to shift quarters again ahead to some convenient spot—a playa, if possible—where, making fast the canoes quietly, we were to sleep till midnight, and then start ahead again. At this sleeping-place no lights or loud talking to be allowed. Instead of this, when we got to this playa, one of the crews, who had some lumps of alligator flesh unroasted, lit fires and cooked the meat, and the patrons said nothing to them; and it appeared to me that the fear of losing the meat, although they had an enormous quantity already roasted, was greater than the fear of attack from the barbaros. Doubtless there are barbaros hereabouts, especially in the lands bordering on the Itenez, and higher up the Mamoré; there is also an igarapé below the junction of the two great rivers on the left bank, which leads up into districts bordering on the higher parts of the Beni, where the Chacobo barbaros are said to be in great numbers; but it is a chance that they should be on the great river, and my experience would go to prove that they will not attack even a single canoe, or else I was lucky enough to ascend the river when they were not on its banks, but up country.

June 8th. We started at 2 a.m., and kept up the right bank of the Mamoré, and having left the Madeira below the junction, we are now altogether in Bolivian territory. This morning I paddled from the start till breakfast-time, at 9 a.m., and kept the men sharp to their work, succeeding so well that we kept up with the other canoes, thus proving that when my men chose to work well there was no reason why we should be behindhand. When I work we have thirteen paddles going, and this number ought to and can send our canoe, which is not a large one, along right well; but if I take a short nap, or rest a time in the camarote, the men sleep at their paddles, and we then drop to the rear.

About 5.30 this morning, before it was fairly light, we passed an open pampa, with an igarapé running out at a sharp angle up stream into the river. It appeared as though it was a large drain cut by hand, for the slopes were just like canal banks, being covered with short grass, while the water running down was clear, and seemingly some three or four feet in depth.

Just above this igarapé I saw a large dark animal, the size of a large hog, moving slowly up the river bank, having, apparently, just emerged from its morning bath. In the dim light I could not be sure whether it was an animal or a savage, but as we were only about a dozen yards from the bank, I dropped my paddle, and taking up my gun, which was always ready to hand, let fly a charge of B B at the moving mass, which rolled down the bank into the river again. It proved to be a “capybara,” or water-hog, and I was much pleased, as I had heard a great deal of this animal, and had never seen it or got a good description of it. The savages make ear ornaments of the front teeth of this rodent, and I have already stated that I was fortunate enough to get four of these from the Pacaguaras of the river Trés Irmãos. The capybara has the body of a pig, the hind quarters slightly humped and covered with long bristles; the feet are three hoofed; legs short and stumpy, but with plenty of flesh on them; the head is almost exactly the shape of a rat’s, with three upper and three lower teeth just like the incisors of a rat or rabbit. Its colour is a dark dun all over. The teeth are very difficult to get out of the head, more than three parts of their length being set in the jaws. The only way is to hang the skull up until it dries sufficiently to allow the teeth to shake out, but this is an affair of some months.

This capybara gave us plenty of good fresh meat, for I should think we got about four or five Bolivian arrobas, say 1 or 1¼ cwt. from him; whole, he took four of my strongest men to drag him along. The meat greatly resembles the flesh of river turtles, but it is not so tough; one can’t compare it to any other kind of animal flesh, it isn’t like beef or pork, but is something like rather tasteless veal. The fat cannot be eaten, as it has a strong fishy taste. On arriving at the breakfast place we cooked some steaks, which were very palatable, and roughly roasted the joints, that being the way in which the meat is kept when time will not allow of its being properly made into charqui, i.e. jerked or dried in the sun.

In the afternoon I shot a cayman for the men, who had for some days been anxious to get one; this fellow was about eight feet long, and was among the reeds (capim) at the foot of the bank. A charge of B B in his eye troubled him seriously, and backing the canoe to him, we finished him with a bullet in the same eye that was wounded by the shot. Hauling him on board, we put him in the bows of the canoe in order that we might roast or “chapapear” him at the first stopping-place. I also shot to-day a large stork, called here a “cabeça seca,” or dry head, very much like, and probably identical with, the “adjutant” of Calcutta. This fellow stands about a couple of feet off the ground, body white with black feathers in the wings, head fearfully ugly, with wattles all down the neck and bare head. In this part of the river every canoe is well stocked with meat, for everything seems eatable here. Birds of all kinds are eaten, except, of course, vultures and hawks, called here “souchus” and “gabilans;” also a very common bird on these rivers, called a “cigana,” and which is I think the “hoopoe;” so, also, everything else, be it monkey, lizard, or alligator, is welcome to the men. This abundance of meat, whether fish, flesh, or fowl, justifies, in some measure, the practice of the Bolivian patrons, of trusting to the shooting above the rapids for meat, and giving all the Obidos charqui, etc., to the men amongst the cachuelas.

At 2 p.m. another halt was ordered for dinner, and then to row on till 10 p.m. for a short rest. About five o’clock we crossed from the right to the left bank, one of Don Miguel’s canoes dropping behind to allow the large batelão and my own canoe to get into proper file, as Don Miguel had given orders to one of his mayordomos always to stop in the rear. Just as I pulled up into my place, I heard shouting, and saw the peons of the rearmost canoe, many of whom had gone on shore, come running down the bank and throw themselves into the river, shouting out “Los bougres! los bougres!” The mayordomo mounted on the top of the camarote with his rifle, and I, concluding that the men had seen barbaros in the forest, ordered my crew to paddle out from under the bank, so that I might get a range for my rifle if necessary. The sun was, however, setting right in our faces, and prevented my seeing what was going on with the other canoe. The mayordomo fired three shots, and, when his peons had struggled into the canoe, paddled away as quickly as possible, shouting to the canoes that were on ahead, and to the crew of one, who, a short distance up stream, had landed on a sandbank, and were roasting alligator-flesh. When we all got together again, I found that the peons who went on shore, declared that they had seen two barbaros in the bush, and that the mayordomo had seen three on the bank some distance down stream. At these he fired, but, from the fact of the sun being in line, he could not be sure whether he hit them or not. Every one was much alarmed, as the savages hereabouts are said to be very bold; having at this spot, about three years ago, attacked a single canoe, killing a Brazilian, who was going to Bolivia as consul, and all his crew except one Indian, who managed to hide in the bush and then find his way by land to Exaltacion. We kept on until 7 p.m., when, crossing the river, we got to a large playa, at which we made fast for the night, no fires being allowed, and the night passed quietly.

June 9th. The start was made at 2 a.m., the canoes working up the right bank until daylight, when we were obliged to cross over to the other side, in order to avoid a strong current that we could not overcome with the paddles. I took a paddle till daylight, and then went on watch, rifle in hand, ready to do my best in case of a discharge of arrows from the bush; but my good fortune prevailed, and although we were, during the greater part of the day, far behind the other canoes, no attack was made upon us. There was a very cold wind from the south beginning to blow to-day, the men seeming to suffer much from it—one of them especially complaining greatly of the effect on his eyes, which were almost closed up, and apparently giving him great pain.

The usual halts for breakfast and dinner were made during the day, and at nightfall we moved on up the river, looking for a playa to pass the night on. While paddling on in the dark, some of the canoes being on either side of the river, we were startled by hearing four shots fired from the canoes on the opposite side to ourselves. It was impossible to cross the river in the dark, and so we had to wait in great anxiety to know what was occurring. The firing ceasing, I kept on up stream, and overtook Señor Morales, who was on the same side of the river, from whence we heard the canoes opposite to us proceeding on their way, and we accordingly judged that there had been a false alarm. Soon afterwards the moon rose, and Don Miguel’s canoes came over to our side, and we learned that they had heard, while waiting for the large canoe that had fallen somewhat in the rear, some suspicious noises in the bush, sticks cracking, as though from being trodden upon; so they discharged their guns in the direction of the sounds, and soon afterwards crossed over to the side where Señor Morales and I were. The funk about barbaros was now at its height, and every little noise in the bush, whether by night or by day, is set down to barbaros following the canoes, until a convenient spot, such as a point of land commanding the canoes as they ascended near the bank, should be chosen for the attack. Arriving at a small playa, which afforded a clear space of about a score of yards to the forest, we made fast for the night, sleeping pretty soundly for a few hours, although we had no watch set or sentinels on guard.

June 10th. Started at 2.15 a.m., and by good luck I was able to keep my canoe somewhat ahead of the others, as towards daylight the other patrons and their mayordomos stopped about a good deal, shooting pavas, which were very numerous hereabouts. I did not get any, as to have tried to do so would have necessitated my stopping also to follow the birds into the bush, and I could not afford to lose the good place I had obtained to-day in the file of canoes.

To-day I rigged up a cooking-stove in the canoe, by filling a large zinc basin that I had with sand, and thus I was able to get a cup of coffee or even some “chupe” for breakfast, prepared by my boy while the canoe was en route. This saved me a good deal of time, and enabled me to get something to eat at the hour most agreeable to me, and as the stoppages for breakfast and dinner were now made very early in the day, I found the invention a very good and useful one.

We had been travelling for the last three days through a very uniformly level country, but slightly raised above the highest flood line, but the forest still continues on either side of the river, the pampas passed as yet having been very small. The river keeps very good for navigation, although the many playas would give a pilot considerable trouble at night, the canoes often getting fast in the mud, and having to be guided into deep water by a man at the bow with a sounding-pole.

June 11th. We started very early at 1.15 a.m., and at 3 a.m. passed an igarapé, on the left bank, called the “Mayosa,” which appears to be one of the few well-known points between the junction of the Itenez and the pueblo of Exaltacion. There was nothing special to record during the day, and about 6 p.m., as we came to a large playa, formed by a rocky formation, we concluded to stop for the night, and let the men get a little more sleep than they had lately been able to have allowed them.

June 12th. Started at 2 a.m., and at 8 a.m. we passed the river Matocari, emptying into the Mamoré on the right bank, its outlet being about fifty yards in width. This stream is said to be navigable as far as the villages of San Ramon and San Joaquin, which are distant from the Mamoré about two days’ paddle during the rainy season. Goods for these villages may in that season be taken up this river, instead of being taken down to the junction of the Itenez, and passing the Fort of Principe da Beira, up the river Maddalena. During the afternoon we passed many pampas on either side of the river, which still keeps a fair breadth of about 500 or 600 yards. The pampas seem to be slightly raised above the highest river level, but sufficiently so to prevent their being flooded except in very high floods. At night we were unable to find any playa convenient for the night halt, so we made fast the canoes to a stump about fifteen yards from the shore.

June 13th. The morning was very cold and chilly; we started at 1.30 a.m., crossing over to the left bank, following in rear of the big canoe, or batelão. Towards 4 a.m. a very strong and cold wind came up from the south, with a thick fog, and we made poor progress, crossing from one bank to another on account of strong currents, in one case having to send the men on shore to pull with the rope, which was very hard work, as the mud on the bank was very soft, making the men very cold, wet, and dirty, as they sank in it at every step up to their knees. When they came on board again, I served them with a ration of cachaça, and when the day broke we found that, notwithstanding all our mishaps, we were well up with the other canoes. The cold wind seemed to make the men very stupid and dull, and their rate of paddling got to be so bad, that, as I was determined not to lose the other canoes, I had to keep on without stopping to cook any breakfast, but made shift with what we had left over from the previous day.

About mid-day we came to large open pampas on either side of the river, which in this part of its course has some very severe bends, some of them being almost right angles. On the left bank is a grove of trees standing alone, and looking almost like young poplars, and as they are on the top of a cliff-like bank of yellow earth cut down by the current straight to the water, they form rather a remarkable landmark. In consequence of repeated crossings of the river to avoid shoals or currents, we made but slow progress, and this part of the river will require a good deal of study before steamers will be able to navigate easily, the playas especially being very numerous, and stretching out a great distance into the river.

We stopped for the night on the left bank, at a very large playa, which was so soft and muddy, that in trying to go after some ducks, I got thoroughly into it, and had to crawl out on hands and knees. Through this I spoiled a good pair of high boots; for my boy, who should have washed and dried them carefully, put them right into the fire for the second operation, and burnt the fronts completely off. During the night the south wind increased to almost a gale, and we were cold and miserable till morning.

June 14th. We did not start till 5.30 a.m., and made but poor progress on account of the gale which, blowing down on us, keeps us back. The men, also, are apparently quite unable to put out any power, and look more like a lot of blue-faced mummies than men, for it is curious how blue the Indians seem to turn when suffering intense cold, which certainly knocks them up much more than the hottest sun does. The country now appears more open, and extensive pampas are now very frequently occurring. This day we could only work about twelve hours, and at night the gale moderated.

June 15th. Started at 3.30 a.m., the day breaking cold and dull like the preceding ones, but the wind had somewhat moderated from that of yesterday, which might be termed half a gale.

The men still seemed in a numbed state, and it was impossible to get the least exertion out of them, for they paddle in an inert and wretched manner during the continuance of the cold. My thermometer had unfortunately got broken, but I should judge that the mercury would have stood very near, if not below, 50° Fahr.

At breakfast time to-day we found, on landing and passing through the fringe of forest on the bank, that we had arrived at the “chocolotales” of Exaltacion so that at last we had arrived near to some sort of civilization. These “chocolotales” appear to be very extensive and are found on both sides of the river, but to discover them it is necessary to go ashore and push one’s way through the belt or fringe of chuchia and brushwood that has been left all along the river bank. These plantations of cocoa trees, or “chocolotales,” as they are called, were made in the last century by the Mojos Indians of the department of the Beni, who were gathered together from their wandering habits, and formed into villages by the Jesuit missionaries of the Spanish South American dependencies of Peru and Bolivia. They are very extensive, and are now claimed as government properties, being farmed out, by the authorities of Exaltacion and Trinidad, to speculators who make good profits, as there is no labour, or very little, expended in clearing. At the proper season, which is during the months when the river is in flood, from February to March, the Cayubaba Indians from Exaltacion descend to these plantations, and collecting the cocoa pods which are then ripe, clear the trees somewhat of the dead leaves and rubbish that has fallen during the year, leaving the chocolotales to the savages and wild animals until the collecting time again comes round.

During the afternoon we passed a succession of these chocolotales, and also some small clearings, or “chacos,” with plantains and other fruits growing in abundance. Each chaco has its hut, where the Cayubabas live during the few months in which they stay upon their plantations; but there were no inhabitants, the proper season for staying down the river having gone by. The absence of the proprietors did not, however, keep my fellow-travellers and the Indian boatmen from helping themselves to all the plantains and pumpkins that they could lay their hands on; and I was told that it was an understood custom that all travellers should help themselves as freely as they wished at these plantations, which are the first that parties ascending the rapids into Bolivia can arrive at.

Hereabouts we had to cross to the right bank to avoid a very strong current; and having to go under a very long stretch of falling bank, we very narrowly escaped being buried by a fall of many tons of earth. While paddling along, our captain saw ahead, small pieces of earth dropping down the straight wall of the bank, and just had time to sheer out into mid-river when down the mass came, very nearly bringing with it a lofty tree, which, had it fallen, would certainly have reached us with its topmost branches. Canoes ascending the river are much exposed to this danger, and in passing under these falling banks a constant watch must be kept.

To-day we found an arrow floating down the river, which the men declared to belong to the Chacobo tribe of savages that roam about in these districts; the arrow was of same size, form, and make as those used by the Caripunas and Pacaguaras of the Rapids.

At night we stopped opposite to the “Estancia de Santiago,” the first of the cattle feeding-grounds of Bolivia that one arrives at in ascending the Mamoré. This was formerly the property of Don Barros Cardozo, Brazilian Consul in the Beni for some years, and who had been murdered by one of his Brazilian servants only a few weeks previously, as we had been informed by the canoes we met descending the river at the Misericordia Rapid. We now learned that the assassin had been hunted by the mayordomo, and other servants of the deceased consul, for some days, until he was discovered endeavouring to escape down the river in a small canoe; and that, as he refused to surrender and menaced his pursuers with the same knife with which he had murdered his master, he was shot down and killed without waiting for process of law. This estancia is reported to have nearly 8000 head of cattle, and I was informed that, had the consul not lost his life, he had intended to drive a large number of his cattle by land from Guajará Merim to San Antonio. From the estancia to the first cachuela, the cattle would have been taken in canoes or on rafts—a comparatively easy work, as the navigation is entirely free from other obstacle than the playas or banks of sand which stretch out into the river at low water, leaving, however, in every case a channel deep enough and wide enough for craft that do not draw much water. Pasturage for the cattle would be easily found at night along the river banks, which are covered with “capim,” a rough wild grass, or “chuchia,” the wild cane, the succulent points of which are greedily eaten by the cattle. Oxen in the estancias of Mojos are worth from fifteen to twenty “pesos faibles,” say about £2 10s. to £3 10s. a head, while at San Antonio and on the higher Madeira they are worth from eighty to one hundred milreis, or £8 to £10.

CHAPTER XVII.

“El Cerrito”—Small steamer, the Explorador—“Taita Crusa”—The town of Exaltacion—The fifteen missions of the Beni and the tribes that belong to them—Some numerals and words in Mojeño, Cayubaba, Canichana, and Yuracaré—Education of the Indians.

June 16th. We started at midnight in hopes of getting to the town of Exaltacion during the day, but did not get on very well till daybreak, for having to cross the river several times in the dark, we lost much way. At 9 a.m. we arrived at “El Cerrito,” a chaco, and clearing with workshops for building canoes etc., belonging to the National Bolivian Navigation Company, the sister enterprise of the Railway of the Cachuelas. Here was a small steamer called the Explorador, which had in 1871 been taken entire up the rapids by Dr. Juan Francisco Velarde, the energetic agent of the navigation company. The taking of this small steamer over the rapids was certainly a most arduous task, and Dr. Velarde, and the American mechanics who accompanied him, deserve every credit for their pluck and steadfast determination to succeed in getting their craft over the nineteen cachuelas. The Explorador is a small steamer about forty feet in length, and was built by Messrs. Yarrow and Co. of Poplar, specially for the river Mamoré, her hull being made of the best Lowmoor iron, in order to resist the blows which she must have received in striking against the numerous rocks amongst the rapids, and when being hauled over the portages by the Indians, of whom there were about eighty employed. Her hull stood well, but her engines were not nearly strong enough, and broke down repeatedly in endeavouring to stem the currents. This little steamer is now quiet in the upper waters of the Mamoré, waiting for new engines, when she would be able to carry on a good business trading amongst the towns of the Beni, a department whose roads are laid out by nature in the stupendous network of riverine canals with which it is favoured, and upon which the villages are built.

El Cerrito is so called from its being the only hill that is to be found on this part of the river for many miles, and it is said to be the only spot that at exceptionally high floods remains above water. Here we got some fresh beef, eggs, and yucas, so we made a capital breakfast, that one did not require much coaxing to attack; for after fifty-three days since we started from San Antonio, during which time we had to get our meals when we could, and sometimes off what to many people would seem uneatable food, it will be believed that the sight of a piece of fresh beef was cheering indeed.

I started from El Cerrito about 1 p.m., having obtained the loan of five strong Cayubaba Indians to help my crew, who were glad of assistance; but just above the Cerrito the river runs straight for a considerable distance, and the current runs so strongly that I found we were quite unable to surmount it with paddles, so we had to put out a rope for towing, which was very difficult work as the bank was very muddy. At about 8 p.m. we stopped for the night at a hacienda, about five miles below Exaltacion, sleeping in the canoe, as it was too late to go up to the house and visit the “patron” that night.

The following morning I went up to the house, and introduced myself to the patron Señor José Aqurusa, or, as he is called by the Indians of the district, Taita (Father) Crusa. He was evidently an Indian, but of very good presence and manners, and being tall and grey-headed, he had rather a striking appearance. He is said to have great authority over the civilized Indians, being a “Cacique,” or head man, of the Cayubabas, and it is supposed that even the wandering Chacobos respect him and his cattle; while, during a time that he was corregidor of Exaltacion, they became friendly and visited the village for trading purposes. There were a good many Indians, mostly Cayubabas, about the house, and of women I think there must have been about five or six to each man, while children were running and rolling about in small droves. The house is of the usual South American up-country construction, open all round and with roof of palm leaves, of very great size in order to cover the sugar-mill, as well as certain great cupboard-like constructions which served as sleeping apartments for the women and children. Underneath this immense roof all the business of the day goes on, from the cutting up of the bullock to the cooking of the “chupe,” or soup, for breakfast or dinner, or the preparation of the national beverage of Bolivia, the “chicha,” without which few Bolivians, be they Indians or of Spanish extraction, can exist: but of this chicha we shall have more hereafter. The sugar-mill was of primitive construction, but seemed to work well, and turned out sugar of an excellent quality. It was worked by a couple of very fine bullocks, the simple plan of ladling from the “trapiche,” or mill, to the boilers being used instead of more complicated appliances. The working parts of the trapiche were all made of hard wood of excellent quality, the workmanship of the cogs and rollers speaking volumes for the ingenuity and skill of the Indian carpenters. There were a few bullocks in a corral, but they afforded a great contrast to the two fat oxen that worked the mill and that had evidently been stall-fed, and Señor Aqurusa set down the thin condition of those in the corral to the fact that during the past rainy season, in the early part of the year, the floods had been very high, and had consequently spoiled the greater portion of the pasturage.

Crossing over to the right bank, I called at the “chaco,” or plantation, of Señor Francisco Ceballos, who received me very kindly, entertaining me very hospitably, and offering me free quarters in his house in Exaltacion, to which town, situated on the left bank of the Mamoré, we went about mid-day. The “puerto,” or landing-place for the town, is situated at the apex of a large bend in the river, each arm being at least a league in length. The wind therefore, blowing up or down the river, exerts a great force on the craft made fast at the foot of the bank, which rises more than fifty feet above low water.

The town of Exaltacion is placed about a couple of miles inland from the river, the road to it being across a pampa, with a few isolated trees and a rough grass three or four feet in height, which at certain seasons is burnt, so that new grass fit for the cattle may spring up; the burning has to be done when the wind is quiet, and can be only done in patches, for if the fires were not kept under control, the villages and plantations would be greatly endangered. The town is built on this flat pampa, and consists of about a hundred houses, built of adobe walls, with tiled roofs, arranged in square blocks in the usual South American fashion. I had to stay in Exaltacion about ten days, as it was necessary to find a new crew, the men that I had brought with me from San Antonio being either from Exaltacion, or from the other villages on the Magdalena and Baures rivers; they consequently were very averse to continuing the journey up the river to Trinidad, and, as they sadly stood in need of rest, I determined to suffer the delay, and seek a new crew rather than oppress my old one by forcing them to take me on further.

The following is a list of the fifteen principal missions of the department of the Beni, which appears to have been one of the great fields of Jesuitical missionary effort in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Exaltacion, on the Mamoré, peopled by Cayubabas (1).

Santa Ana, on the Yacuma, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Mobimas (2).

San Xavier, on the Mamoré, peopled by Mojeños (3).

San Ignacio, on the Tijamuchi, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Mojeños (3).

Trinidad, on the Ybari, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Mojeños (3).

Loreto, on the Ybari, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Mojeños (3).

San Pedro, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Canichanas (4).

San Joaquin, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Itonamas or Machotos (5).

San Ramon, on the Machupa, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Itonamas or Machotos (5).

San Carlos, on the Itonama, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).

Magdalena, on the Itonama, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).

N. S. del Concepcion, on the Baures, or Blanco, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).

N. S. del Carmen, on the Baures, or Blanco, an affluent of the Itenez, peopled by Baures (6).

Reyes, on the Beni, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Maropas (7).

San Borja, on the Apiri, an affluent of the Mamoré, peopled by Maropas (7).

There are seven tribes of Indians in these fifteen villages, each tribe having a language of its own. There are also differences in the dialects of villages speaking the same mother tongue, such as Trinidad and San Xavier, or Magdalena and Nuestra Señora del Concepcion; but while these differences serve to render the Babel of tongues in the Beni still more confusing, one is only able to detect the seven leading languages as numbered in the list. There is another tribe (of whom more hereafter) that inhabit the lands on the highest waters of the Mamoré; this tribe is called the Yuracarés, but they are never reckoned amongst the Indians of the Beni.

Of the seven languages, the following numbers and words are all that I had an opportunity of obtaining:—

In endeavouring to follow the sound of these words I have used the Spanish alphabet, that is to say, a broad, i to be e, e a short a, u like oo; j to be h, c hard before a and o, etc., etc. The Mojeños and Canichanas do not appear to be able to count beyond three; arriving at that, they commence again, and have to arrange all their calculations in sets of threes, which seems to be a most complicated proceeding; thus, for a peso, or dollar, that contains eight reales, they count “apina mopona” and “apina”, or two threes and two; how they get on in the higher numbers I could not understand, but as most of the Indians have learned the Spanish numerals, I observed that they invariably counted the first three numbers in their own language and then went off into cuatro, cinco, etc. I managed to get the Cayubabas up to “tariduboi,” or six, and then they would go on with siete, ocho, nueve, etc. The Trinitarios have a peculiarity with regard to their first numeral which is worthy of mention; if they are counting they will say “Etona,” but if there is only one article or thing to be spoken of, they say “Etonaricha,” the addition of “icha” appearing to be a kind of diminutive. The following are a few words that I noted.

The above words I have set down as near to the sounds as I could. It seems that many years ago the Indians had a method of writing by short strokes, signs, and hieroglyphics; but that method is now almost entirely forgotten, and those who can write use the ordinary Roman letters. I have seen many excellent writers amongst them. All of them who had done service in the churches as sacristans and choristers are able to write; they also can read music, for which they use the ordinary five-line system. There are small schools in all the principal Indian villages in which reading, writing, and Catholic prayers are taught in the Castilian language; and I was rather surprised to see the amount of rudimentary knowledge that is drilled into the Indians, who, as a race, are not at all deficient in natural intellect, being, I believe, of a much higher grade than the Brazilian negroes of African descent.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Festival of St. John the Baptist—Water-throwing—Morning mass—Church of La Exaltacion de la Santa Cruz—“Macheteros,” or Soldiers of the Cross—Decrease of the Indians of the Beni—Suggestions for the re-population of the department—A crew for Trinidad obtained with difficulty—Desertion of an Indian lad—Landslip and dangers of the port of Exaltacion—Changes in the courses of the rivers—Richness of the soil—Prices of provisions.

While I was staying in Exaltacion the Festival of St. John the Baptist occurred, on the 24th of June, and the village was in fiesta, and no work of any kind was done by the Indians. The chief duty on this day appears to be to throw as much water over each other as possible, this being a custom that has been introduced by the Bolivian patrons or masters who are of Spanish origin. The great object is to wet thoroughly the best-dressed man or woman who shows on the street or at a window; and possibly this is meant for a kind of baptism, for as one cannot be made to go to the river as St. John and his followers did, the river is brought, in buckets and other vessels, to the unbeliever, who must suffer the infliction of a good wetting with the best grace he may; and thus he is at all events made to practise the Christian virtues of patience and long-suffering, for there is no escape from the devout followers of the saint, the best plan being to put on an old suit of clothing and provide one’s self also with a bucket and squirt and set forth baptizing on one’s own account.

Morning mass was held with great beating of drums and blowing of horns, the water play being abandoned for the nonce. The church is a very old edifice built of adobes, and was constructed by the Jesuits more than 200 years ago, the “cura” of the town informing me that there were ecclesiastical records belonging to it which vouched for its age. The façade facing on the central square of the village is highly ornamented with figures in cement handsomely painted; the columns are made in a twisted pattern, and there are, on either side of the principal door, images of a Christ and a Virgin, about eight feet in height, elaborately moulded and painted. The interior has been highly decorated with relievo ornamentation in mud cement, but has now become much decayed, all the pictures, of which there were a great many, having fallen out of their frames.

The service of the mass was of most barbarous character, and has evidently been adapted to the customs of the aborigines of these parts by the Jesuits. There were two Indians with head-dresses of macaw’s feathers arranged so as to form a circle at the back of the head, and attached thereto is a long appendage, reaching to the ground and made of the breast feathers of the toucan, terminating with a real tiger’s tail. These men have a species of bell-anklets to their feet, and a large wooden machete, or cutlass, in their right hands. Thus accoutred they execute dances in front of the altar and the church door. These fellows are called “macheteros,” and are intended to typify, I presume, the soldiers of the Church fighting and conquering its enemies. The interior of the church during mass presents a good effect from the bright colours of the “tipoys” of the Indian women, the two plaits of whose long glossy black hair are finished off with bright-coloured ribbons called “ariches.” The “tipoy” is made of white or bright-coloured calico or print, and is a long and straight garment which hangs in graceful folds to the feet of the wearer, whose arms are always bare from the shoulder. The bright colours of these dresses made an effective contrast to the dark and sombre look of the church. The singing is of a squally character, the aim seeming to be to sing through the nose as much as possible; but every one seems to be thoroughly in earnest, and all cross themselves in proper fashion.

INDIAN GIRL OF EXALTACION.

Most of these Indian women are, in their youth, comely and well featured, many of them being of very fair complexion, the darkest having skins of a burnished coppery hue. Some of them, however, adopt the barbarian’s practice of filing or chipping their front teeth into sharp points, and this gives them a horrid look and reminds one of the dental arrangements of the alligators. This barbarous custom is also practised slightly, in some of the larger towns of the interior of Bolivia, and it strikes one as particularly painful to meet a señorita, blessed perhaps with pretty features and dressed in fashionable attire, and to observe when she opens her lips to smile that she discloses a set of teeth as sharp as any rattlesnake’s.

The Indians of the Beni are, I fear, decreasing rapidly in numbers, and the deserted houses and lines of old streets now in ruins give a sad and desolate look to Exaltacion. The present population cannot be more than 1500, and I should judge that less than fifty years ago there must have been nearly 4000 Indians at the mission of “La Exaltacion de la Santa Cruz,” or “The Raising of the Holy Cross.”

The climate of Exaltacion is, I should judge, a very good one, except at times when the river overflows its banks, an occurrence which appears to occur with rather a remarkable regularity about once in seven years. The lands of Exaltacion are then flooded to a depth of perhaps six inches, and after the retirement of the waters, ague fever is epidemic, but at other times the air is pure and healthy. The reason for the decline of the Indian population is to be found, without doubt, in the baneful effects to Bolivia of the rubber-collecting trade of the Madeira and Purus rivers. This trade is the real cause that is rapidly depopulating, not only Exaltacion, but all the towns of the department of the Beni. To take the year 1873 as an example of the working of the emigration from Bolivia to the rubber districts of Northern Brazil. In that year forty-three canoes descended the rapids from Bolivia, with merchants on their way to Europe with ventures of “cascarilla” (cinchona bark), or with speculators in the rubber estradas of the Madeira River, while in the same year thirteen canoes only ascended to Bolivia. We may average the Indians that leave Bolivia with these canoes at ten per canoe, and thus we have an exodus of 430 Indians from their country in twelve months, while only 130 return in the same period; we thus have 300 Indians lost to Bolivia in 1873, and as the rubber-collecting fever has been decidedly on the decrease for the last four or five years, the year 1873 does not give a fifth of the number of Indians that have left in previous years. We may, I venture to think, estimate the drain of human life that the department of the Beni has suffered from the Northern Brazilian rubber trade at 1000 men per annum during the decade of 1862 to 1872. The worst feature of this emigration is, perhaps, the fact that rubber speculators and merchants descending the rapids will not allow the Indians to take any of the females of their families with them. This is done on account of avarice in some cases and necessity in others, which prompt the “patron” or owner of the descending craft to load his canoes as fully as he can with his merchandise, reserving as small a space as possible for provisions, which, on account of the quantity of farinha consumed, occupy so much space, that every mouth that requires to be filled, without its owner being able to assist in the propulsion of the craft, becomes a very serious consideration. Thus it arises that in every town of the Beni the females are in a majority of perhaps five to one over the males, and the populations are decreasing. According to the data given by a Portuguese exploring expedition, which travelled in 1749 from Pará to Matto Grosso viâ the river Madeira, an account of which has been published in a compilation, by Colonel George Earl Church, of the explorations that have been made in the valley of the river Madeira, there was then in the fifteen missions of the Beni, a total population of 26,000 Indians; while at the present day, if all the Indians were collected together in these towns, it is probable that not more than 8000 would be found.

The only plan that is likely to succeed in restoring to these villages the Indian population, which is probably that which is best suited to the locality and climate, is that a treaty should be made by Bolivia with Brazil for the redemption of these Indians from the slavery in which they are held by their patrons the seringueiros, or rubber collectors. It is true that the old form of slavery was abolished in Bolivia when the Republic gained its independence; and in Brazil, in later years, every child of a slave is born free, so that in the due course of events slavery will be altogether abolished in the empire; but on the Amazon, Madeira, and Purus rivers a far worse form of slavery exists, for both Brazilian and Bolivian patrons keep their Indians in their power by means of debt and drink. At most of the barracas on the Madeira River where the seringueiros live, the Sundays are passed in perfect orgies of drunkenness, for it is on that day that the peon delivers over to the patron the rubber that he has collected during the week. The patron is also a shopkeeper, and therefore treats his peon liberally to white rum (called “cachaça” on the river), and, when under the influence of this liquor, the poor peon is induced to buy trinkets, calicoes, ribbons, and other articles that he could do very well without. These are charged to him at enormous prices, whilst his rubber is credited to him at inversely corresponding low ones, and thus he is kept under a heavy load of debt, and cannot, under the Brazilian laws, leave his patron until it is worked off, which happy event the patron takes care shall not happen. A Bolivian authority, aided by Brazilian officials, should visit these unhappy exiles, and settle between patron and peon the just state of the accounts; thus a thousand Bolivian peons could with ease be gathered together on the banks of the Madeira River. They could be put to work on the railway of the rapids for two or three years with advantage to themselves and to their country, and return to their native villages at the expiration of their agreements, with a small fund in hand. This would be the most expeditious method of repopulating the now half-deserted villages of the department of the Beni.

It was with difficulty that I obtained a crew of Indians in Exaltacion for the journey to Trinidad, for all the able-bodied men of the place were either at their plantations on the river or had gone with traders to the villages on the affluents of the Itenez. However, by overbidding one of the traders for a crew of Trinitarios, who, besides getting better pay from me, preferred to return to their own town rather than go with the trader to Reyes and other outlying towns, I was able to arrange for recommencing my journey on the 28th of June. On which day, after having taken my farewell of the principal men of the place, and having seen the last lot of baggage taken down to the puerto, I was ready to start by about 9 a.m., when, to my disgust, I found that my servant-boy named Trinidad, a young Indian that had been in my service for more than twelve months, and had accompanied me up over the rapids, had absconded and was missing. I sent back to the village for him, and lost several hours waiting in hopes that he would turn up, but without success. This is one of the most disagreeable features of travelling on the upper waters of the Mamoré, that at each successive village one is exposed to the loss of men; for the struggle for hands is very great amongst the traders, and the Bolivian Indian is easily tempted, besides being cunning enough to take advance money from two or three patrons at the same time, if he can get the chance of doing so. I tired of waiting for the runaway, and was fearful of losing some of the other men, who might, during the delay, change their minds as to going further up the river, and give me the slip also, so I started with nine paddlers and a captain—a fair crew, but one seat empty, which looked ugly.

The port of the town of Exaltacion must, if the town is ever to be served by steamer traffic, be moved higher up the river. While I was there an enormous mass of the bank at the port gave way and fell into the river, causing the loss of one man and a large canoe. This landslip measured more than 100 feet in length, the breadth of earth that fell being more than thirty feet at top, which was upwards of forty feet above the then water level. It is therefore evident that a more secure situation must be sought for the port, when any navigation of the Mamoré commences. On this part of the river, boats are much exposed to danger from the falling banks, which are called “tierras disbarrancandas.” The Mamoré, and indeed all the rivers of the Beni valley, are for ever shifting their courses in many parts of the forests through which they flow. They undermine the banks on one side, which, falling away, form the numerous curves on the convex side of which the mud and sand brought down by the current is deposited, and playas and banks are formed, on which a forest grows in course of time. The river on the concave side of the curve is continually causing the trees of the terra firma to fall and obstruct the waterway, a barricade or “pausada” is formed, the river then returns in exceptionally high floods to its old course on the convex shore, bursting through the playas and sandbanks, and so the ever recurring changes of the river course continue. In illustration of this, I saw on the river Chapari a place where the current was breaking down a bank that was apparently terra firma, and had trees growing on it that were of great age. At the foot of this bank, and under some fifteen feet of earth, was a deposit of timber, blackened and, in fact, almost carbonized by time and pressure of the super-incumbent earth. From the manner in which these logs of timber were deposited, one above the other, it was evident that they formed part of a huge collection of driftwood, such as may often be seen collected together in many parts of the rivers. On the Mamoré all “chacos,” “barracas,” and “pueblos” are placed some distance from the river, generally from half a mile to a mile, so that they may not be exposed to danger from the frequent changes of the river’s course. In the cachuelas this feature of the river does not appear to exist, as there the formation of the country is of a more rocky nature.

At Exaltacion food-stuffs grown in the country are very cheap, the supply from the chacos being far greater than the wants of the sparse and scattered population. Cultivation, as is usual in all tropical countries, is carried on with a very small amount of labour, the rich soil requiring no digging or ploughing—sowing, only, being sufficient to give rich crops of maize, rice, yucas, yams, pumpkins, plantains, melons, tobacco, and all other kinds of tropical vegetation. The following are some of the prices of provisions in the Beni: “farinha de yuca,” or mandioca flour, twelve reales (4s. 10d.) per Bolivian arroba of twenty-five pounds; rice, six reales the arroba in the husk—this only produces about fifteen pounds when husked, thus the dressed rice may be put at 2d. per pound. Sugar, brown, in cakes, called “empanisadas,” half a reale, say 2½d. per pound; when partially refined and of a small and white grain, it sells at one reale per pound. Ordinary aguadiente, called cachaça below the rapids, and white rum in English colonies, fetches eight reales (3s. 2½d.) per frasqueira of three bottles, a stronger and better sort of spirit, called “re-sacada,” being worth eight reales per bottle. Fresh meat sells at one peso of eight reales (3s. 2½d.) per arroba of twenty-five pounds; when preserved, by being salted and dried in the sun, it is called “charqui,” and sells at three pesos (9s. 7½d.) per arroba, say 4⅗d. per pound. Wheaten bread is very scarce, and when obtainable costs half a reale, say 2½d., for a small cake that may perhaps weigh a couple of ounces; the reason for such a high price being that the flour has to be brought all the way from Cochabamba, a town in the interior of Bolivia that will be described hereafter. The tobacco grown in the Beni is of rough appearance in the dried leaf. It is all used up in the manufacture of very badly shaped cigars called “puros,” which sell for six reales, say 2s. 8d., per 100. In the absence of Havannahs or good smoking mixture, a traveller will find them very acceptable.

CHAPTER XIX.