EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS
SCIENCE
BATES’ NATURALIST ON
THE AMAZONS
WITH AN APPRECIATION
BY DARWIN

THE NATURALIST ON
THE RIVER AMAZONS

By HENRY WALTER BATES

LONDON: PUBLISHED BY
J. M. DENT & SONS LTD
AND IN NEW YORK BY
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
First issue of this edition 1910
Reprinted 1914

Contents

[Chapter I—PARÁ]
Arrival — Aspect of the Country — The Pará River — First Walk in the Suburbs of Pará — Birds, Lizards, and Insects of the Suburbs — Leaf-carrying Ant — Sketch of the Climate, History, and present Condition of Pará.

[Chapter II—PARÁ]
The Swampy Forests of Pará — A Portuguese Landed Proprietor — Country House at Nazareth — Life of a Naturalist under the Equator — The drier Virgin Forests — Magoary — Retired Creeks — Aborigines.

[Chapter III—PARÁ]
Religious Holidays — Marmoset Monkeys — Serpents — Insects.

[Chapter IV—THE TOCANTINS AND CAMETÁ]
Preparations for the Journey — The Bay of Goajará — Grove of Fan-leaved Palms — The lower Tocantins — Sketch of the River — Vista Alegre — Baiao — Rapids — Boat Journey to the Guariba Falls — Native Life on the Tocantins — Second Journey to Cametá.

[Chapter V—CARIPÍ AND THE BAY OF MARAJÓ]
River Pará and Bay of Marajó — Journey to Caripí — Negro Observance of Christmas — A German Family — Bats — Ant-eaters — Humming-birds — Excursion to the Murucupi — Domestic Life of the Inhabitants — Hunting Excursion with Indians — White Ants.

[Chapter VI—THE LOWER AMAZONS — PARÁ TO OBYDOS]
Modes of Travelling on the Amazons — Historical Sketch of the Early Explorations of the River — Preparations for Voyage — Life on Board a large Trading Vessel — The narrow Channels joining the Pará to the Amazons — First Sight of the Great River — Gurupá — The Great Shoal — Flat-topped Mountains — Santarem — Obydos.

[Chapter VII—THE LOWER AMAZONS — OBYDOS TO MANAOS, OR THE BARRA OF THE RIO NEGRO]
Departure from Obydos — River Banks and By-channels — Cacao Planters — Daily Life on Board our Vessel — Great Storm — Sand-island and its Birds — Hill of Parentins — Negro Trader and Mauhes Indians — Villa Nova, its Inhabitants, Forest, and Animal Productions — Cararaucú — A Rustic Festival — Lake of Cararaucú — Motuca Flies — Serpa — Christmas Holidays — River Madeira — A Mameluco Farmer — Mura Indians — Rio Negro — Description of Barra — Descent to Pará — Yellow Fever.

[Chapter VIII—SANTAREM]
Situation of Santarem — Manners and Customs of the Inhabitants — Climate — Grassy Campos and Woods — Excursions to Mapirí, Mahicá, and Irurá, with Sketches of their Natural History; Palms, Wild Fruit-trees, Mining Wasps, Mason Wasps, Bees, and Sloths.

[Chapter IX—VOYAGE UP THE TAPAJOS]
Preparations for Voyage — First Day’s Sail — Loss of Boat — Altar do Chao — Modes of obtaining Fish — Difficulties with Crew — Arrival at Aveyros — Excursions in the Neighbourhood — White Cebus, and Habits and Dispositions of Cebi Monkeys — Tame Parrot — Missionary Settlement — Entering the River Cuparí — Adventure with Anaconda — Smoke-dried Monkey — Boa-constrictor — Village of Mundurucu Indians, and Incursion of a Wild Tribe — Falls of the Cuparí — Hyacinthine Macaw — Re-emerge into the broad Tapajos — Descent of River to Santarem.

[Chapter X—THE UPPER AMAZONS — VOYAGE TO EGA]
Departure from Barra — First Day and Night on the Upper Amazons — Desolate Appearance of River in the Flood Season — Cucáma Indians — Mental Condition of Indians — Squalls — Manatee — Forest — Floating Pumice Stones from the Andes — Falling Banks — Ega and its Inhabitants — Daily Life of a Naturalist at Ega — The Four Seasons of the Upper Amazons.

[Chapter XI—EXCURSIONS IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF EGA]
The River Teffé — Rambles through Groves on the Beach — Excursion to the House of a Passé Chieftain — Character and Customs of the Passé Tribe — First Excursion to the Sand Islands of the Solimoens — Habits of Great River-turtle — Second Excursion — Turtle-fishing in the Inland Pools — Third Excursion — Hunting-rambles with Natives in the Forest — Return to Ega.

[Chapter XII—ANIMALS OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF EGA]
Scarlet-faced Monkeys — Paráuacu Monkey — Owl-faced Night-apes — Marmosets — Jupurá — Bats — Birds — Cuvier’s Toucan — Curl-crested Toucan — Insects — Pendulous Cocoons — Foraging Ants — Blind Ants.

[Chapter XIII—EXCURSIONS BEYOND EGA]
Steamboat Travelling on the Amazons — Passengers — Tunantins — Caishána Indians — The Jutahí — The Sapó — Marauá Indians — Fonte Boa — Journey to St. Paulo — Tucúna Indians — Illness — Descent to Pará — Changes at Pará — Departure for England.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AN APPRECIATION

From Natural History Review, vol. iii. 1863.
BY CHARLES DARWIN
Author of The Origin of Species, etc.

In April, 1848, the author of the present volume left England in company with Mr. A. R. Wallace—“who has since acquired wide fame in connection with the Darwinian theory of Natural Selection”—on a joint expedition up the river Amazons, for the purpose of investigating the Natural History of the vast wood-region traversed by that mighty river and its numerous tributaries. Mr. Wallace returned to England after four years’ stay, and was, we believe, unlucky enough to lose the greater part of his collections by the shipwreck of the vessel in which he had transmitted them to London. Mr. Bates prolonged his residence in the Amazon valley seven years after Mr. Wallace’s departure, and did not revisit his native country again until 1859. Mr. Bates was also more fortunate than his companion in bringing his gathered treasures home to England in safety. So great, indeed, was the mass of specimens accumulated by Mr. Bates during his eleven years’ researches, that upon the working out of his collection, which has been accomplished (or is now in course of being accomplished) by different scientific naturalists in this country, it has been ascertained that representatives of no less than 14,712 species are amongst them, of which about 8000 were previously unknown to science. It may be remarked that by far the greater portion of these species, namely, about 14,000, belong to the class of Insects—to the study of which Mr. Bates principally devoted his attention—being, as is well known, himself recognised as no mean authority as regards this class of organic beings. In his present volume, however, Mr. Bates does not confine himself to his entomological discoveries, nor to any other branch of Natural History, but supplies a general outline of his adventures during his journeyings up and down the mighty river, and a variety of information concerning every object of interest, whether physical or political, that he met with by the way.

Mr. Bates landed at Pará in May, 1848. His first part is entirely taken up with an account of the Lower Amazons—that is, the river from its sources up to the city of Manaos or Barra do Rio Negro, where it is joined by the large northern confluent of that name—and with a narrative of his residence at Pará and his various excursions in the neighbourhood of that city. The large collection made by Mr. Bates of the animal productions of Pará enabled him to arrive at the following conclusions regarding the relations of the Fauna of the south side of the Amazonian delta with those of other regions.

“It is generally allowed that Guiana and Brazil, to the north and south of the Pará district, form two distinct provinces, as regards their animal and vegetable inhabitants. By this it means that the two regions have a very large number of forms peculiar to themselves, and which are supposed not to have been derived from other quarters during modern geological times. Each may be considered as a centre of distribution in the latest process of dissemination of species over the surface of tropical America. Pará lies midway between the two centres, each of which has a nucleus of elevated table-land, whilst the intermediate river-valley forms a wide extent of low-lying country. It is, therefore, interesting to ascertain from which the latter received its population, or whether it contains so large a number of endemic species as would warrant the conclusion that it is itself an independent province. To assist in deciding such questions as these, we must compare closely the species found in the district with those of the other contiguous regions, and endeavour to ascertain whether they are identical, or only slightly modified, or whether they are highly peculiar.

“Von Martius when he visited this part of Brazil forty years ago, coming from the south, was much struck with the dissimilarity of the animal and vegetable productions to those of other parts of Brazil. In fact the Fauna of Pará, and the lower part of the Amazons has no close relationship with that of Brazil proper; but it has a very great affinity with that of the coast region of Guiana, from Cayenne to Demerara. If we may judge from the results afforded by the study of certain families of insects, no peculiar Brazilian forms are found in the Pará district; whilst more than one-half of the total number are essentially Guiana species, being found nowhere else but in Guiana and Amazonia. Many of them, however, are modified from the Guiana type, and about one-seventh seem to be restricted to Pará. These endemic species are not highly peculiar, and they may yet be found over a great part of Northern Brazil when the country is better explored. They do not warrant us in concluding that the district forms an independent province, although they show that its Fauna is not wholly derivative, and that the land is probably not entirely a new formation. From all these facts, I think we must conclude that the Pará district belongs to the Guiana province and that, if it is newer land than Guiana, it must have received the great bulk of its animal population from that region. I am informed by Dr. Sclater that similar results are derivable from the comparison of the birds of these countries.”

One of the most interesting excursions made by Mr. Bates from Pará was the ascent of the river Tocantins—the mouth of which lies about 45 miles from the city of Pará. This was twice attempted. On the second occasion—our author being in company with Mr. Wallace—the travellers penetrated as far as the rapids of Arroyos, about 130 miles from its mouth. This district is one of the chief collecting-grounds of the well-known Brazil-nut (Bertholletia excelsa), which is here very plentiful, grove after grove of these splendid trees being visible, towering above their fellows, with the “woody fruits, large and round as cannon-balls, dotted over the branches.” The Hyacinthine Macaw (Ara hyacinthina) is another natural wonder, first met with here. This splendid bird, which is occasionally brought alive to the Zoological Gardens of Europe, “only occurs in the interior of Brazil, from 16° S.L. to the southern border of the Amazon valley.” Its enormous beak—which must strike even the most unobservant with wonder—appears to be adapted to enable it to feed on the nuts of the Mucuja Palm (Acrocomia lasiospatha). “These nuts, which are so hard as to be difficult to break with a heavy hammer, are crushed to a pulp by the powerful beak of this Macaw.”

Mr. Bates’ later part is mainly devoted to his residence at Santarem, at the junction of the Rio Tapajos with the main stream, and to his account of Upper Amazon, or Solimoens—the Fauna of which is, as we shall presently see, in many respects very different from that of the lower part of the river. At Santarem—“the most important and most civilised settlement on the Amazon, between the Atlantic and Pará”—Mr. Bates made his headquarters for three years and a half, during which time several excursions up the little-known Tapajos were effected. Some 70 miles up the stream, on its affluent, the Cuparí, a new Fauna, for the most part very distinct from that of the lower part of the same stream, was entered upon. “At the same time a considerable proportion of the Cuparí species were identical with those of Ega, on the Upper Amazon, a district eight times further removed than the village just mentioned.” Mr. Bates was more successful here than on his excursion up the Tocantins, and obtained twenty new species of fishes, and many new and conspicuous insects, apparently peculiar to this part of the Amazonian valley.

In a later chapter Mr. Bates commences his account of the Solimoens, or Upper Amazons, on the banks of which he passed four years and a half. The country is a “magnificent wilderness, where civilised man has, as yet, scarcely obtained a footing—the cultivated ground, from the Rio Negro to the Andes, amounting only to a few score acres.” During the whole of this time Mr. Bates’ headquarters were at Ega, on the Teffé, a confluent of the great river from the south, whence excursions were made sometimes for 300 or 400 miles into the interior. In the intervals Mr. Bates followed his pursuit as a collecting naturalist in the same “peaceful, regular way,” as he might have done in a European village. Our author draws a most striking picture of the quiet, secluded life he led in this far-distant spot. The difficulty of getting news and the want of intellectual society were the great drawbacks—“the latter increasing until it became almost insupportable.” “I was obliged at last,” Mr. Bates naively remarks, “to come to the conclusion that the contemplation of Nature, alone is not sufficient to fill the human heart and mind.” Mr. Bates must indeed have been driven to great straits as regards his mental food, when, as he tell us, he took to reading the Athenæum three times over, “the first time devouring the more interesting articles—the second, the whole of the remainder—and the third, reading all the advertisements from beginning to end.”

Ega was, indeed, as Mr. Bates remarks, a fine field for a Natural History collector, the only previous scientific visitants to that region having been the German Naturalists, Spix and Martius, and the Count de Castelnau when he descended the Amazons from the Pacific. Mr. Bates’ account of the monkeys of the genera Brachyurus, Nyctipithecus and Midas met with in this region, and the whole of the very pregnant remarks which follow on the American forms of the Quadrumana, will be read with interest by every one, particularly by those who pay attention to the important subject of geographical distribution. We need hardly say that Mr. Bates, after the attention he has bestowed upon this question, is a zealous advocate of the hypothesis of the origin of species by derivation from a common stock. After giving an outline of the general distribution of Monkeys, he clearly argues that unless the “common origin at least of the species of a family be admitted, the problem of their distribution must remain an inexplicable mystery.” Mr. Bates evidently thoroughly understands the nature of this interesting problem, and in another passage, in which the very singular distribution of the Butterflies of the genus Heliconius is enlarged upon, concludes with the following significant remarks upon this important subject:—

“In the controversy which is being waged amongst Naturalists since the publication of the Darwinian theory of the origin of species, it has been rightly said that no proof at present existed of the production of a physiological species, that is, a form which will not interbreed with the one from which it was derived, although given ample opportunities of doing so, and does not exhibit signs of reverting to its parent form when placed under the same conditions with it. Morphological species, that is, forms which differ to an amount that would justify their being considered good species, have been produced in plenty through selection by man out of variations arising under domestication or cultivation. The facts just given are therefore of some scientific importance, for they tend to show that a physiological species can be and is produced in nature out of the varieties of a pre-existing closely allied one. This is not an isolated case, for I observed in the course of my travels a number of similar instances. But in very few has it happened that the species which clearly appears to be the parent, co-exists with one that has been evidently derived from it. Generally the supposed parent also seems to have been modified, and then the demonstration is not so clear, for some of the links in the chain of variation are wanting. The process of origination of a species in nature as it takes place successively, must be ever, perhaps, beyond man’s power to trace, on account of the great lapse of time it requires. But we can obtain a fair view of it by tracing a variable and far-spreading species over the wide area of its present distribution; and a long observation of such will lead to the conclusion that new species must in all cases have arisen out of variable and widely-disseminated forms. It sometimes happens, as in the present instance, that we find in one locality a species under a certain form which is constant to all the individuals concerned; in another exhibiting numerous varieties; and in a third presenting itself as a constant form quite distinct from the one we set out with. If we meet with any two of these modifications living side by side, and maintaining their distinctive characters under such circumstances, the proof of the natural origination of a species is complete; it could not be much more so were we able to watch the process step by step. It might be objected that the difference between our two species is but slight, and that by classing them as varieties nothing further would be proved by them. But the differences between them are such as obtain between allied species generally. Large genera are composed in great part of such species, and it is interesting to show the great and beautiful diversity within a large genus as brought about by the working of laws within our comprehension.”

But to return to the Zoological wonders of the Upper Amazon, birds, insects, and butterflies are all spoken of by Mr. Bates in his chapter on the natural features of the district, and it is evident that none of these classes of beings escaped the observation of his watchful intelligence. The account of the foraging ants of the genus Eciton is certainly marvellous, and would, even of itself, be sufficient to stamp the recorder of their habits as a man of no ordinary mark.

The last chapter of Mr. Bates’ work contains the account of his excursions beyond Ega. Fonteboa, Tunantins—a small semi-Indian settlement, 240 miles up the stream—and San Paulo de Olivenca, some miles higher up, were the principal places visited, and new acquisitions were gathered at each of these localities. In the fourth month of Mr. Bates’ residence at the last-named place, a severe attack of ague led to the abandonment of the plans he had formed of proceeding to the Peruvian towns of Pebas and Moyobamba, and “so completing the examination of the Natural History of the Amazonian plains up to the foot of the Andes.” This attack, which seemed to be the culmination of a gradual deterioration of health, caused by eleven years’ hard work under the tropics, induced him to return to Ega, and finally to Pará, where he embarked, on the 2nd June 1859, for England. Naturally enough, Mr. Bates tells us he was at first a little dismayed at leaving the equator, “where the well-balanced forces of Nature maintain a land-surface and a climate typical of mind, and order and beauty,” to sail towards the “crepuscular skies” of the cold north. But he consoles us by adding the remark that “three years’ renewed experience of England” have convinced him “how incomParábly superior is civilised life to the spiritual sterility of half-savage existence, even if it were passed in the Garden of Eden.”

* * *

The following is the list of H. W. Bates’ published works:

Contributions to an insect Fauna of the Amazon Valley, Paper read before the Linnean Society, June 21, 1861; The Naturalist on the Amazons, a Record of Adventure, Habits of Animals, Sketches of Brazilian and Indian Life . . . during Eleven Years of Travel, 1863; 3rd Edition, 1873, with a Memoir of the author by E. Clodd to reprint of unabridged edition, 1892.

Bates was for many years the editor of the Transactions of the Royal Geographical Society; the following works were edited and revised, or supplemented by him:—Mrs. Somerville’s Physical Geography, 1870; A. Humbert, Japan and the Japanese, 1874; C. Koldewey, the German Arctic Expedition, 1874; P. E. Warburton, Journey across the Western Interior of Australia, 1875; Cassell’s Illustrated Travels, 6 vols., 1869-1875; E. Whymper, Travels among the Great Andes of the Equator (Introduction to Appendix volume), 1892, etc.; Central America, the West Indies and South America; Stanford’s Compendium of Geography and Travel, 2nd revised Ed., 1882; he also added a list of Coleoptera collected by J. S. Jameson on the Aruwini to the latter’s Story of the Rear Column of the Emin Pasha Relief Expedition, etc., 1890; and an appendix to a catalogue of Phytophaga by H. Clark, 1866, etc.; and contributed a biographical notice of Keith Johnson to J. Thomson’s Central African Lakes and Back, 1881.

He contributed largely to the Zoologist, Entomological Society’s Journal, Annals and Magazine of Natural History, and Entomologist.
LIFE—Memoir by E. Clodd, 1892; short notice in Clodd’s Pioneers of Evolution, 1897.

AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1864

Having been urged to prepare a new edition of this work for a wider circle than that contemplated in the former one, I have thought it advisable to condense those portions which, treating of abstruse scientific questions, presuppose a larger amount of Natural History knowledge than an author has a right to expect of the general reader. The personal narrative has been left entire, together with those descriptive details likely to interest all classes, young and old, relating to the great river itself, and the wonderful country through which it flows,—the luxuriant primaeval forests that clothe almost every part of it, the climate, productions, and inhabitants.

Signs are not wanting that this fertile, but scantily peopled region will soon become, through recent efforts of the Peruvian and Brazilian governments to make it accessible and colonise it, of far higher importance to the nations of Northern Europe than it has been hitherto. The full significance of the title, the “largest river in the world,” which we are all taught in our schoolboy days to apply to the Amazons, without having a distinct idea of its magnitude, will then become apparent to the English public. It will be new to most people, that this noble stream has recently been navigated by steamers to a distance of 2200 geographical miles from its mouth at Pará, or double the distance which vessels are able to reach on the Yang-tze-Kiang, the largest river of the old world; the depth of water in the dry season being about seven fathoms up to this terminus of navigation. It is not, however, the length of the trunk stream, that has earned for the Amazons the appellation of the “Mediterranean of South America,” given it by the Brazilians of Pará; but the network of by-channels and lakes, which everywhere accompanies its course at a distance from the banks, and which adds many thousands of miles of easy inland navigation to the total presented by the main river and its tributaries. The Peruvians, especially, if I may judge from letters received within the past few weeks, seem to be stirring themselves to grasp the advantages which the possession of the upper course of the river places within their reach. Vessels of heavy tonnage have arrived in Pará, from England, with materials for the formation of shipbuilding establishments, at a point situated two thousand miles from the mouth of the river. Peruvian steamers have navigated from the Andes to the Atlantic, and a quantity of cotton (now exported for the first time), the product of the rich and healthy country bordering the Upper Amazons, has been conveyed by this means, and shipped from Pará to Europe. The probability of general curiosity in England being excited before long with regard to this hitherto neglected country, will be considered, of itself, a sufficient reason for placing an account of its natural features and present condition within reach of all readers.

LONDON, January, 1864.

Chapter I.
PARÁ

Arrival — Aspect of the Country — The Pará River — First Walk in the Suburbs of Pará — Birds, Lizards, and Insects of the Suburbs — Leaf-carrying Ant — Sketch of the Climate, History, and present Condition of Pará.

I embarked at Liverpool, with Mr. Wallace, in a small trading vessel, on the 26th of April, 1848; and, after a swift passage from the Irish Channel to the equator, arrived, on the 26th of May, off Salinas. This is the pilot-station for vessels bound to Pará, the only port of entry to the vast region watered by the Amazons. It is a small village, formerly a missionary settlement of the Jesuits, situated a few miles to the eastward of the Pará River. Here the ship anchored in the open sea at a distance of six miles from the shore, the shallowness of the water far out around the mouth of the great river not permitting, in safety, a nearer approach; and, the signal was hoisted for a pilot. It was with deep interest that my companion and myself, both now about to see and examine the beauties of a tropical country for the first time, gazed on the land where I, at least, eventually spent eleven of the best years of my life. To the eastward the country was not remarkable in appearance, being slightly undulating, with bare sand-hills and scattered trees; but to the westward, stretching towards the mouth of the river, we could see through the captain’s glass a long line of forest, rising apparently out of the water; a densely-packed mass of tall trees, broken into groups, and finally into single trees, as it dwindled away in the distance. This was the frontier, in this direction, of the great primaeval forest characteristic of this region, which contains so many wonders in its recesses, and clothes the whole surface of the country for two thousand miles from this point to the foot of the Andes.

On the following day and night we sailed, with a light wind, partly aided by the tide, up the Pará river. Towards evening we passed Vigia and Colares, two fishing villages, and saw many native canoes, which seemed like toys beneath the lofty walls of dark forest. The air was excessively close, the sky overcast, and sheet lightning played almost incessantly around the horizon—an appropriate greeting on the threshold of a country lying close under the equator! The evening was calm, this being the season when the winds are not strong, so we glided along in a noiseless manner, which contrasted pleasantly with the unceasing turmoil to which we had been lately accustomed on the Atlantic. The immensity of the river struck us greatly, for although sailing sometimes at a distance of eight or nine miles from the eastern bank, the opposite shore was at no time visible. Indeed, the Pará river is thirty-six miles in breadth at its mouth; and at the city of Pará, nearly seventy miles from the sea, it is twenty miles wide; but at that point, a series of islands commences which contracts the riverview in front of the port.

On the morning of the 28th of May, we arrived at our destination. The appearance of the city at sunrise was pleasing in the highest degree. It is built on a low tract of land, having only one small rocky elevation at its southern extremity; it, therefore, affords no amphitheatral view from the river; but the white buildings roofed with red tiles, the numerous towers and cupolas of churches and convents, the crowns of palm-trees reared above the buildings, all sharply defined against the clear blue sky, give an appearance of lightness and cheerfulness which is most exhilarating. The perpetual forest hems the city in on all sides landwards; and towards the suburbs, picturesque country houses are seen scattered about, half buried in luxuriant foliage. The port was full of native canoes and other vessels, large and small; and the ringing of bells and firing of rockets, announcing the dawn of some Roman Catholic festival day, showed that the population was astir at that early hour.

We went ashore in due time, and were kindly received by Mr. Miller, the consignee of the vessel, who invited us to make his house our home until we could obtain a suitable residence. On landing, the hot moist mouldy air, which seemed to strike from the ground and walls, reminded me of the atmosphere of tropical stoves at Kew. In the course of the afternoon a heavy shower fell, and in the evening, the atmosphere having been cooled by the rain, we walked about a mile out of town to the residence of an American gentleman to whom our host wished to introduce us.

The impressions received during this first walk can never wholly fade from my mind. After traversing the few streets of tall, gloomy, convent-looking buildings near the port, inhabited chiefly by merchants and shopkeepers, along which idle soldiers, dressed in shabby uniforms carrying their muskets carelessly over their arms, priests, negresses with red water-jars on their heads, sad-looking Indian women carrying their naked children astride on their hips, and other samples of the motley life of the place, we passed down a long narrow street leading to the suburbs. Beyond this, our road lay across a grassy common into a picturesque lane leading to the virgin forest. The long street was inhabited by the poorer class of the population. The houses were of one story only, and had an irregular and mean appearance. The windows were without glass, having, instead, projecting lattice casements. The street was unpaved, and inches deep in loose sand. Groups of people were cooling themselves outside their doors—people of all shades in colour of skin, European, Negro and Indian, but chiefly an uncertain mixture of the three. Amongst them were several handsome women dressed in a slovenly manner, barefoot or shod in loose slippers, but wearing richly-decorated earrings, and around their necks strings of very large gold beads. They had dark expressive eyes, and remarkably rich heads of hair. It was a mere fancy, but I thought the mingled squalor, luxuriance and beauty of these women were pointedly in harmony with the rest of the scene—so striking, in the view, was the mixture of natural riches and human poverty. The houses were mostly in a dilapidated condition, and signs of indolence and neglect were visible everywhere. The wooden palings which surrounded the weed-grown gardens were strewn about and broken; hogs, goats, and ill-fed poultry wandered in and out through the gaps. But amidst all, and compensating every defect, rose the overpowering beauty of the vegetation. The massive dark crowns of shady mangos were seen everywhere amongst the dwellings, amidst fragrant blossoming orange, lemon, and many other tropical fruit trees, some in flower, others in fruit, at varying stages of ripeness. Here and there, shooting above the more dome-like and sombre trees, were the smooth columnar stems of palms, bearing aloft their magnificent crowns of finely-cut fronds. Amongst the latter the slim assai-palm was especially noticeable, growing in groups of four or five; its smooth, gently-curving stem, twenty to thirty feet high, terminating in a head of feathery foliage, inexpressibly light and elegant in outline. On the boughs of the taller and more ordinary-looking trees sat tufts of curiously- leaved parasites. Slender, woody lianas hung in festoons from the branches, or were suspended in the form of cords and ribbons; whilst luxuriant creeping plants overran alike tree-trunks, roofs and walls, or toppled over palings in a copious profusion of foliage. The superb banana (Musa paradisiaca), of which I had always read as forming one of the charms of tropical vegetation, grew here with great luxuriance—its glossy velvety-green leaves, twelve feet in length, curving over the roofs of verandahs in the rear of every house. The shape of the leaves, the varying shades of green which they present when lightly moved by the wind, and especially the contrast they afford in colour and form to the more sombre hues and more rounded outline of the other trees, are quite sufficient to account for the charm of this glorious tree. Strange forms of vegetation drew our attention at almost every step. Amongst them were the different kinds of Bromelia, or pine-apple plants, with their long, rigid, sword-shaped leaves, in some species jagged or toothed along their edges. Then there was the bread-fruit tree—an importation, it is true; but remarkable from its large, glossy, dark green, strongly digitated foliage, and its interesting history. Many other trees and plants, curious in leaf, stem, or manner of growth, grew on the borders of the thickets along which lay our road; they were all attractive to newcomers, whose last country ramble of quite recent date was over the bleak moors of Derbyshire on a sleety morning in April.

As we continued our walk the brief twilight commenced, and the sounds of multifarious life came from the vegetation around. The whirring of cicadas; the shrill stridulation of a vast number and variety of field crickets and grasshoppers, each species sounding its peculiar note; the plaintive hooting of tree frogs—all blended together in one continuous ringing sound—the audible expression of the teeming profusion of Nature. As night came on, many species of frogs and toads in the marshy places joined in the chorus—their croaking and drumming, far louder than anything I had before heard in the same line, being added to the other noises, created an almost deafening din. This uproar of life, I afterwards found, never wholly ceased, night or day. In the course of time I became, like other residents, accustomed to it. It is, however, one of the peculiarities of a tropical—at least, a Brazilian—climate which is most likely to surprise a stranger. After my return to England, the deathlike stillness of summer days in the country appeared to me as strange as the ringing uproar did on my first arrival at Pará. The object of our visit being accomplished, we returned to the city. The fire-flies were then out in great numbers, flitting about the sombre woods, and even the frequented streets. We turned into our hammocks, well pleased with what we had seen, and full of anticipation with regard to the wealth of natural objects we had come to explore.

During the first few days, we were employed in landing our baggage and arranging our extensive apparatus. We then accepted the invitation of Mr. Miller to make use of his rocinha, or country-house in the suburbs, until we finally decided on a residence. Upon this, we made our first essay in housekeeping. We bought cotton hammocks, the universal substitute for beds in this country, cooking utensils and crockery, and engaged a free negro, named Isidoro, as cook and servant-of-all-work. Our first walks were in the immediate suburbs of Pará. The city lies on a corner of land formed by the junction of the river Guam&a with the Pará. As I have said before, the forest, which covers the whole country, extends close up to the city streets; indeed, the town is built on a tract of cleared land, and is kept free from the jungle only by the constant care of the Government. The surface, though everywhere low, is slightly undulating, so that areas of dry land alternate throughout with areas of swampy ground, the vegetation and animal tenants of the two being widely different. Our residence lay on the side of the city nearest the Guamá, on the borders of one of the low and swampy areas which here extends over a portion of the suburbs. The tract of land is intersected by well-macadamised suburban roads, the chief of which, the Estrada das Mongubeiras (the Monguba road), about a mile long, is a magnificent avenue of silk-cotton trees (Bombax monguba and B. ceiba), huge trees whose trunks taper rapidly from the ground upwards, and whose flowers before opening look like red balls studding the branches. This fine road was constructed under the governorship of the Count dos Arcos, about the year 1812. At right angles to it run a number of narrow green lanes, and the whole district is drained by a system of small canals or trenches through which the tide ebbs and flows, showing the lowness of the site. Before I left the country, other enterprising presidents had formed a number of avenues lined with cocoa-nut palms, almond and other trees, in continuation of the Monguba road, over the more elevated and drier ground to the north-east of the city. On the high ground the vegetation has an aspect quite different from that which it presents in the swampy parts. Indeed, with the exception of the palm-trees, the suburbs here have an aspect like that of a village green at home. The soil is sandy, and the open commons are covered with a short grassy and shrubby vegetation. Beyond this, the land again descends to a marshy tract, where, at the bottom of the moist hollows, the public wells are situated. Here all the linen of the city is washed by hosts of noisy negresses, and here also the water-carts are filled—painted hogsheads on wheels, drawn by bullocks. In early morning, when the sun sometimes shines through a light mist, and everything is dripping with moisture, this part of the city is full of life; vociferous negroes and wrangling Gallegos,[^[1]] the proprietors of the water-carts, are gathered about, jabbering continually, and taking their morning drams in dirty wine-shops at the street corners.

[1] Natives of Galicia, in Spain, who follow this occupation in Lisbon and Oporto, as well as at Pará.

Along these beautiful roads we found much to interest us during the first few days. Suburbs of towns, and open, sunny cultivated places in Brazil, are tenanted by species of animals and plants which are mostly different from those of the dense primaeval forests. I will, therefore, give an account of what we observed of the animal world during our explorations in the immediate neighbourhood of Pará.

The number and beauty of the birds and insects did not at first equal our expectations. The majority of the birds we saw were small and obscurely coloured; they were indeed similar, in general appearance, to such as are met with in country places in England. Occasionally a flock of small parroquets, green, with a patch of yellow on the forehead, would come at early morning to the trees near the Estrada. They would feed quietly, sometimes chattering in subdued tones, but setting up a harsh scream, and flying off, on being disturbed. Humming-birds we did not see at this time, although I afterwards found them by hundreds when certain trees were in flower. Vultures we only saw at a distance, sweeping round at a great height, over the public slaughter-houses. Several flycatchers, finches, ant-thrushes, a tribe of plainly-coloured birds, intermediate in structure between flycatchers and thrushes, some of which startle the new-comer by their extraordinary notes emitted from their places of concealment in the dense thickets; and also tanagers, and other small birds, inhabited the neighbourhood. None of these had a pleasing song, except a little brown wren (Troglodytes furvus), whose voice and melody resemble those of our English robin. It is often seen hopping and climbing about the walls and roofs of houses and on trees in their vicinity. Its song is more frequently heard in the rainy season, when the Monguba trees shed their leaves. At those times the Estrada das Mongubeiras has an appearance quite unusual in a tropical country. The tree is one of the few in the Amazon region which sheds all its foliage before any of the new leaf-buds expand. The naked branches, the sodden ground matted with dead leaves, the grey mist veiling the surrounding vegetation, and the cool atmosphere soon after sunrise, all combine to remind one of autumnal mornings in England. Whilst loitering about at such times in a half-oblivious mood, thinking of home, the song of this bird would create for the moment a perfect illusion. Numbers of tanagers frequented the fruit and other trees in our garden. The two principal kinds which attracted our attention were the Rhamphocoelus Jacapa and the Tanagra Episcopus. The females of both are dull in colour, but the male of Jacapa has a beautiful velvety purple and black plumage, the beak being partly white, whilst the same sex in Episcopus is of a pale blue colour, with white spots on the wings. In their habits they both resemble the common house- sparrow of Europe, which does not exist in South America, its place being in some measure filled by these familiar tanagers. They are just as lively, restless, bold, and wary; their notes are very similar, chirping and inharmonious, and they seem to be almost as fond of the neighbourhood of man. They do not, however, build their nests on houses.

Another interesting and common bird was the Japim, a species of Cassicus (C. icteronotus). It belongs to the same family of birds as our starling, magpie, and rook—it has a rich yellow and black plumage, remarkably compact and velvety in texture. The shape of its head and its physiognomy are very similar to those of the magpie; it has light grey eyes, which give it the same knowing expression. It is social in its habits, and builds its nest, like the English rook, on trees in the neighbourhood of habitations. But the nests are quite differently constructed, being shaped like purses, two feet in length, and suspended from the slender branches all around the tree, some of them very near the ground. The entrance is on the side near the bottom of the nest. The bird is a great favourite with the Brazilians of Pará—it is a noisy, stirring, babbling creature, passing constantly to and fro, chattering to its comrades, and is very ready at imitating other birds, especially the domestic poultry of the vicinity. There was at one time a weekly newspaper published at Pará, called The Japim; the name being chosen, I suppose, on account of the babbling propensities of the bird. Its eggs are nearly round, and of a bluish-white colour, speckled with brown.

Of other vertebrate animals we saw very little, except of the lizards. These are sure to attract the attention of the newcomer from Northern Europe, by reason of their strange appearance, great numbers, and variety. The species which are seen crawling over the walls of buildings in the city are different from those found in the forest or in the interior of houses. They are unpleasant- looking animals, with colours assimilated to those of the dilapidated stone and mud walls on which they are seen. The house lizards belong to a peculiar family, the Geckos, and are found even in the best-kept chambers, most frequently on the walls and ceilings, to which they cling motionless by day, being active only at night. They are of speckled grey or ashy colours. The structure of their feet is beautifully adapted for clinging to and running over smooth surfaces; the underside of their toes being expanded into cushions, beneath which folds of skin form a series of flexible plates. By means of this apparatus they can walk or run across a smooth ceiling with their backs downwards; the plated soles, by quick muscular action, exhausting and admitting air alternately. The Geckos are very repulsive in appearance. The Brazilians give them the name of Osgas, and firmly believe them to be poisonous; they are, however, harmless creatures. Those found in houses are small; but I have seen others of great size, in crevices of tree trunks in the forest. Sometimes Geckos are found with forked tails; this results from the budding of a rudimentary tail at the side, from an injury done to the member. A slight rap will cause their tails to snap off; the loss being afterwards partially repaired by a new growth. The tails of lizards seem to be almost useless appendages to these animals. I used often to amuse myself in the suburbs, whilst resting in the verandah of our house during the heat of mid-day, by watching the variegated green, brown, and yellow ground-lizards. They would come nimbly forward, and commence grubbing with their forefeet and snouts around the roots of herbage, searching for insect larvae. On the slightest alarm, they would scamper off, their tails cocked up in the air as they waddled awkwardly away, evidently an incumbrance to them in their flight.

Next to the birds and lizards, the insects of the suburbs of Pará deserve a few remarks. The species observed in the weedy and open places, as already remarked, were generally different from those which dwell in the shades of the forest. In the gardens, numbers of fine showy butterflies were seen. There were two swallow-tailed species, similar in colours to the English Papilio Machaon; a white Pieris (P. Monuste), and two or three species of brimstone and orange coloured butterflies, which do not belong, however, to the same genus as our English species. In weedy places a beautiful butterfly, with eye-like spots on its wings was common, the Junonia Lavinia, the only Amazonian species which is at all nearly related to our Vanessas, the Admiral and Peacock Butterflies. One day, we made our first acquaintance with two of the most beautiful productions of nature in this department—namely, the Helicopis Cupido and Endymion. A little beyond our house, one of the narrow green lanes which I have already mentioned diverged from the Monguba avenue, and led, between enclosures overrun with a profusion of creeping plants and glorious flowers, down to a moist hollow, where there was a public well in a picturesque nook, buried in a grove of Mucajá palm-trees. On the tree trunks, walls, and palings, grew a great quantity of climbing Pothos plants, with large glossy heart-shaped leaves. These plants were the resort of these two exquisite species, and we captured a great number of specimens. They are of extremely delicate texture. The wings are cream-coloured, the hind pair have several tail-like appendages, and are spangled beneath as if with silver. Their flight is very slow and feeble; they seek the protected under-surface of the leaves, and in repose close their wings over the back, so as to expose the brilliantly spotted under-surface.

I will pass over the many other orders and families of insects, and proceed at once to the ants. These were in great numbers everywhere, but I will mention here only two kinds. We were amazed at seeing ants an inch and a quarter in length, and stout in proportion, marching in single file through the thickets. These belonged to the species called Dinoponera grandis. Its colonies consist of a small number of individuals, and are established about the roots of slender trees. It is a stinging species, but the sting is not so severe as in many of the smaller kinds. There was nothing peculiar or attractive in the habits of this giant amongst the ants. Another far more interesting species was the Saüba (Œcodoma cephalotes). This ant is seen everywhere about the suburbs, marching to and fro in broad columns. From its habit of despoiling the most valuable cultivated trees of their foliage, it is a great scourge to the Brazilians. In some districts it is so abundant that agriculture is almost impossible, and everywhere complaints are heard of the terrible pest.

The workers of this species are of three orders, and vary in size from two to seven lines; some idea of them may be obtained from the accompanying woodcut. The true working-class of a colony is formed by the small-sized order of workers, the worker-minors as they are called (Fig. 1). The two other kinds, whose functions, as we shall see, are not yet properly understood, have enormously swollen and massive heads; in one (Fig. 2), the head is highly polished; in the other (Fig. 3), it is opaque and hairy. The worker-minors vary greatly in size, some being double the bulk of others. The entire body is of very solid consistency, and of a pale reddish-brown colour. The thorax or middle segment is armed with three pairs of sharp spines; the head, also, has a pair of similar spines proceeding from the cheeks behind.

In our first walks we were puzzled to account for large mounds of earth, of a different colour from the surrounding soil, which were thrown up in the plantations and woods. Some of them were very extensive, being forty yards in circumference, but not more than two feet in height. We soon ascertained that these were the work of the Saübas, being the outworks, or domes, which overlie and protect the entrances to their vast subterranean galleries. On close examination, I found the earth of which they are composed to consist of very minute granules, agglomerated without cement, and forming many rows of little ridges and turrets. The difference in colour from the superficial soil of the vicinity is owing to their being formed of the undersoil, brought up from a considerable depth. It is very rarely that the ants are seen at work on these mounds; the entrances seem to be generally closed; only now and then, when some particular work is going on, are the galleries opened. The entrances are small and numerous; in the larger hillocks it would require a great amount of excavation to get at the main galleries; but, I succeeded in removing portions of the dome in smaller hillocks, and then I found that the minor entrances converged, at the depth of about two feet, into one broad, elaborately-worked gallery or mine, which was four or five inches in diameter.

This habit of the Saüba ant, of clipping and carrying away immense quantities of leaves, has long been recorded in books on natural history. When employed on this work, their processions look like a multitude of animated leaves on the march. In some places I found an accumulation of such leaves, all circular pieces, about the size of a sixpence, lying on the pathway, unattended by ants, and at some distance from any colony. Such heaps are always found to be removed when the place is revisited the next day. In course of time I had plenty of opportunities of seeing them at work. They mount the tree in multitudes, the individuals being all worker-minors. Each one places itself on the surface of a leaf, and cuts, with its sharp scissor-like jaws, a nearly semicircular incision on the upper side; it then takes the edge between its jaws, and by a sharp jerk detaches the piece. Sometimes they let the leaf drop to the ground, where a little heap accumulates, until carried off by another relay of workers; but, generally, each marches off with the piece it has operated upon, and as all take the same road to their colony, the path they follow becomes in a short time smooth and bare, looking like the impression of a cartwheel through the herbage.

It is a most interesting sight to see the vast host of busy diminutive labourers occupied on this work. Unfortunately, they choose cultivated trees for their purpose. This ant is quite peculiar to Tropical America, as is the entire genus to which it belongs; it sometimes despoils the young trees of species growing wild in its native forests, but seems to prefer, when within reach, plants imported from other countries, such as the coffee and orange trees. It has not hitherto been shown satisfactorily to what use it applies the leaves. I discovered this only after much time spent in investigation. The leaves are used to thatch the domes which cover the entrances to their subterranean dwellings, thereby protecting from the deluging rains the young broods in the nests beneath. The larger mounds, already described, are so extensive that few persons would attempt to remove them for the purpose of examining their interior; but smaller hillocks, covering other entrances to the same system of tunnels and chambers, may be found in sheltered places, and these are always thatched with leaves, mingled with granules of earth. The heavily- laden workers, each carrying its segment of leaf vertically, the lower edge secured in its mandibles, troop up and cast their burdens on the hillock; another relay of labourers place the leaves in position, covering them with a layer of earthy granules, which are brought one by one from the soil beneath.

The underground abodes of this wonderful ant are known to be very extensive. The Rev. Hamlet Clark has related that the Saüba of Rio de Janeiro, a species closely allied to ours, has excavated a tunnel under the bed of the river Paráhyba, at a place where it is broad as the Thames at London Bridge. At the Magoary Rice Mills, near Pará, these ants once pierced the embankment of a large reservoir; the great body of water which it contained escaped before the damage could be repaired. In the Botanic Gardens, at Pará, an enterprising French gardener tried all he could think of to extirpate the Saüba. With this object, he made fires over some of the main entrances to their colonies, and blew the fumes of sulphur down the galleries by means of bellows. I saw the smoke issue from a great number of outlets, one of which was seventy yards distant from the place where the bellows were used. This shows how extensively the underground galleries are ramified.

Besides injuring and destroying young trees by despoiling them of their foliage, the Saüba ant is troublesome to the inhabitants from its habit of plundering the stores of provisions in houses at night, for it is even more active by night than in the day-time. At first I was inclined to discredit the stories of their entering habitations and carrying off grain by grain the farinha or mandioca meal, the bread of the poorer classes of Brazil. At length, whilst residing at an Indian village on the Tapajos, I had ample proof of the fact. One night my servant woke me three or four hours before sunrise, by calling out that the rats were robbing the farinha baskets—the article at that time being scarce and dear. I got up, listened, and found the noise was very unlike that made by rats. So, I took the light and went into the store- room, which was close to my sleeping-place. I there found a broad column of Sauba ants, consisting of thousands of individuals, as busy as possible, passing to and fro between the door and my precious baskets. Most of those passing outwards were laden each with a grain of farinha, which was, in some cases, larger and many times heavier than the bodies of the carriers. Farinha consists of grains of similar size and appearance to the tapioca of our shops; both are products of the same root, tapioca being the pure starch, and farinha the starch mixed with woody fibre, the latter ingredient giving it a yellowish colour. It was amusing to see some of the dwarfs, the smallest members of their family, staggering along, completely hidden under their load. The baskets, which were on a high table, were entirely covered with ants, many hundreds of whom were employed in snipping the dry leaves which served as lining. This produced the rustling sound which had at first disturbed us. My servant told me that they would carry off the whole contents of the two baskets (about two bushels) in the course of the night, if they were not driven off; so we tried to exterminate them by killing them with our wooden clogs. It was impossible, however, to prevent fresh hosts coming in as fast as we killed their companions. They returned the next night; and I was then obliged to lay trains of gunpowder along their line, and blow them up. This, repeated many times, at last seemed to intimidate them, for we were free from their visits during the remainder of my residence at the place. What they did with the hard dry grains of mandioca I was never able to ascertain, and cannot even conjecture. The meal contains no gluten, and therefore would be useless as cement. It contains only a small relative portion of starch, and, when mixed with water, it separates and falls away like so much earthy matter. It may serve as food for the subterranean workers. But the young or larvae of ants are usually fed by juices secreted by the worker nurses.

Ants, it is scarcely necessary to observe, consist, in each species, of three sets of individuals, or, as some express it, of three sexes—namely, males, females, and workers; the last- mentioned being undeveloped females. The perfect sexes are winged on their first attaining the adult state; they alone propagate their kind, flying away, previous to the act of reproduction, from the nest in which they have been reared. This winged state of the perfect males and females, and the habit of flying abroad before pairing, are very important points in the economy of ants; for they are thus enabled to intercross with members of distant colonies which swarm at the same time, and thereby increase the vigour of the race, a proceeding essential to the prosperity of any species. In many ants, especially those of tropical climates, the workers, again, are of two classes, whose structure and functions are widely different. In some species they are wonderfully unlike each other, and constitute two well-defined forms of workers. In others, there is a gradation of individuals between the two extremes. The curious differences in structure and habits between these two classes form an interesting, but very difficult, study. It is one of the great peculiarities of the Saüba ant to possess three classes of workers. My investigations regarding them were far from complete; I will relate, however, what I have observed on the subject.

When engaged in leaf-cutting, plundering farinha, and other operations, two classes of workers are always seen ([Figs. 1 and 2]). They are not, it is true, very sharply defined in structure, for individuals of intermediate grades occur. All the work, however, is done by the individuals which have small heads (Fig. 1), whilst those which have enormously large heads, the worker-majors (Fig. 2), are observed to be simply walking about. I could never satisfy myself as to the function of these worker-majors. They are not the soldiers or defenders of the working portion of the community, like the armed class in the termites, or white ants, for they never fight. The species has no sting, and does not display active resistance when interfered with. I once imagined they exercised a sort of superintendence over the others; but this function is entirely unnecessary in a community where all work with a precision and regularity resembling the subordinate parts of a piece of machinery. I came to the conclusion, at last, that they have no very precisely defined function. They cannot, however, be entirely useless to the community, for the sustenance of an idle class of such bulky individuals would be too heavy a charge for the species to sustain. I think they serve, in some sort, as passive instruments of protection to the real workers. Their enormously large, hard, and indestructible heads may be of use in protecting them against the attacks of insectivorous animals. They would be, on this view, a kind of “pieces de resistance,” serving as a foil against onslaughts made on the main body of workers.

The third order of workers is the most curious of all. If the top of a small, fresh hillock, one in which the thatching process is going on, is taken off, a broad cylindrical shaft is disclosed at a depth of about two feet from the surface. If this is probed with a stick, which may be done to the extent of three or four feet without touching bottom, a small number of colossal fellows (Fig. 3) will slowly begin to make their way up the smooth sides of the mine. Their heads are of the same size as those of the class Fig. 2, but the front is clothed with hairs, instead of being polished, and they have in the middle of the forehead a twin, ocellus, or simple eye, of quite different structure from the ordinary compound eyes, on the sides of the head. This frontal eye is totally wanting in the other workers, and is not known in any other kind of ant. The apparition of these strange creatures from the cavernous depths of the mine reminded me, when I first observed them, of the Cyclopes of Homeric fable. They were not very pugnacious, as I feared they would be, and I had no difficulty in securing a few with my fingers. I never saw them under any other circumstances than those here related, and what their special functions may be I cannot divine.

The whole arrangement of a Formicarium, or ant-colony, and all the varied activity of ant-life, are directed to one main purpose—the perpetuation and dissemination of the species. Most of the labour which we see performed by the workers has for its end the sustenance and welfare of the young brood, which are helpless grubs. The true females are incapable of attending to the wants of their offspring; and it is on the poor sterile workers, who are denied all the other pleasures of maternity, that the entire care devolves. The workers are also the chief agents in carrying out the different migrations of the colonies, which are of vast importance to the dispersal and consequent prosperity of the species. The successful dé but of the winged males and females depends likewise on the workers. It is amusing to see the activity and excitement which reigns in an ant’s nest when the exodus of the winged individuals is taking place. The workers clear the roads of exit, and show the most lively interest in their departure, although it is highly improbable that any of them will return to the same colony. The swarming or exodus of the winged males and females of the Saüba ant takes place in January and February, that is, at the commencement of the rainy season. They come out in the evening in vast numbers, causing quite a commotion in the streets and lanes. They are of very large size, the female measuring no less than two-and-a-quarter inches in expanse of wing; the male is not much more than half this size. They are so eagerly preyed upon by insectivorous animals that on the morning after their flight not an individual is to be seen, a few impregnated females alone escaping the slaughter to found new colonies.

At the time of our arrival, Pará had not quite recovered from the effects of a series of revolutions, brought about by the hatred which existed between the native Brazilians and the Portuguese; the former, in the end, calling to their aid the Indian and mixed coloured population. The number of inhabitants of the city had decreased, in consequence of these disorders, from 24,500 in 1819, to 15,000 in 1848. Although the public peace had not been broken for twelve years before the date of our visit, confidence was not yet completely restored, and the Portuguese merchants and tradesmen would not trust themselves to live at their beautiful country-houses or rocinhas, which lie embosomed in the luxuriant shady gardens around the city. No progress had been made in clearing the second-growth forest which had grown over the once cultivated grounds, and now reached the end of all the suburban streets. The place had the aspect of one which had seen better days; the public buildings, including the palaces of the President and Bishop, the cathedral, the principal churches and convents, all seemed constructed on a scale of grandeur far beyond the present requirements of the city. Streets full of extensive private residences, built in the Italian style of architecture, were in a neglected condition, weeds and flourishing young trees growing from large cracks in the masonry. The large public squares were overgrown with weeds and impassable, on account of the swampy places which occupied portions of their areas. Commerce, however, was now beginning to revive, and before I left the country I saw great improvements, as I shall have to relate towards the conclusion of this narrative.

The province of which Pará is the capital, was at the time I allude to, the most extensive in the Brazilian empire, being about 1560 miles in length from east to west, and about 600 in breadth. Since that date—namely in 1853—it has been divided into two by the separation of the Upper Amazons as a distinct province. It formerly constituted a section, capitania, or governorship of the Portuguese colony. Originally it was well peopled by Indians, varying much in social condition according to their tribe, but all exhibiting the same general physical characters, which are those of the American red man, somewhat modified by long residence in an equatorial forest country. Most of the tribes are now extinct or forgotten, at least those which originally peopled the banks of the main river, their descendants having amalgamated with the white and negro immigrants:[^[2]] many still exist, however, in their original state on the Upper Amazons and most of the branch rivers. On this account, Indians in this province are far more numerous than elsewhere in Brazil, and the Indian element may be said to prevail in the mongrel population—the negro proportion being much smaller than in South Brazil.

[2] The mixed breeds which now form, probably, the greater part of the population, each have a distinguishing name. Mameluco denotes the offspring of White with Indian; Mulatto, that of White with Negro; Cafuzo, the mixture of the Indian and Negro; Curiboco, the cross between the Cafuzo and the Indian; Xibaro, that between the Cafuzo and Negro. These are seldom, however, well-demarcated, and all shades of colour exist; the names are generally applied only approximatively. The term Creole is confined to negroes born in the country. The civilised Indian is called Tapuyo or Caboclo.

The city is built on the best available site for a port of entry to the Amazons region, and must in time become a vast emporium; the northern shore of the main river, where alone a rival capital could be founded, is much more difficult of access to vessels, and is besides extremely unhealthy. Although lying so near the equator (1° 28′ S. lat.) the climate is not excessively hot. The temperature during three years only once reached 95° Fahrenheit. The greatest heat of the day, about 2 p.m., ranges generally between 89° and 94°; but on the other hand, the air is never cooler than 73°, so that a uniformly high temperature exists, and the mean of the year is 81°. North American residents say that the heat is not so oppressive as it is in summer in New York and Philadelphia. The humidity is, of course, excessive, but the rains are not so heavy and continuous in the wet season as in many other tropical climates. The country had for a long time a reputation for extreme salubrity. Since the small-pox in 1819, which attacked chiefly the Indians, no serious epidemic had visited the province. We were agreeably surprised to find no danger from exposure to the night air or residence in the low swampy lands. A few English residents, who had been established here for twenty or thirty years, looked almost as fresh in colour as if they had never left their native country. The native women, too, seemed to preserve their good looks and plump condition until late in life. I nowhere observed that early decay of appearance in Brazilian ladies, which is said to be so general in the women of North America. Up to 1848 the salubrity of Pará was quite remarkable for a city lying in the delta of a great river, in the middle of the tropics and half surrounded by swamps. It did not much longer enjoy its immunity from epidemics. In 1850 the yellow fever visited the province for the first time, and carried off in a few weeks more than four per cent of the population. One disease after another succeeded, until in 1855 cholera swept through the country and caused fearful havoc. Since then, the healthfulness of the climate has been gradually restored, and it is now fast recovering its former good reputation. Pará is free from serious endemic disorders, and was once a resort of invalids from New York and Massachusetts. The equable temperature, the perpetual verdure, the coolness of the dry season when the sun’s heat is tempered by the strong sea- breezes and the moderation of the periodical rains, make the climate one of the most enjoyable on the face of the earth.

The province is governed, like all others in the empire, by a President, as chief civil authority. At the time of our arrival he also held, exceptionally, the chief military command. This functionary, together with the head of the police administration and the judges, is nominated by the central Government at Rio Janeiro. The municipal and internal affairs are managed by a provincial assembly elected by the people. Every villa or borough throughout the province also possesses its municipal council, and in thinly-populated districts the inhabitants choose every four years a justice of the peace, who adjudicates in small disputes between neighbours. A system of popular education exists, and every village has its school of first letters, the master being paid by the government, the salary amounting to about £70, or the same sum as the priests receive. Besides common schools, a well-endowed classical seminary is maintained at Pará, to which the sons of most of the planters and traders in the interior are sent to complete their education. The province returns its quota of members every four years to the lower and upper houses of the imperial parliament. Every householder has a vote. Trial by jury has been established, the jurymen being selected from householders, no matter what their race or colour; and I have seen the white merchant, the negro husbandman, the mameluco, the mulatto, and the Indian, all sitting side by side on the same bench. Altogether the constitution of government in Brazil seems to combine happily the principles of local self-government and centralisation, and only requires a proper degree of virtue and intelligence in the people to lead the nation to great prosperity.

The province of Pará, or, as we may now say, the two provinces of Pará and the Amazons, contain an area of 800,000 square miles, the population of which is only about 230,000, or in the ratio of one person to four square miles! The country is covered with forests, and the soil is fertile in the extreme, even for a tropical country. It is intersected throughout by broad and deep navigable rivers. It is the pride of the Paráenses to call the Amazons the Mediterranean of South America. The colossal stream perhaps deserves the name, for not only have the main river and its principal tributaries an immense expanse of water bathing the shores of extensive and varied regions, but there is also throughout a system of back channels, connected with the main rivers by narrow outlets and linking together a series of lakes, some of which are fifteen, twenty, and thirty miles in length. The whole Amazons valley is thus covered by a network of navigable waters, forming a vast inland freshwater sea with endless ramifications—rather than a river.

The city of Pará was founded in 1615, and was a place of considerable importance towards the latter half of the eighteenth century, under the government of the brother of Pombal, the famous Portuguese statesman. The province was the last in Brazil to declare its independence of the mother-country and acknowledge the authority of the first emperor, Don Pedro. This was owing to the great numbers and influence of the Portuguese, and the rage of the native party was so great in consequence, that immediately after independence was proclaimed in 1823, a counter revolution broke out, during which many hundred lives were lost and much hatred engendered. The antagonism continued for many years, partial insurrections taking place when the populace thought that the immigrants from Portugal were favoured by the governors sent from the capital of the empire. At length, in 1835, a serious revolt took place which in a short time involved the entire province. It began by the assassination of the President and the leading members of the government; the struggle was severe, and the native party in an evil hour called to their aid the ignorant and fanatic part of the mongrel and Indian population. The cry of death to the Portuguese was soon changed to death to the freemasons, then a powerfully organised society embracing the greater part of the male white inhabitants. The victorious native party endeavoured to establish a government of their own. After this state of things had endured six months, they accepted a new President sent from Rio Janeiro, who, however, again irritated them by imprisoning their favourite leader, Vinagre. The revenge which followed was frightful. A vast host of half- savage coloured people assembled in the retired creeks behind Pará, and on a day fixed, after Vinagre’s brother had sent a message three times to the President demanding, in vain, the release of their leader, the whole body poured into the city through the gloomy pathways of the forest which encircles it. A cruel battle, lasting nine days, was fought in the streets; an English, French, and Portuguese man-of-war, from the side of the river, assisting the legal authorities. All the latter, however, together with every friend of peace and order, were finally obliged to retire to an island a few miles distant. The city and province were given up to anarchy; the coloured people, elated with victory, proclaimed the slaughter of all whites, except the English, French, and American residents. The mistaken principals who had first aroused all this hatred of races were obliged now to make their escape. In the interior, the supporters of lawful authority including, it must be stated, whole tribes of friendly Indians and numbers of the better disposed negroes and mulattos, concentrated themselves in certain strong positions and defended themselves, until the reconquest of the capital and large towns of the interior in 1836 by a force sent from Rio Janeiro—after ten months of anarchy.

Years of conciliatory government, the lesson learned by the native party and the moderation of the Portuguese, aided by the indolence and passive goodness of the Paráenses of all classes and colours, were only beginning to produce their good effects about the time I am speaking of. Life, however, was now and had been for some time quite safe throughout the country. Some few of the worst characters had been transported or imprisoned, and the remainder, after being pardoned, were converted once more into quiet and peaceable citizens.

I resided at Pará nearly a year and a half altogether, returning thither and making a stay of a few months after each of my shorter excursions into the interior, until the 6th of November, 1851, when I started on my long voyage to the Tapajos and the Upper Amazons, which occupied me seven years and a half. I became during this time tolerably familiar with the capital of the Amazons region, and its inhabitants. Compared with other Brazilian seaport towns, I was always told, Pará shone to great advantage. It was cleaner, the suburbs were fresher, more rural and much pleasanter on account of their verdure, shade, and magnificent vegetation. The people were simpler, more peaceable and friendly in their manners and dispositions; and assassinations, which give the southern provinces so ill a reputation, were almost unknown. At the same time the Pará people were much inferior to Southern Brazilians in energy and industry. Provisions and house rents being cheap and the wants of the people few—for they were content with food and lodging of a quality which would be spurned by paupers in England—they spent the greater part of their time in sensual indulgences and in amusements which the government and wealthier citizens provided for them gratis. The trade, wholesale and retail, was in the hands of the Portuguese, of whom there were about 2500 in the place. Many handicrafts were exercised by coloured people, mulattos, mamelucos, free negroes, and Indians. The better sort of Brazilians dislike the petty details of shop-keeping, and if they cannot be wholesale merchants, prefer the life of planters in the country, however small may be the estate and the gains. The negroes constituted the class of field-labourers and porters; Indians were universally the watermen, and formed the crews of the numberless canoes of all sizes and shapes which traded between Pará and the interior. The educated Brazilians, not many of whom are of pure Caucasian descent—for the immigration of Portuguese, for many years, has been almost exclusively of the male sex—are courteous, lively, and intelligent people. They were gradually weaning themselves of the ignorant, bigoted notions which they inherited from their Portuguese ancestors, especially those entertained with regard to the treatment of women. Formerly, the Portuguese would not allow their wives to go into society, or their daughters to learn reading and writing. In 1848, Brazilian ladies were only just beginning to emerge from this inferior position, and Brazilian fathers were opening their eyes to the advantages of education for their daughters. Reforms of this kind are slow. It is, perhaps, in part owing to the degrading position always held by women, that the relations between the sexes were, and are still, on so unsatisfactory a footing, and private morality at so low an ebb, in Brazil. In Pará, I believe that an improvement is now taking place, but formerly promiscuous intercourse seemed to be the general rule amongst all classes, and intrigues and love-making the serious business of the greater part of the population. That this state of things is a necessity depending on the climate and institutions I do not believe, as I have resided at small towns in the interior, where the habits, and the general standard of morality of the inhabitants, were as pure as they are in similar places in England.

Chapter II.
PARÁ

The Swampy Forests of Pará — A Portuguese Landed Proprietor — Country House at Nazareth — Life of a Naturalist under the Equator — The drier Virgin Forests —Magoary — Retired Creeks — Aborigines.

After having resided about a fortnight at Mr. Miller’s rocinha, we heard of another similar country-house to be let, much better situated for our purpose, in the village of Nazareth, a mile and a half from the city and close to the forest. The owner was an old Portuguese gentleman named Danin, who lived at his tile manufactory at the mouth of the Una, a small river lying two miles below Pará. We resolved to walk to his place through the forest, a distance of three miles, although the road was said to be scarcely passable at this season of the year, and the Una much more easily accessible by boat. We were glad, however, of this early opportunity of traversing the rich swampy forest which we had admired so much from the deck of the ship; so, about eleven o’clock one sunny morning, after procuring the necessary information about the road, we set off in that direction. This part of the forest afterwards became one of my best hunting-grounds. I will narrate the incidents of the walk, giving my first impressions and some remarks on the wonderful vegetation. The forest is very similar on most of the low lands, and therefore, one description will do for all.

On leaving the town we walked along a straight, suburban road constructed above the level of the surrounding land. It had low swampy ground on each side, built upon, however, and containing several spacious rocinhas which were embowered in magnificent foliage. Leaving the last of these, we arrived at a part where the lofty forest towered up like a wall five or six yards from the edge of the path to the height of, probably, a hundred feet. The tree trunks were only seen partially here and there, nearly the whole frontage from ground to summit being covered with a diversified drapery of creeping plants, all of the most vivid shades of green; scarcely a flower to be seen, except in some places a solitary scarlet passion-flower set in the green mantle like a star. The low ground on the borders between the forest wall and the road was encumbered with a tangled mass of bushy and shrubby vegetation, amongst which prickly mimosas were very numerous, covering the other bushes in the same way as brambles do in England. Other dwarf mimosas trailed along the ground close to the edge of the road, shrinking at the slightest touch of the feet as we passed by. Cassia trees, with their elegant pinnate foliage and conspicuous yellow flowers, formed a great proportion of the lower trees, and arborescent arums grew in groups around the swampy hollows. Over the whole fluttered a larger number of brilliantly-coloured butterflies than we had yet seen; some wholly orange or yellow (Callidryas), others with excessively elongated wings, sailing horizontally through the air, coloured black, and varied with blue, red, and yellow (Heliconii). One magnificent grassy-green species (Colænis Dido) especially attracted our attention. Near the ground hovered many other smaller species very similar in appearance to those found at home, attracted by the flowers of numerous leguminous and other shrubs. Besides butterflies, there were few other insects except dragonflies, which were in great numbers, similar in shape to English species, but some of them looking conspicuously different on account of their fiery red colours.

After stopping repeatedly to examine and admire, we at length walked onward. The road then ascended slightly, and the soil and vegetation became suddenly altered in character. The shrubs here were grasses, low sedges and other plants, smaller in foliage than those growing in moist grounds. The forest was second growth, low, consisting of trees which had the general aspect of laurels and other evergreens in our gardens at home—the leaves glossy and dark green. Some of them were elegantly veined and hairy (Melastomæ), whilst many, scattered amongst the rest, had smaller foliage (Myrtles), but these were not sufficient to subtract much from the general character of the whole.

The sun, now, for we had loitered long on the road, was exceedingly powerful. The day was most brilliant; the sky without a cloud. In fact, it was one of those glorious days which announce the commencement of the dry season. The radiation of heat from the sandy ground was visible by the quivering motion of the air above it. We saw or heard no mammals or birds; a few cattle belonging to an estate down a shady lane were congregated, panting, under a cluster of wide-spreading trees. The very soil was hot to our feet, and we hastened onward to the shade of the forest which we could see not far ahead. At length, on entering it, what a relief! We found ourselves in a moderately broad pathway or alley, where the branches of the trees crossed overhead and produced a delightful shade. The woods were at first of recent growth, dense, and utterly impenetrable; the ground, instead of being clothed with grass and shrubs as in the woods of Europe, was everywhere carpeted with Lycopodiums (fern-shaped mosses). Gradually the scene became changed. We descended slightly from an elevated, dry, and sandy area to a low and swampy one; a cool air breathed on our faces, and a mouldy smell of rotting vegetation greeted us. The trees were now taller, the underwood less dense, and we could obtain glimpses into the wilderness on all sides. The leafy crowns of the trees, scarcely two of which could be seen together of the same kind, were now far away above us, in another world as it were. We could only see at times, where there was a break above, the tracery of the foliage against the clear blue sky. Sometimes the leaves were palmate, or of the shape of large outstretched hands; at others, finely cut or feathery, like the leaves of Mimosæ. Below, the tree trunks were everywhere linked together by sipós; the woody, flexible stems of climbing and creeping trees, whose foliage is far away above, mingled with that of the taller independent trees. Some were twisted in strands like cables, others had thick stems contorted in every variety of shape, entwining snake-like round the tree trunks, or forming gigantic loops and coils amongst the larger branches; others, again, were of zigzag shape, or indented like the steps of a staircase, sweeping from the ground to a giddy height.

It interested me much afterwards to find that these climbing trees do not form any particular family. There is no distinct group of plants whose special habit is to climb, but species of many and the most diverse families, the bulk of whose members are not climbers, seem to have been driven by circumstances to adopt this habit. There is even a climbing genus of palms (Desmoncus), the species of which are called, in the Tupi language, Jacitára. These have slender, thickly-spined, and flexuous stems, which twine about the taller trees from one to the other, and grow to an incredible length. The leaves, which have the ordinary pinnate shape characteristic of the family, are emitted from the stems at long intervals, instead of being collected into a dense crown, and have at their tips a number of long recurved spines. These structures are excellent contrivances to enable the trees to secure themselves by in climbing, but they are a great nuisance to the traveller, for they sometimes hang over the pathway and catch the hat or clothes, dragging off the one or tearing the other as he passes. The number and variety of climbing trees in the Amazons forests are interesting, taken in connection with the fact of the very general tendency of the animals, also, to become climbers.

All the Amazonian, and in fact all South American, monkeys are climbers. There is no group answering to the baboons of the Old World, which live on the ground. The Gallinaceous birds of the country, the representatives of the fowls and pheasants of Asia and Africa, are all adapted by the position of the toes to perch on trees, and it is only on trees, at a great height, that they are to be seen. A genus of Plantigrade Carnivora, allied to the bears (Cercoleptes), found only in the Amazonian forests, is entirely arboreal, and has a long flexible tail like that of certain monkeys. Many other similar instances could be enumerated, but I will mention only the Geodephaga, or carnivorous ground beetles, a great proportion of whose genera and species in these forest regions are, by the structure of their feet, fitted to live exclusively on the branches and leaves of trees.

Many of the woody lianas suspended from trees are not climbers, but the air-roots of epiphytous plants (Aroideæ), which sit on the stronger boughs of the trees above and hang down straight as plumb-lines. Some are suspended singly, others in clusters; some reach halfway to the ground and others touch it, striking their rootlets into the earth. The underwood in this part of the forest was composed partly of younger trees of the same species as their taller neighbours, and partly of palms of many species, some of them twenty to thirty feet in height, others small and delicate, with stems no thicker than a finger. These latter (different kinds of Bactris) bore small bunches of fruit, red or black, often containing a sweet, grape-like juice.

Further on, the ground became more swampy and we had some difficulty in picking our way. The wild banana (Urania Amazonica) here began to appear, and, as it grew in masses, imparted a new aspect to the scene. The leaves of this beautiful plant are like broad-sword blades, eight feet in length and a foot broad; they rise straight upwards, alternately, from the top of a stem five or six feet high. Numerous kinds of plants with leaves similar in shape to these but smaller clothed the ground. Amongst them were species of Marantaceæ, some of which had broad glossy leaves, with long leaf-stalks radiating from joints in a reed-like stem. The trunks of the trees were clothed with climbing ferns, and Pothos plants with large, fleshy, heart-shaped leaves. Bamboos and other tall grass and reed-like plants arched over the pathway. The appearance of this part of the forest was strange in the extreme; description can convey no adequate idea of it. The reader who has visited Kew may form some notion by conceiving a vegetation like that in the great palm-house, spread over a large tract of swampy ground, but he must fancy it mingled with large exogenous trees similar to our oaks and elms covered with creepers and parasites, and figure to himself the ground encumbered with fallen and rotting trunks, branches, and leaves; the whole illuminated by a glowing vertical sun, and reeking with moisture.

At length we emerged from the forest, on the banks of the Una, near its mouth. It was here about one hundred yards wide. The residence of Senhor Danin stood on the opposite shore; a large building, whitewashed and red-tiled as usual, raised on wooden piles above the humid ground. The second story was the part occupied by the family, and along it was an open verandah, where people, both male and female, were at work. Below were several negroes employed carrying clay on their heads. We called out for a boat, and one of them crossed over to fetch us. Senhor Danin received us with the usual formal politeness of the Portuguese, he spoke English very well, and after we had arranged our business, we remained conversing with him on various subjects connected with the country. Like all employers in this province, he was full of one topic—the scarcity of hands. It appeared that he had made great exertions to introduce white labour, but had failed, after having brought numbers of men from Portugal and other countries under engagement to work for him. They all left him one by one soon after their arrival. The abundance of unoccupied land, the liberty that exists, a state of things produced by the half-wild canoe-life of the people, and the case with which a mere subsistence can be obtained with moderate work, tempt even the best-disposed to quit regular labour as soon as they can. He complained also of the dearness of slaves, owing to the prohibition of the African traffic, telling us that formerly a slave could be bought for 120 dollars, whereas they are now difficult to procure at 400 dollars.

Mr. Danin told us that he had travelled in England and the United States, and that he had now two sons completing their education in those countries. I afterwards met with many enterprising persons of Mr. Danin’s order, both Brazilians and Portuguese; their great ambition is to make a voyage to Europe or North America, and to send their sons to be educated there. The land on which his establishment is built, he told us, was an artificial embankment on the swamp; the end of the house was built on a projecting point overlooking the river, so that a good view was obtained, from the sitting-rooms, of the city and the shipping. We learned there was formerly a large and flourishing cattle estate on this spot, with an open grassy space like a park. On Sundays, gay parties of forty or fifty persons used to come by land and water, in carriages and gay galliotas, to spend the day with the hospitable owner. Since the political disorders which I have already mentioned, decay had come upon this as on most other large establishments in the country. The cultivated grounds, and the roads leading to them, were now entirely overgrown with dense forest. When we were ready to depart, Senhor Danin lent a canoe and two negroes to take us to the city, where we arrived in the evening after a day rich in new experiences.

Shortly afterwards, we took possession of our new residence. The house was a square building, consisting of four equal-sized rooms; the tiled roof projected all round, so as to form a broad verandah, cool and pleasant to sit and work in. The cultivated ground, which appeared as if newly cleared from the forest, was planted with fruit trees and small plots of coffee and mandioca. The entrance to the grounds was by an iron-grille gateway from a grassy square, around which were built the few houses and palm-thatched huts which then constituted the village. The most important building was the chapel of our Lady of Nazareth, which stood opposite our place. The saint here enshrined was a great favourite with all orthodox Paráenses, who attributed to her the performance of many miracles. The image was to be seen on the altar, a handsome doll about four feet high, wearing a silver crown and a garment of blue silk, studded with golden stars. In and about the chapel were the offerings that had been made to her, proofs of the miracles which she had performed. There were models of legs, arms, breasts, and so forth, which she had cured. But most curious of all was a ship’s boat, deposited here by the crew of a Portuguese vessel which had foundered, a year or two before our arrival, in a squall off Cayenne; part of them having been saved in the boat, after invoking the protection of the saint here enshrined. The annual festival in honour of our Lady of Nazareth is the greatest of the Pará holidays; many persons come to it from the neighbouring city of Maranham, 300 miles distant. Once the President ordered the mail steamer to be delayed two days at Pará for the convenience of these visitors. The popularity of the festival is partly owing to the beautiful weather that prevails when it takes place, namely, in the middle of the fine season, on the ten days preceding the full moon in October or November. Pará is then seen at its best. The weather is not too dry, for three weeks never follow in succession without a shower; so that all the glory of verdure and flowers can be enjoyed with clear skies. The moonlit nights are then especially beautiful, the atmosphere is transparently clear, and the light sea-breeze produces an agreeable coolness.

We now settled ourselves for a few months’ regular work. We had the forest on three sides of us; it was the end of the wet season; most species of birds had finished moulting, and every day the insects increased in number and variety. Behind the rocinha, after several days’ exploration, I found a series of pathways through the woods, which led to the Una road; about half way was the house in which the celebrated travellers Spix and Martius resided during their stay at Pará, in 1819. It was now in a neglected condition, and the plantations were overgrown with bushes. The paths hereabout were very productive of insects, and being entirely under shade, were very pleasant for strolling. Close to our doors began the main forest road. It was broad enough for two horsemen abreast, and branched off in three directions; the main line going to the village of Ourem, a distance of fifty miles. This road formerly extended to Maranham, but it had been long in disuse and was now grown up, being scarcely passable between Pará and Ourem.

Our researches were made in various directions along these paths, and every day produced us a number of new and interesting species. Collecting, preparing our specimens, and making notes, kept us well occupied. One day was so much like another, that a general description of the diurnal round of incidents, including the sequence of natural phenomena, will be sufficient to give an idea of how days pass to naturalists under the equator.

We used to rise soon after dawn, when Isidoro would go down to the city, after supplying us with a cup of coffee, to purchase the fresh provisions for the day. The two hours before breakfast were devoted to ornithology. At that early period of the day the sky was invariably cloudless (the thermometer marking 72° or 73° Fahr.); the heavy dew or the previous night’s rain, which lay on the moist foliage, becoming quickly dissipated by the glowing sun, which rising straight out of the east, mounted rapidly towards the zenith. All nature was fresh, new leaf and flower-buds expanding rapidly. Some mornings a single tree would appear in flower amidst what was the preceding evening a uniform green mass of forest—a dome of blossom suddenly created as if by magic. The birds were all active; from the wild-fruit trees, not far off, we often heard the shrill yelping of the Toucans (Ramphastos vitellinus). Small flocks of parrots flew over on most mornings, at a great height, appearing in distinct relief against the blue sky, always two-by-two chattering to each other, the pairs being separated by regular intervals; their bright colours, however, were not apparent at that height. After breakfast we devoted the hours from 10 a.m. to 2 or 3 p.m. to entomology; the best time for insects in the forest being a little before the greatest heat of the day.

The heat increased rapidly towards two o’clock (92° and 93° Fahr.), by which time every voice of bird or mammal was hushed; only in the trees was heard at intervals the harsh whirr of a cicada. The leaves, which were so moist and fresh in early morning, now become lax and drooping; the flowers shed their petals. Our neighbours, the Indian and Mulatto inhabitants of the open palm-thatched huts, as we returned home fatigued with our ramble, were either asleep in their hammocks or seated on mats in the shade, too languid even to talk. On most days in June and July a heavy shower would fall some time in the afternoon, producing a most welcome coolness. The approach of the rain-clouds was after a uniform fashion very interesting to observe. First, the cool sea-breeze, which commenced to blow about ten o’clock, and which had increased in force with the increasing power of the sun, would flag and finally die away. The heat and electric tension of the atmosphere would then become almost insupportable. Languor and uneasiness would seize on every one, even the denizens of the forest, betraying it by their motions. White clouds would appear in the cast and gather into cumuli, with an increasing blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon would become almost suddenly black, and this would spread upwards, the sun at length becoming obscured. Then the rush of a mighty wind is heard through the forest, swaying the tree-tops; a vivid flash of lightning bursts forth, then a crash of thunder, and down streams the deluging rain. Such storms soon cease, leaving bluish-black, motionless clouds in the sky until night. Meantime all nature is refreshed; but heaps of flower-petals and fallen leaves are seen under the trees. Towards evening life revives again, and the ringing uproar is resumed from bush and tree. The following morning the sun again rises in a cloudless sky, and so the cycle is completed; spring, summer, and autumn, as it were, in one tropical day. The days are more or less like this throughout the year in this country. A little difference exists between the dry and wet seasons; but generally, the dry season, which lasts from July to December, is varied with showers, and the wet, from January to June, with sunny days. It results from this, that the periodical phenomena of plants and animals do not take place at about the same time in all species, or in the individuals of any given species, as they do in temperate countries. Of course there is no hybernation; nor, as the dry season is not excessive, is there any summer torpidity as in some tropical countries. Plants do not flower or shed their leaves, nor do birds moult, pair, or breed simultaneously. In Europe, a woodland scene has its spring, its summer, its autumn, and its winter aspects. In the equatorial forests the aspect is the same or nearly so every day in the year: budding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf shedding are always going on in one species or other. The activity of birds and insects proceeds without interruption, each species having its own separate times; the colonies of wasps, for instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold climates; but the succession of generations and colonies goes on incessantly. It is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day is a combination of all three. With the day and night always of equal length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutralising themselves before each succeeding morn; with the sun in its course proceeding midway across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or three degrees throughout the year—how grand in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of Nature under the equator!

Our evenings were generally fully employed preserving our collections, and making notes. We dined at four, and took tea about seven o’clock. Sometimes we walked to the city to see Brazilian life or enjoy the pleasures of European and American society. And so the time passed away from June 15th to August 26th. During this period we made two excursions of greater length to the rice and saw-mills of Magoary, an establishment owned by an American gentleman, Mr. Upton, situated on the banks of a creek in the heart of the forest, about twelve miles from Pará. I will narrate some of the incidents of these excursions, and give an account of the more interesting observations made on the Natural History and inhabitants of these interior creeks and forests.

Our first trip to the mills was by land. The creek on whose banks they stand, the Iritirí, communicates with the river Pará, through another larger creek, the Magoary; so that there is a passage by water; but this is about twenty miles round. We started at sunrise, taking Isidoro with us. The road plunged at once into the forest after leaving Nazareth, so that in a few minutes we were enveloped in shade. For some distance the woods were of second growth, the original forest near the town having been formerly cleared or thinned. They were dense and impenetrable on account of the close growth of the young trees and the mass of thorny shrubs and creepers. These thickets swarmed with ants and ant-thrushes; they were also frequented by a species of puff-throated manikin, a little bird which flies occasionally across the road, emitting a strange noise, made, I believe, with its wings, and resembling the clatter of a small wooden rattle.

A mile or a mile and a half further on, the character of the woods began to change, and we then found ourselves in the primæval forest. The appearance was greatly different from that of the swampy tract I have already described. The land was rather more elevated and undulating; the many swamp plants with their long and broad leaves were wanting, and there was less underwood, although the trees were wider apart. Through this wilderness the road continued for seven or eight miles. The same unbroken forest extends all the way to Maranham and in other directions, as we were told, a distance of about 300 miles southward and eastward of Pará. In almost every hollow part the road was crossed by a brook, whose cold, dark, leaf-stained waters were bridged over by tree trunks. The ground was carpeted, as usual, by Lycopodiums, but it was also encumbered with masses of vegetable débris and a thick coating of dead leaves. Fruits of many kinds were scattered about, amongst which were many sorts of beans, some of the pods a foot long, flat and leathery in texture, others hard as stone. In one place there was a quantity of large empty wooden vessels, which Isidoro told us fell from the Sapucaya tree. They are called Monkey’s drinking-cups (Cuyas de Macaco), and are the capsules which contain the nuts sold under the name just mentioned, in Covent Garden Market. At the top of the vessel is a circular hole, in which a natural lid fits neatly. When the nuts are ripe this lid becomes loosened and the heavy cup falls with a crash, scattering the nuts over the ground. The tree which yields the nut (Lecythis ollaria), is of immense height. It is closely allied to the Brazil-nut tree (Bertholletia excelsa), whose seeds are also enclosed in large woody vessels; but these have no lid, and fall to the ground intact. This is the reason why the one kind of nut is so much dearer than the other. The Sapucaya is not less abundant, probably, than the Bertholletia, but its nuts in falling are scattered about and eaten by wild animals; whilst the full, whole capsules of Brazil-nuts are collected by the natives.

What attracted us chiefly were the colossal trees. The general run of trees had not remarkably thick stems; the great and uniform height to which they grow without emitting a branch, was a much more noticeable feature than their thickness; but at intervals of a furlong or so a veritable giant towered up. Only one of these monstrous trees can grow within a given space; it monopolises the domain, and none but individuals of much inferior size can find a footing near it. The cylindrical trunks of these larger trees were generally about twenty to twenty-five feet in circumference. Von Martius mentions having measured trees in the Pará district belonging to various species (Symphonia coccinea, Lecythis sp. and Cratæva Tapia), which were fifty to sixty feet in girth at the point where they become cylindrical. The height of the vast column-like stems could not be less than 100 feet from the ground to their lowest branch. Mr. Leavens, at the sawmills, told me they frequently squared logs for sawing a hundred feet long, of the Pao d’Arco and the Massaranduba. The total height of these trees, stem and crown together, may be estimated at from 180 to 200 feet; where one of them stands, the vast dome of foliage rises above the other forest trees as a domed cathedral does above the other buildings in a city.

A very remarkable feature in these trees is the growth of buttress-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems. The spaces between these buttresses, which are generally thin walls of wood, form spacious chambers, and may be compared to stalls in a stable; some of them are large enough to hold a half-dozen persons. The purpose of these structures is as obvious, at the first glance, as that of the similar props of brickwork which support a high wall. They are not peculiar to one species, but are common to most of the larger forest trees. Their nature and manner of growth are explained when a series of young trees of different ages is examined. It is then seen that they are the roots which have raised themselves ridge-like out of the earth; growing gradually upwards as the increasing height of the tree required augmented support. Thus, they are plainly intended to sustain the massive crown and trunk in these crowded forests, where lateral growth of the roots in the earth is rendered difficult by the multitude of competitors.

The other grand forest trees whose native names we learned, were the Moira-tinga (the White or King-tree), probably the same as, or allied to, the Mora Excelsa, which Sir Robert Schomburgh discovered in British Guiana; the Samauma (Eriodendron Samauma) and the Massaranduba, or Cow-tree. The last-mentioned is the most remarkable. We had already heard a good deal about this tree, and about its producing from its bark a copious supply of milk as pleasant to drink as that of the cow. We had also eaten its fruit in Pará, where it is sold in the streets by negro market women; and had heard a good deal of the durableness in water of its timber. We were glad, therefore, to see this wonderful tree growing in its native wilds. It is one of the largest of the forest monarchs, and is peculiar in appearance on account of its deeply-scored reddish and ragged bark. A decoction of the bark, I was told, is used as a red dye for cloth. A few days afterwards we tasted its milk, which was drawn from dry logs that had been standing many days in the hot sun, at the saw-mills. It was pleasant with coffee, but had a slight rankness when drunk pure; it soon thickens to a glue, which is excessively tenacious, and is often used to cement broken crockery. I was told that it was not safe to drink much of it, for a slave had recently nearly lost his life through taking it too freely.

In some parts of the road ferns were conspicuous objects. But I afterwards found them much more numerous on the Maranham road, especially in one place where the whole forest glade formed a vast fernery; the ground was covered with terrestrial species, and the tree trunks clothed with climbing and epiphytous kinds. I saw no tree ferns in the Pará district; they belong to hilly regions; some occur, however, on the Upper Amazons.

Such were the principal features in the vegetation of the wilderness; but where were the flowers? To our great disappointment we saw none, or only such as were insignificant in appearance. Orchids are very rare in the dense forests of the low lands. I believe it is now tolerably well ascertained that the majority of forest trees in equatorial Brazil have small and inconspicuous flowers. Flower-frequenting insects are also rare in the forest. Of course they would not be found where their favourite food was wanting, but I always noticed that even where flowers occurred in the forest, few or no insects were seen upon them. In the open country or campos of Santarem on the Lower Amazons, flowering trees and bushes are more abundant, and there a large number of floral insects are attracted. The forest bees of South America belonging to the genera Melipona and Euglossa are more frequently seen feeding on the sweet sap which exudes from the trees or on the excrement of birds on leaves, rather than on flowers.

We were disappointed also in not meeting with any of the larger animals in the forest. There was no tumultuous movement, or sound of life. We did not see or hear monkeys, and no tapir or jaguar crossed our path. Birds, also, appeared to be exceedingly scarce. We heard, however, occasionally, the long-drawn, wailing note of the Inambu, a kind of partridge (Crypturus cinereus?); and, also, in the hollows on the banks, of the rivulets, the noisy notes of another bird, which seemed to go in pairs, amongst the tree-tops, calling to each other as they went. These notes resounded through the wilderness. Another solitary bird had a most sweet and melancholy song; it consisted simply of a few notes, uttered in a plaintive key, commencing high, and descending by harmonic intervals. It was probably a species of warbler of the genus Trichas. All these notes of birds are very striking and characteristic of the forest.

I afterwards saw reason to modify my opinion, founded on these first impressions, with regard to the amount and variety of animal life in this and other parts of the Amazonian forests. There is, in fact, a great variety of mammals, birds, and reptiles, but they are widely scattered, and all excessively shy of man. The region is so extensive, and uniform in the forest clothing of its surface, that it is only at long intervals that animals are seen in abundance when some particular spot is found which is more attractive than others. Brazil, moreover, is poor throughout in terrestrial mammals, and the species are of small size; they do not, therefore, form a conspicuous feature in its forests. The huntsman would be disappointed who expected to find here flocks of animals similar to the buffalo herds of North America, or the swarms of antelopes and herds of ponderous pachyderms of Southern Africa. The largest and most interesting portion of the Brazilian mammal fauna is arboreal in its habits; this feature of the animal denizens of these forests I have already alluded to. The most intensely arboreal animals in the world are the South American monkeys of the family Cebidæ, many of which have a fifth hand for climbing in their prehensile tails, adapted for this function by their strong muscular development, and the naked palms under their tips. This seems to teach us that the South American fauna has been slowly adapted to a forest life, and, therefore, that extensive forests must have always existed since the region was first peopled by mammalia. But to this subject, and to the natural history of the monkeys, of which thirty-eight species inhabit the Amazon region, I shall have to return.

We often read, in books of travels, of the silence and gloom of the Brazilian forests. They are realities, and the impression deepens on a longer acquaintance. The few sounds of birds are of that pensive or mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of solitude rather than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes, in the midst of the stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one; this comes from some defenseless fruit-eating animal, which is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa-constrictor. Morning and evening the howling monkeys make a most fearful and harrowing noise, under which it is difficult to keep up one’s buoyancy of spirit. The feeling of inhospitable wildness, which the forest is calculated to inspire, is increased tenfold under this fearful uproar. Often, even in the still hours of midday, a sudden crash will be heard resounding afar through the wilderness, as some great bough or entire tree falls to the ground. There are, besides, many sounds which it is impossible to account for. I found the natives generally as much at a loss in this respect as myself. Sometimes a sound is heard like the clang of an iron bar against a hard, hollow tree, or a piercing cry rends the air; these are not repeated, and the succeeding silence tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they make on the mind. With the native it is always the Curupíra, the wild man or spirit of the forest, which produces all noises they are unable to explain. For myths are the rude theories which mankind, in the infancy of knowledge, invent to explain natural phenomena. The Curupíra is a mysterious being, whose attributes are uncertain, for they vary according to locality. Sometimes he is described as a kind of orang-otang, being covered with long, shaggy hair, and living in trees. At others, he is said to have cloven feet and a bright red face. He has a wife and children, and sometimes comes down to the roças to steal the mandioca. At one time I had a Mameluco youth in my service, whose head was full of the legends and superstitions of the country. He always went with me into the forest; in fact, I could not get him to go alone, and whenever we heard any of the strange noises mentioned above, he used to tremble with fear. He would crouch down behind me, and beg of me to turn back; his alarm ceasing only after he had made a charm to protect us from the Curupíra. For this purpose, he took a young palm leaf, plaited it, and formed it into a ring, which he hung to a branch on our track.

At length, after a six hours’ walk, we arrived at our destination, the last mile or two having been again through second-growth forest. The mills formed a large pile of buildings, pleasantly situated in a cleared tract of land, many acres in extent, and everywhere surrounded by the perpetual forest. We were received in the kindest manner by the overseer, Mr. Leavens, who showed us all that was interesting about the place, and took us to the best spots in the neighbourhood for birds and insects. The mills were built a long time ago by a wealthy Brazilian. They had belonged to Mr. Upton for many years. I was told that when the dark-skinned revolutionists were preparing for their attack on Pará, they occupied the place, but not the slightest injury was done to the machinery or building, for the leaders said it was against the Portuguese and their party that they were at war, not against the other foreigners.

The creek Iritirí at the mills is only a few yards wide; it winds about between two lofty walls of forest for some distance, then becomes much broader, and finally joins the Magoary. There are many other ramifications, creeks or channels, which lead to retired hamlets and scattered houses, inhabited by people of mixed white, Indian, and negro descent. Many of them did business with Mr. Leavens, bringing for sale their little harvests of rice, or a few logs of timber. It was interesting to see them in their little, heavily-laden montarias. Sometimes the boats were managed by handsome, healthy young lads, loosely clad in a straw hat, white shirt, and dark blue trousers, turned up to the knee. They steered, paddled, and managed the varejao (the boating pole), with much grace and dexterity.

We made many excursions down the Iritirí, and saw much of these creeks; besides, our second visit to the mills was by water. The Magoary is a magnificent channel; the different branches form quite a labyrinth, and the land is everywhere of little elevation. All these smaller rivers, throughout the Pará Estuary, are of the nature of creeks. The land is so level, that the short local rivers have no sources and downward currents like rivers as we generally understand them. They serve the purpose of draining the land, but instead of having a constant current one way, they have a regular ebb and flow with the tide. The natives call them, in the Tupí language, Igarapés, or canoe-paths. The igarapés and furos or channels, which are infinite in number in this great river delta, are characteristic of the country. The land is everywhere covered with impenetrable forests; the houses and villages are all on the waterside, and nearly all communication is by water. This semi-aquatic life of the people is one of the most interesting features of the country. For short excursions, and for fishing in still waters, a small boat, called montaria, is universally used. It is made of five planks; a broad one for the bottom, bent into the proper shape by the action of heat, two narrow ones for the sides, and two small triangular pieces for stem and stern. It has no rudder; the paddle serves for both steering and propelling. The montaria takes here the place of the horse, mule, or camel of other regions. Besides one or more montarias, almost every family has a larger canoe, called Igarité. This is fitted with two masts, a rudder, and keel, and has an arched awning or cabin near the stern, made of a framework of tough lianas thatched with palm leaves. In the igarité they will cross stormy rivers fifteen or twenty miles broad. The natives are all boat-builders. It is often remarked, by white residents, that an Indian is a carpenter and shipwright by intuition. It is astonishing to see in what crazy vessels these people will risk themselves. I have seen Indians cross rivers in a leaky montaria, when it required the nicest equilibrium to keep the leak just above water; a movement of a hair’s breadth would send all to the bottom, but they managed to cross in safety. They are especially careful when they have strangers under their charge, and it is the custom of Brazilian and Portuguese travellers to leave the whole management to them. When they are alone they are more reckless, and often have to swim for their lives. If a squall overtakes them as they are crossing in a heavily-laden canoe, they all jump overboard and swim about until the heavy sea subsides, then they re-embark.

A few words on the aboriginal population of the Pará estuary will not be out of place here. The banks of the Pará were originally inhabited by a number of distinct tribes, who, in their habits, resembled very much the natives of the sea-coast from Maranham to Bahia. It is related that one large tribe, the Tupinambas, migrated from Pernambuco to the Amazons. One fact seems to be well-established, namely, that all the coast tribes were far more advanced in civilisation, and milder in their manners, than the savages who inhabited the interior lands of Brazil. They were settled in villages, and addicted to agriculture. They navigated the rivers in large canoes, called ubas, made of immense hollowed-out tree trunks; in these they used to go on war expeditions, carrying in the prows their trophies and calabash rattles, whose clatter was meant to intimidate their enemies. They were gentle in disposition, and received the early Portuguese settlers with great friendliness. The inland savages, on the other hand, led a wandering life, as they do at the present time, only coming down occasionally to rob the plantations of the coast tribes, who always entertained the greatest enmity towards them.

The original Indian tribes of the district are now either civilised, or have amalgamated with the white and negro immigrants. Their distinguishing tribal names have long been forgotten, and the race bears now the general appellation of Tapuyo, which seems to have been one of the names of the ancient Tupinambas. The Indians of the interior, still remaining in the savage state, are called by the Brazilians Indios, or Gentios (Heathens). All the semi-civilised Tapuyos of the villages, and in fact the inhabitants of retired places generally, speak the Lingoa geral, a language adapted by the Jesuit missionaries from the original idiom of the Tupinambas. The language of the Guaranis, a nation living on the banks of the Paráguay, is a dialect of it, and hence it is called by philologists the Tupi-Guarani language; printed grammars of it are always on sale at the shops of the Pará booksellers. The fact of one language having been spoken over so wide an extent of country as that from the Amazons to Paráguay, is quite an isolated one in this country, and points to considerable migrations of the Indian tribes in former times. At present the languages spoken by neighbouring tribes on the banks of the interior rivers are totally distinct; on the Juruá, even scattered hordes belonging to the same tribe are not able to understand each other.

The civilised Tapuyo of Pará differs in no essential point, in physical or moral qualities, from the Indian of the interior. He is more stoutly built, being better fed than some of them; but in this respect there are great differences amongst the tribes themselves. He presents all the chief characteristics of the American red man. The skin of a coppery brown colour, the features of the face broad, and the hair black, thick, and straight. He is generally about the middle height, thick-set, has a broad muscular chest, well-shaped but somewhat thick legs and arms, and small hands and feet. The cheek bones are not generally prominent; the eyes are black, and seldom oblique like those of the Tartar races of Eastern Asia, which are supposed to have sprung from the same original stock as the American red man. The features exhibit scarcely any mobility of expression; this is connected with the excessively apathetic and undemonstrative character of the race. They never betray, in fact they do not feel keenly, the emotions of joy, grief, wonder, fear, and so forth. They can never be excited to enthusiasm; but they have strong affections, especially those connected with family. It is commonly stated by the whites and negroes that the Tapuyo is ungrateful. Brazilian mistresses of households, who have much experience of Indians, have always a long list of instances to relate to the stranger, showing their base ingratitude. They certainly do not appear to remember or think of repaying benefits, but this is probably because they did not require, and do not value such benefits as their would-be masters confer upon them. I have known instances of attachment and fidelity on the part of Indians towards their masters, but these are exceptional cases. All the actions of the Indian show that his ruling desire is to be let alone; he is attached to his home, his quiet monotonous forest and river life; he likes to go to towns occasionally, to see the wonders introduced by the white man, but he has a great repugnance to living in the midst of the crowd; he prefers handicraft to field labour, and especially dislikes binding himself to regular labour for hire. He is shy and uneasy before strangers, but if they visit his abode, he treats them well, for he has a rooted appreciation of the duty of hospitality; there is a pride about him, and being naturally formal and polite, he acts the host with great dignity. He withdraws from towns as soon as the stir of civilisation begins to make itself felt. When we first arrived at Pará many Indian families resided there, for the mode of living at that time was more like that of a large village than a city; but as soon as river steamers and more business activity were introduced, they all gradually took themselves away.

These characteristics of the Pará Indians are applicable, of course, to some extent, to the Mamelucos, who now constitute a great proportion of the population. The inflexibility of character of the Indian, and his total inability to accommodate himself to new arrangements, will infallibly lead to his extinction, as immigrants, endowed with more supple organisations, increase, and civilisation advances in the Amazon region. But, as the different races amalgamate readily, and the offspring of white and Indian often become distinguished Brazilian citizens, there is little reason to regret the fate of the race. Formerly the Indian was harshly treated, and even now he is so, in many parts of the interior. But, according to the laws of Brazil, he is a free citizen, having equal privileges with the whites; and there are very strong enactments providing against the enslaving and ill-treatment of the Indians. The residents of the interior, who have no higher principles to counteract instinctive selfishness or antipathy of race, cannot comprehend why they are not allowed to compel Indians to work for them, seeing that they will not do it of their own accord. The inevitable result of the conflict of interests between a European and a weaker indigenous race, when the two come in contact, is the sacrifice of the latter. In the Pará district, the Indians are no longer enslaved, but they are deprived of their lands, and this they feel bitterly, as one of them, an industrious and worthy man, related to me. Is not a similar state of things now exhibited in New Zealand, between the Maoris and the English colonists?

It is very interesting to read of the bitter contests that were carried on from the year 1570 to 1759, between the Portuguese immigrants in Brazil, and the Jesuit and other missionaries. They were similar to those which have recently taken place in South Africa, between the Boers and the English missionaries, but they were on a much larger scale. The Jesuits, as far as I could glean from tradition and history, were actuated by the same motives as our missionaries; and they seemed like them to have been, in great measure, successful, in teaching the pure and elevated Christian morality to the simple natives. But the attempt was vain to protect the weaker race from the inevitable ruin which awaited it in the natural struggle with the stronger one; in 1759, the white colonists finally prevailed, the Jesuits were forced to leave the country, and the fifty-one happy mission villages went to ruin. Since then, the aboriginal race has gone on decreasing in numbers under the treatment which it has received; it is now, as I have already stated, protected by the laws of the central government.

On our second visit to the mills, we stayed ten days. There is a large reservoir and also a natural lake near the place, both containing aquatic plants, whose leaves rest on the surface like our water lilies, but they are not so elegant as our nymphæa, either in leaf or flower. On the banks of these pools grow quantities of a species of fan-leaved palm tree, the Carana, whose stems are surrounded by whorls of strong spines. I sometimes took a montaria, and paddled myself alone down the creek. One day I got upset, and had to land on a grassy slope leading to an old plantation, where I ran about naked whilst my clothes were being dried on a bush. The creek Iritirí is not so picturesque as many others which I subsequently explored. Towards the Magoary, the banks at the edge of the water are clothed with mangrove bushes, and beneath them the muddy banks into which the long roots that hang down from the fruit before it leaves the branches strike their fibres, swarm with crabs. On the lower branches the beautiful bird, Ardea helias, is found. This is a small heron of exquisitely graceful shape and mien; its plumage is minutely variegated with bars and spots of many colours, like the wings of certain kinds of moths. It is difficult to see the bird in the woods, on account of its sombre colours, and the shadiness of its dwelling-places; but its note, a soft long-drawn whistle, often betrays its hiding place. I was told by the Indians that it builds in trees, and that the nest, which is made of clay, is beautifully constructed. It is a favourite pet-bird of the Brazilians, who call it Pavao (pronounced Pavaong), or peacock. I often had opportunities to observe its habits. It soon becomes tame, and walks about the floors of houses picking up scraps of food or catching insects, which it secures by walking gently to the place where they settle, and spearing them with its long, slender beak. It allows itself to be handled by children, and will answer to its name “Pavao! Pavao!” walking up with a dainty, circumspect gait, and taking a fly or beetle from the hand.

During these rambles by land and water we increased our collections considerably. Before we left the mills, we arranged a joint excursion to the Tocantins. Mr. Leavens wished to ascend that river to ascertain if the reports were true, that cedar grew abundantly between the lowermost cataract and the mouth of the Araguava, and we agreed to accompany him.

Whilst we were at the mills, a Portuguese trader arrived with a quantity of worm-eaten logs of this cedar, which he had gathered from the floating timber in the current of the main Amazons. The tree producing this wood, which is named cedar on account of the similarity of its aroma to that of the true cedars, is not, of course, a coniferous tree, as no member of that class is found in equatorial America, at least in the Amazons region. It is, according to Von Martius, the Cedrela Odorata, an exogen belonging to the same order as the mahogany tree. The wood is light, and the tree is therefore, on falling into the water, floated down with the river currents. It must grow in great quantities somewhere in the interior, to judge from the number of uprooted trees annually carried to the sea, and as the wood is much esteemed for cabinet work and canoe building, it is of some importance to learn where a regular supply can be obtained. We were glad of course to arrange with Mr. Leavens, who was familiar with the language, and an adept in river navigation—so we returned to Pará to ship our collections for England, and prepare for the journey to a new region.

Chapter III.
PARÁ

Religious Holidays — Marmoset Monkeys — Serpents — Insects

Before leaving the subject of Pará, where I resided, as already stated, in all eighteen months, it will be necessary to give a more detailed account of several matters connected with the customs of the people and the Natural History of the neighbourhood, which have hitherto been only briefly mentioned. I reserve an account of the trade and improved condition of Pará in 1859 for the end of this narrative.

During the first few weeks of our stay, many of those religious festivals took place, which occupied so large a share of the time and thoughts of the people. These were splendid affairs, wherein artistically-arranged processions through the streets, accompanied by thousands of people, military displays, the clatter of fireworks, and the clang of military music, were super-added to pompous religious services in the churches. To those who had witnessed similar ceremonies in the Southern countries of Europe, there would be nothing remarkable perhaps in these doings, except their taking place amidst the splendours of tropical nature; but to me they were full of novelty, and were besides interesting as exhibiting much that was peculiar in the manners of the people. The festivals celebrate either the anniversaries of events concerning saints, or those of the more important transactions in the life of Christ. To them have been added, since the Independence, many gala days connected with the events in the Brazilian national history; but these have all a semi-religious character. The holidays had become so numerous, and interfered so much with trade and industry towards the year 1852, that the Brazilian Government was obliged to reduce them; obtaining the necessary permission from Rome to abolish several which were of minor importance. Many of those which have been retained are declining in importance since the introduction of railways and steamboats, and the increased devotion of the people to commerce; at the time of our arrival, however, they were in full glory. The way they were managed was in this fashion. A general manager or “Juiz” for each festival was elected by lot every year in the vestry of the church, and to him were handed over all the paraphernalia pertaining to the particular festival which he was chosen to manage; the image of the saint, the banners, silver crowns and so forth. He then employed a number of people to go the round of the parish, and collect alms towards defraying the expenses. It was considered that the greater the amount of money spent in wax candles, fireworks, music and feasting, the greater the honour done to the saint. If the Juiz was a rich man, he seldom sent out alms-gatherers, but celebrated the whole affair at his own expense, which was sometimes to the extent of several hundred pounds. Each festival lasted nine days (a novena), and in many cases refreshments for the public were provided every evening. In the smaller towns a ball took place two or three evenings during the novena, and on the last day there was a grand dinner. The priest, of course, had to be paid very liberally, especially for the sermon delivered on the Saint’s-day or termination of the festival, sermons being extra duty in Brazil.

There was much difference as to the accessories of these festivals between the interior towns and villages and the capital; but little or no work was done anywhere whilst they lasted, and they tended much to demoralise the people. It was soon perceived that religion is rather the amusement of the Paráenses, than their serious exercise. The ideas of the majority evidently do not reach beyond the belief that all the proceedings are, in each case, in honour of the particular wooden image enshrined at the church. The uneducated Portuguese immigrants seemed to me to have very degrading notions of religion. I have often travelled in the company of these shining examples of European enlightenment. They generally carry with them, wherever they go, a small image of some favourite saint in their trunks, and when a squall or any other danger arises, their first impulse is to rush to the cabin, take out the image and clasp it to their lips, whilst uttering a prayer for protection. The negroes and mulattos are similar in this respect to the low Portuguese, but I think they show a purer devotional feeling; and in conversation, I have always found them to be more rational in religious views than the lower orders of Portuguese. As to the Indians; with the exception of the more civilised families residing near the large towns, they exhibit no religious sentiment at all. They have their own patron saint, St. Thomé, and celebrate his anniversary in the orthodox way, for they are fond of observing all the formalities; but they think the feasting to be of equal importance with the church ceremonies. At some of the festivals, masquerading forms a large part of the proceedings, and then the Indians really shine. They get up capital imitations of wild animals, dress themselves to represent the Caypor and other fabulous creatures of the forest, and act their parts throughout with great cleverness. When St. Thome’s festival takes place, every employer of Indians knows that all his men will get drunk. The Indian, generally too shy to ask directly for cashaca (rum), is then very bold; he asks for a frasco at once (two-and-a-half bottles), and says, if interrogated, that he is going to fuddle in honour of St. Thomé.

In the city of Pará, the provincial government assists to augment the splendour of the religious holidays. The processions which traverse the principal streets consist, in the first place, of the image of the saint, and those of several other subordinate ones belonging to the same church; these are borne on the shoulders of respectable householders, who volunteer for the purpose: sometimes you will see your neighbour the grocer or the carpenter groaning under the load. The priest and his crowd of attendants precede the images, arrayed in embroidered robes, and protected by magnificent sunshades—no useless ornament here, for the heat is very great when the sun is not obscured. On each side of the long line the citizens walk, clad in crimson silk cloaks and holding each a large lighted wax candle. Behind follows a regiment or two of foot soldiers with their bands of music, and last of all the crowd: the coloured people being cleanly dressed and preserving a grave demeanour. The women are always in great force, their luxuriant black hair decorated with jasmines, white orchids and other tropical flowers. They are dressed in their usual holiday attire, gauze chemises and black silk petticoats; their necks are adorned with links of gold beads, which when they are slaves are generally the property of their mistresses, who love thus to display their wealth.

At night, when festivals are going on in the grassy squares around the suburban churches, there is really much to admire. A great deal that is peculiar in the land and the life of its inhabitants can be seen best at those times. The cheerful white church is brilliantly lighted up, and the music, not of a very solemn description, peals forth from the open windows and doors. Numbers of young gaudily-dressed negresses line the path to the church doors with stands of liqueurs, sweetmeats, and cigarettes, which they sell to the outsiders. A short distance off is heard the rattle of dice-boxes and roulette at the open-air gambling-stalls. When the festival happens on moonlit nights, the whole scene is very striking to a newcomer. Around the square are groups of tall palm trees, and beyond it, over the illuminated houses, appear the thick groves of mangoes near the suburban avenues, from which comes the perpetual ringing din of insect life. The soft tropical moonlight lends a wonderful charm to the whole. The inhabitants are all out, dressed in their best. The upper classes, who come to enjoy the fine evening and the general cheerfulness, are seated on chairs around the doors of friendly houses. There is no boisterous conviviality, but a quiet enjoyment seems to be felt everywhere, and a gentle courtesy rules amongst all classes and colours. I have seen a splendidly-dressed colonel, from the President’s palace, walk up to a mulatto, and politely ask his permission to take a light from his cigar. When the service is over, the church bells are set ringing, a shower of rockets mounts upwards, the bands strike up, and parties of coloured people in the booths begin their dances. About ten o’clock the Brazilian national air is played, and all disperse quietly and soberly to their homes.

At the festival of Corpus Christi, there was a very pretty arrangement. The large green square of the Trinidade was lighted up all round with bonfires. On one side a fine pavilion was erected, the upright posts consisting of real fan-leaved palm trees—the Mauritia flexuosa, which had been brought from the forest, stems and heads entire, and fixed in the ground. The booth was illuminated with coloured lamps, and lined with red and white cloth. In it were seated the ladies, not all of pure Caucasian blood, but presenting a fine sample of Pará beauty and fashion.

The grandest of all these festivals is that held in honour of Our Lady of Nazareth: it is, I believe, peculiar to Pará. As I have said before, it falls in the second quarter of the moon, about the middle of the dry season—that is, in October or November—and lasts, like the others, nine days. On the first day, a very extensive procession takes place, starting from the Cathedral, whither the image of the saint had been conveyed some days previous, and terminating at the chapel or hermitage, as it is called, of the saint at Nazareth, a distance of more than two miles. The whole population turns out on this occasion. All the soldiers, both of the line and the National Guard, take part in it, each battalion accompanied by its band of music. The civil authorities, also, with the President at their head, and the principal citizens, including many of the foreign residents, join in the line. The boat of the shipwrecked Portuguese vessel is carried after the saint on the shoulders of officers or men of the Brazilian navy, and along with it are borne the other symbols of the miracles which Our Lady is supposed to have performed. The procession starts soon after the sun’s heat begins to moderate—that is, about half-past four o’clock in the afternoon. When the image is deposited in the chapel the festival is considered to be inaugurated, and the village every evening becomes the resort of the pleasure-loving population, the holiday portion of the programme being preceded, of course, by a religious service in the chapel. The aspect of the place is then that of a fair, without the humour and fun, but, at the same time, without the noise and coarseness of similar holidays in England. Large rooms are set apart for panoramic and other exhibitions, to which the public is admitted gratis. In the course of each evening, large displays of fireworks take place, all arranged according to a published programme of the festival.

The various ceremonies which take place during Lent seemed to me the most impressive, and some of them were exceedingly well- arranged. The people, both performers and spectators, conduct themselves with more gravity on these occasions, and there is no holiday-making. Performances, representing the last events in the life of Christ, are enacted in the churches or streets in such a way as to remind one of the old miracle plays or mysteries. A few days before Good Friday, a torchlight procession takes place by night from one church to another, in which is carried a large wooden image of Christ bent under the weight of the cross. The chief members of the government assist, and the whole slowly moves to the sound of muffled drums. A double procession is managed a few days afterwards. The image of St. Mary is carried in one direction, and that of the Saviour in another. The two images meet in the middle of one of the most beautiful of the churches, which is previously filled to excess with the multitudes anxious to witness the affecting meeting of mother and son a few days before the crucifixion. The images are brought face to face in the middle of the church, the crowd falls prostrate, and a lachrymose sermon is delivered from the pulpit. The whole thing, as well as many other spectacles arranged during the few succeeding days, is highly theatrical and well calculated to excite the religious emotions of the people, although, perhaps, only temporarily. On Good Friday the bells do not ring, all musical sounds are interdicted, and the hours, night and day, are announced by the dismal noise of wooden clappers, wielded by negroes stationed near the different churches. A sermon is delivered in each church. In the middle of it, a scroll is suddenly unfolded from the pulpit, upon which is an exaggerated picture of the bleeding Christ. This act is accompanied by loud groans, which come from stout-lunged individuals concealed in the vestry and engaged for the purpose. The priest becomes greatly excited, and actually sheds tears. On one of these occasions I squeezed myself into the crowd, and watched the effect of the spectacle on the audience. Old Portuguese men and Brazilian women seemed very much affected—sobbing, beating their breasts, and telling their beads. The negroes themselves behaved with great propriety, but seemed moved more particularly by the pomp, the gilding, the dresses, and the general display. Young Brazilians laughed. Several aborigines were there, coolly looking on. One old Indian, who was standing near me, said, in a derisive manner, when the sermon was over: “It’s all very good; better it could not be” (Está todo bom; melhor nao pude ser).

The negroes of Pará are very devout. They have built, by slow degrees, as I was told, a fine church by their own unaided exertions. It is called Nossa Senhora do Rosario, or Our Lady of the Rosary. During the first weeks of our residence at Pará, I frequently observed a line of negroes and negresses, late at night, marching along the streets, singing a chorus. Each carried on his or her head a quantity of building materials—stones, bricks, mortar, or planks. I found they were chiefly slaves, who, after their hard day’s work, were contributing a little towards the construction of their church. The materials had all been purchased by their own savings. The interior was finished about a year afterwards, and is decorated, I thought, quite as superbly as the other churches which were constructed, with far larger means, by the old religious orders more than a century ago. Annually, the negroes celebrate the festival of Nossa Senhora do Rosario, and generally make it a complete success.

I will now add a few more notes which I have accumulated on the subject of the natural history, and then we shall have done, for the present, with Pará and its neighbourhood.

I have already mentioned that monkeys were rare in the immediate vicinity of Pará. I met with only three species in the forest near the city; they are shy animals, and avoid the neighbourhood of towns, where they are subject to much persecution by the inhabitants, who kill them for food. The only kind which I saw frequently was the little Midas ursulus, one of the Marmosets, a family peculiar to tropical America, and differing in many essential points of structure and habits from all other apes. They are small in size, and more like squirrels than true monkeys in their manner of climbing. The nails, except those of the hind thumbs, are long and claw-shaped like those of squirrels, and the thumbs of the fore extremities, or hands, are not opposable to the other fingers. I do not mean to imply that they have a near relationship to squirrels, which belong to the Rodents, an inferior order of mammals; their resemblance to those animals is merely a superficial one. They have two molar teeth less in each jaw than the Cebidæ, the other family of American monkeys; they agree with them, however, in the sideway position of the nostrils, a character which distinguishes both from all the monkeys of the old world. The body is long and slender, clothed with soft hairs, and the tail, which is nearly twice the length of the trunk, is not prehensile. The hind limbs are much larger in volume than the anterior pair. The Midas ursulus is never seen in large flocks; three or four is the greatest number observed together. It seems to be less afraid of the neighbourhood of man than any other monkey. I sometimes saw it in the woods which border the suburban streets, and once I espied two individuals in a thicket behind the English consul’s house at Nazareth. Its mode of progression along the main boughs of the lofty trees is like that of the squirrel; it does not ascend to the slender branches, or take those wonderful flying leaps which the Cebidæ do, whose prehensile tails and flexible hands fit them for such headlong travelling. It confines itself to the larger boughs and trunks of trees, the long nails being of great assistance to the creature, enabling it to cling securely to the bark, and it is often seen passing rapidly around the perpendicular cylindrical trunks. It is a quick, restless, timid little creature, and has a great share of curiosity, for when a person passes by under the trees along which a flock is running, they always stop for a few moments to have a stare at the intruder. In Pará, Midas ursulus is often seen in a tame state in the houses of the inhabitants. When full grown it is about nine inches long, independently of the tail, which measures fifteen inches. The fur is thick, and black in colour, with the exception of a reddish-brown streak down the middle of the back. When first taken, or when kept tied up, it is very timid and irritable. It will not allow itself to be approached, but keeps retreating backwards when any one attempts to coax it. It is always in a querulous humour, uttering a twittering, complaining noise; its dark, watchful eyes are expressive of distrust, and observant of every movement which takes place near it. When treated kindly, however, as it generally is in the houses of the natives, it becomes very tame and familiar. I once saw one as playful as a kitten, running about the house after the negro children, who fondled it to their hearts’ content. It acted somewhat differently towards strangers, and seemed not to like them to sit in the hammock which was slung in the room, leaping up, trying to bite, and otherwise annoying them. It is generally fed sweet fruits, such as the banana; but it is also fond of insects, especially soft-bodied spiders and grasshoppers, which it will snap up with eagerness when within reach. The expression of countenance in these small monkeys is intelligent and pleasing. This is partly owing to the open facial angle, which is given as one of 60°; but the quick movements of the head, and the way they have of inclining it to one side when their curiosity is excited, contribute very much to give them a knowing expression.

On the Upper Amazons I once saw a tame individual of the Midas leoninus, a species first described by Humboldt, which was still more playful and intelligent than the one just described. This rare and beautiful little monkey is only seven inches in length, exclusive of the tail. It is named leoninus on account of the long brown mane which depends from the neck, and which gives it very much the appearance of a diminutive lion. In the house where it was kept, it was familiar with everyone; its greatest pleasure seeming to be to climb about the bodies of different persons who entered. The first time I went in, it ran across the room straightway to the chair on which I had sat down, and climbed up to my shoulder; having arrived there, it turned round and looked into my face, showing its little teeth and chattering, as though it would say, “Well, and how do you do?” It showed more affection towards its master than towards strangers, and would climb up to his head a dozen times in the course of an hour, making a great show every time of searching there for certain animalcula. Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire relates of a species of this genus, that it distinguished between different objects depicted on an engraving. M. Audouin showed it the portraits of a cat and a wasp; at these it became much terrified; whereas, at the sight of a figure of a grasshopper or beetle, it precipitated itself on the picture, as if to seize the objects there represented.

Although monkeys are now rare in a wild state near Pará, a great number may be seen semi-domesticated in the city. The Brazilians are fond of pet animals. Monkeys, however, have not been known to breed in captivity in this country. I counted, in a short time, thirteen different species, whilst walking about the Pará streets, either at the doors or windows of houses, or in the native canoes. Two of them I did not meet with afterwards in any other part of the country. One of these was the well-known Hapale Jacchus, a little creature resembling a kitten, banded with black and grey all over the body and tail, and having a fringe of long white hairs surrounding the ears. It was seated on the shoulder of a young mulatto girl, as she was walking along the street, and I was told had been captured in the island of Marajo. The other was a species of Cebus, with a remarkably large head. It had ruddy-brown fur, paler on the face, but presenting a blackish tuft on the top of the forehead.

In the wet season serpents are common in the neighbourhood of Pará. One morning, in April, 1849, after a night of deluging rain, the lamplighter, on his rounds to extinguish the lamps, woke me up to show me a boa-constrictor he had just killed in the Rua St. Antonio, not far from my door. He had cut it nearly in two with a large knife, as it was making its way down the sandy street. Sometimes the native hunters capture boa- constrictors alive in the forest near the city. We bought one which had been taken in this way, and kept it for some time in a large box under our verandah. This is not, however, the largest or most formidable serpent found in the Amazons region. It is far inferior, in these respects, to the hideous Sucurujú, or Water Boa (Eunectes murinus), which sometimes attacks man; but of this I shall have to give an account in a subsequent chapter.

It frequently happened, in passing through the thickets, that a snake would fall from the boughs close to me. Once for a few moments I got completely entangled in the folds of one, a wonderfully slender kind, being nearly six feet in length, and not more than half an inch in diameter at its broadest part. It was a species of Dryophis. The majority of the snakes seen were innocuous. One day, however, I trod on the tail of a young serpent belonging to a very poisonous kind, the Jararaca (Craspedocephalus atrox). It turned round and bit my trousers; and a young Indian lad, who was behind me, dexterously cut it through with his knife before it had time to free itself. In some seasons snakes are very abundant, and it often struck me as strange that accidents did not occur more frequently than was the case.

Amongst the most curious snakes found here were the Amphisbænæ, a genus allied to the slow-worm of Europe. Several species occur at Pará. Those brought to me were generally not much more than a foot in length. They are of cylindrical shape, having, properly speaking, no neck, and the blunt tail which is only about an inch in length, is of the same shape as the head. This peculiar form, added to their habit of wriggling backwards as well as forwards, has given rise to the fable that they have two heads, one at each extremity. They are extremely sluggish in their motions, and are clothed with scales that have the form of small imbedded plates arranged in rings round the body. The eye is so small as to be scarcely perceptible. They live habitually in the subterranean chambers of the Saüba ant; only coming out of their abodes occasionally in the night time. The natives call the Amphisbæna the “Mai das Saübas,” or Mother of the Saübas, and believe it to be poisonous, although it is perfectly harmless. It is one of the many curious animals which have become the subject of mythical stories with the natives. They say the ants treat it with great affection, and that if the snake be taken away from a nest, the Saübas will forsake the spot. I once took one quite whole out of the body of a young Jararaca, the poisonous species already alluded to, whose body was so distended with its contents that the skin was stretched out to a film over the contained Amphisbæna. I was, unfortunately, not able to ascertain the exact relation which subsists between these curious snakes and the Saüba ants. I believe however, they feed upon the Saübas, for I once found remains of ants in the stomach of one of them. Their motions are quite peculiar; the undilatable jaws, small eyes and curious plated integument also distinguish them from other snakes. These properties have evidently some relation to their residence in the subterranean abodes of ants. It is now well ascertained by naturalists, that some of the most anomalous forms amongst Coleopterous insects are those which live solely in the nests of ants, and it is curious that an abnormal form of snakes should also be found in the society of these insects.

The neighbourhood of Pará is rich in insects. I do not speak of the number of individuals, which is probably less than one meets with, excepting ants and termites, in summer days in temperate latitudes; but the variety, or in other words, the number of species, is very great. It will convey some idea of the diversity of butterflies when I mention that about 700 species of that tribe are found within an hour’s walk of the town; whilst the total number found in the British Islands does not exceed 66, and the whole of Europe supports only 321. Some of the most showy species, such as the swallow-tailed kinds, Papilio Polycaon, Thoas, Torquatus, and others, are seen flying about the streets and gardens; sometimes they come through the open windows, attracted by flowers in the apartments. Those species of Papilio which are most characteristic of the country, so conspicuous in their velvety-black, green, and rose-coloured hues, which Linnæus, in pursuance of his elegant system of nomenclature—naming the different kinds after the heroes of Greek mythology—called Trojans, never leave the shades of the forest. The splendid metallic blue Morphos, some of which measure seven inches in expanse, are generally confined to the shady alleys of the forest. They sometimes come forth into the broad sunlight. When we first went to look at our new residence in Nazareth, a Morpho Menelaus, one of the most beautiful kinds, was seen flapping its huge wings like a bird along the verandah. This species, however, although much admired, looks dull in colour by the side of its congener, the Morpho Rhetenor, whose wings, on the upper face, are of quite a dazzling lustre. Rhetenor usually prefers the broad sunny roads in the forest, and is an almost unattainable prize, on account of its lofty flight, for it very rarely descends nearer the ground than about twenty feet. When it comes sailing along, it occasionally flaps its wings, and then the blue surface flashes in the sunlight, so that it is visible a quarter of a mile off. There is another species of this genus, of a satiny-white hue, the Morpho Uraneis; this is equally difficult to obtain; the male only has the satiny lustre, the female being of a pale-lavender colour. It is in the height of the dry season that the greatest number and variety of butterflies are found in the woods; especially when a shower falls at intervals of a few days. An infinite number of curious and rare species may then be taken, most diversified in habits, mode of flight, colours, and markings: some yellow, others bright red, green, purple, and blue, and many bordered or spangled with metallic lines and spots of a silvery or golden lustre. Some have wings transparent as glass; one of these clear wings is especially beautiful, namely, the Hetaira Esmeralda. It has one spot only of opaque colouring on its wings, which is of a violet and rose hue; this is the only part visible when the insect is flying low over dead leaves in the gloomy shades where alone it is found, and it then looks like a wandering petal of a flower.

Bees and wasps are not especially numerous near Pará, and I will reserve an account of their habits for a future chapter. Many species of Mygale, those monstrous hairy spiders, half a foot in expanse, which attract the attention so much in museums, are found in sandy places at Nazareth. The different kinds have the most diversified habits. Some construct, amongst the tiles or thatch of houses, dens of closely-woven web, which, in its texture, very much resembles fine muslin; these are often seen crawling over the walls of apartments. Others build similar nests in trees, and are known to attack birds. One very robust fellow, the Mygale Blondii, burrows into the earth, forming a broad, slanting gallery, about two feet long, the sides of which he lines beautifully with silk. He is nocturnal in his habits. Just before sunset he may be seen keeping watch within the mouth of his tunnel, disappearing suddenly when he hears a heavy foot-tread near his hiding place. The number of spiders ornamented with showy colours was somewhat remarkable. Some double themselves up at the base of leaf-stalks, so as to resemble flower-buds, and thus deceive the insects on which they prey. The most extraordinary-looking spider was a species of Acrosoma, which had two curved bronze-coloured spines, an inch and a half in length, proceeding from the tip of its abdomen. It spins a large web, the monstrous appendages being apparently no impediment to it in its work; but what their use can be I am unable to divine.

Coleoptera, or beetles, at first seemed to be very scarce. This apparent scarcity has been noticed in other equatorial countries, and arises, probably, from the great heat of the sun not permitting them to exist in exposed situations, where they form such conspicuous objects in Europe. Many hundred species of the different families can be found when they are patiently searched for in the shady places to which they are confined. It is vain to look for the Geodephaga, or carnivorous beetles, under stones, or anywhere, indeed, in open, sunny places. The terrestrial forms of this interesting family, which abound in England and temperate countries generally, are scarce in the neighbourhood of Pará; in fact, I met with only four or five species; on the other hand, the purely arboreal kinds were rather numerous. The contrary of this happens in northern latitudes, where the great majority of the species and genera are exclusively terrestrial. The arboreal forms are distinguished by the structure of the feet, which have broad spongy soles and toothed claws, enabling them to climb over and cling to branches and leaves. The remarkable scarcity of ground beetles is, doubtless, attributable to the number of ants and Termites which people every inch of surface in all shady places, and which would most likely destroy the larvæ of Coleoptera. Moreover, these active creatures have the same functions as Coleoptera, and thus render their existence unnecessary. The large proportion of climbing forms of carnivorous beetles is an interesting fact, because it affords another instance of the arboreal character which animal forms tend to assume in equinoctial America, a circumstance which points to the slow adaptation of the fauna to a forest-clad country throughout an immense lapse of geological time.

Chapter IV.
THE TOCANTINS AND CAMETÁ

Preparations for the journey — The Bay of Goajará — Grove of fan-leaved Palms — The lower Tocantins — Sketch of the River — Vista alegre — Baiao — Rapids — Boat journey to the Guariba Falls — Native Life on the Tocantins — Second Journey to Cameta.

August 26th, 1848—Mr. Wallace and I started today on the excursion which I have already mentioned as having been planned with Mr. Leavens, up the river Tocantins, whose mouth lies about forty-five miles in a straight line, but eighty miles following the bends of the river channels to the southwest of Pará. This river, as before stated, has a course of 1600 miles, and stands third in rank amongst the streams which form the Amazons system. The preparations for the journey took a great deal of time and trouble. We had first to hire a proper vessel, a two-masted vigilinga twenty-seven feet long, with a flat prow and great breadth of beam and fitted to live in heavy seas; for, although our voyage was only a river trip, there were vast sea-like expanses of water to traverse. It was not decked over, but had two arched awnings formed of strong wickerwork, and thatched with palm leaves. We then had to store it with provisions for three months, the time we at first intended to be away; procure the necessary passports; and, lastly, engage a crew. Mr. Leavens, having had much experience in the country, managed all these matters. He brought two Indians from the rice-mills, and these induced another to enrol himself. We, on our parts, took our cook Isidoro, and a young Indian lad, named Antonio, who had attached himself to us in the course of our residence at Nazareth. Our principal man was Alexandro, one of Mr. Leavens’s Indians. He was an intelligent and well-disposed young Tapuyo, an expert sailor, and an indefatigable hunter. To his fidelity we were indebted for being enabled to carry out any of the objects of our voyage. Being a native of a district near the capital, Alexandro was a civilised Tapuyo, a citizen as free as his white neighbours. He spoke only Portuguese. He was a spare-built man, rather under the middle height, with fine regular features, and, what was unusual in Indians, the upper lip decorated with a moustache. Three years afterwards I saw him at Pará in the uniform of the National Guard, and he called on me often to talk about old times. I esteemed him as a quiet, sensible, manly young fellow.

We set sail in the evening, after waiting several hours in vain for one of our crew. It was soon dark, the wind blew stiffly, and the tide rushed along with great rapidity, carrying us swiftly past the crowd of vessels which were anchored in the port. The canoe rolled a good deal. After we had made five or six miles of way, the tide turned and we were obliged to cast anchor. Not long after, we lay ourselves down, all three together, on the mat which was spread over the floor of our cabin, and soon fell asleep.

On awaking at sunrise the next morning, we found ourselves gliding upwards with the tide, along the Bahia or Bay, as it is called, of Goajará. This is a broad channel lying between the mainland and a line of islands which extends some distance beyond the city. Into it three large rivers discharge their waters, namely, the Guamá, the Acará, and the Mojú; so that it forms a kind of sub-estuary within the grand estuary of Pará. It is nearly four miles broad. The left bank, along which we were now sailing, was beautiful in the extreme; not an inch of soil was to be seen; the water frontage presented a compact wall of rich and varied forest, resting on the surface of the stream. It seemed to form a finished border to the water scene, where the dome-like, rounded shapes of exogenous trees which constituted the mass formed the groundwork, and the endless diversity of broad-leaved Heliconiæ and Palms—each kind differing in stem, crown, and fronds—the rich embroidery. The morning was calm and cloudless; and the slanting beams of the early sun, striking full on the front of the forest, lighted up the whole most gloriously. The only sound of life which reached us was the call of the Serracúra (Gallinula Cayennensis), a kind of wild-fowl; all else was so still that the voices of boatmen could be plainly heard from canoes passing a mile or two distant from us. The sun soon gains great power on the water, but with it the sea-breeze increases in strength, moderating the heat which would otherwise be almost insupportable. We reached the end of the Goajará about midday, and then entered the narrower channel of the Mojú. Up this we travelled, partly rowing and partly sailing between the same unbroken walls of forest, until the morning of the 28th.

August 29th.—The Mojú, a stream slightly inferior to the Thames in size, is connected about twenty miles from its mouth by means of a short, artificial canal with a small stream, the Igarapé-mirim, which flows the opposite way into the water-system of the Tocantins. Small vessels like ours take this route in preference to the stormy passage by way of the main river, although the distance is considerably greater. We passed through the canal yesterday, and today have been threading our way through a labyrinth of narrow channels, their banks all clothed with the same magnificent forest, but agreeably varied by houses of planters and settlers. We passed many quite large establishments, besides one pretty little village called Santa Anna. All these channels are washed through by the tides—the ebb, contrary to what takes place in the short canal, setting towards the Tocantins. The water is almost tepid (77° Fahr.), and the rank vegetation all around seems reeking with moisture. The country however, as we were told, is perfectly healthy. Some of the houses are built on wooden piles driven into the mud of the swamp.

In the afternoon we reached the end of the last channel, called the Murutipucú, which runs for several miles between two unbroken lines of fan-leaved palms, forming colossal palisades with their straight stems. On rounding a point of land, we came in full view of the Tocantins. The event was announced by one of our Indians, who was on the lookout at the prow, shouting: “La está o Paraná-uassú!” “Behold, the great river!” It was a grand sight—a broad expanse of dark waters dancing merrily to the breeze; the opposite shore, a narrow blue line, miles away.

We went ashore on an island covered with palm-trees, to make a fire and boil our kettle for tea. I wandered a short way inland, and was astounded at the prospect. The land lay below the upper level of the daily tides, so that there was no underwood, and the ground was bare. The trees were almost all of one species of Palm, the gigantic fan-leaved Mauritia flexuosa; only on the borders was there a small number of a second kind, the equally remarkable Ubussú palm, Manicaria saccifera. The Ubussú has erect, uncut leaves, twenty-five feet long, and six feet wide, all arranged round the top of a four-foot high stem, so as to form a figure like that of a colossal shuttlecock. The fan-leaved palms, which clothed nearly the entire islet, had huge cylindrical smooth stems, three feet in diameter, and about a hundred feet high. The crowns were formed of enormous clusters of fan-shaped leaves, the stalks alone of which measured seven to ten feet in length. Nothing in the vegetable world could be more imposing than this grove of palms. There was no underwood to obstruct the view of the long perspective of towering columns. The crowns, which were densely packed together at an immense height overhead, shut out the rays of the sun; and the gloomy solitude beneath, through which the sound of our voices seemed to reverberate, could be compared to nothing so well as a solemn temple. The fruits of the two palms were scattered over the ground; those of the Ubussu adhere together by twos and threes, and have a rough, brown-coloured shell; the fruit of the Mauritia, on the contrary, is of a bright red hue, and the skin is impressed with deep-crossing lines, which give it a resemblance to a quilted cricket-ball.

About midnight, the tide being favourable and the breeze strong, we crossed the river, taking it in a slanting direction, a distance of sixteen miles, and arrived at eight o’clock the following morning at Cametá. This is a town of some importance, pleasantly situated on the somewhat high terra firma of the left bank of the Tocantins. I will defer giving an account of the place till the end of this narrative of our Tocantins voyage. We lost here another of our men, who got drinking with some old companions ashore, and were obliged to start on the difficult journey up the river with two hands only, and they in a very dissatisfied humour with the prospect.

The river view from Cametá is magnificent. The town is situated, as already mentioned, on a high bank, which forms quite a considerable elevation for this flat country, and the broad expanse of dark-green waters is studded with low, palm-clad islands, the prospect down river, however, being clear, or bounded only by a sea-like horizon of water and sky. The shores are washed by the breeze-tossed waters into little bays and creeks, fringed with sandy beaches. The Tocantins has been likened, by Prince Adalbert of Prussia, who crossed its mouth in 1846, to the Ganges. It is upwards of ten miles in breadth at its mouth; opposite Cametá it is five miles broad. Mr. Burchell, the well-known English traveller, descended the river from the mining provinces of interior Brazil some years before our visit. Unfortunately, the utility of this fine stream is impaired by the numerous obstructions to its navigation in the shape of cataracts and rapids, which commence, in ascending, at about 120 miles above Cametá, as will be seen in the sequel.

August 30th.—Arrived, in company with Senhor Laroque, an intelligent Portuguese merchant, at Vista Alegre, fifteen miles above Cametá. This was the residence of Senhor Antonio Ferreira Gomez, and was a fair sample of a Brazilian planter’s establishment in this part of the country. The buildings covered a wide space, the dwelling-house being seParáted from the place of business, and as both were built on low, flooded ground, the communication between the two was by means of a long wooden bridge. From the office and visitors’ apartments a wooden pier extended into the river. The whole was raised on piles above the high-water mark. There was a rude mill for grinding sugar-cane, worked by bullocks; but cashaça, or rum, was the only article manufactured from the juice. Behind the buildings was a small piece of ground cleared from the forest, and planted with fruit trees, orange, lemon, genipapa, goyava, and others; and beyond this, a broad path through a neglected plantation of coffee and cacao, led to several large sheds, where the farinha, or mandioca meal, was manufactured. The plantations of mandioca are always scattered about in the forest, some of them being on islands in the middle of the river. Land being plentiful, and the plough, as well as, indeed, nearly all other agricultural implements, unknown, the same ground is not planted three years together; but a new piece of forest is cleared every alternate year, and the old clearing suffered to relapse into jungle.

We stayed here two days, sleeping ashore in the apartment devoted to strangers. As usual in Brazilian houses of the middle class, we were not introduced to the female members of the family, and, indeed, saw nothing of them except at a distance. In the forest and thickets about the place we were tolerably successful in collecting, finding a number of birds and insects which do not occur at Pará. I saw here, for the first time, the sky-blue Chatterer (Ampelis cotinga). It was on the topmost bough of a very lofty tree, and completely out of the reach of an ordinary fowling-piece. The beautiful light-blue colour of its plumage was plainly discernible at that distance. It is a dull, quiet bird. A much commoner species was the Cigana or Gipsy (Opisthocomus cristatus), a bird belonging to the same order (Gallinacea) as our domestic fowl. It is about the size of a pheasant; the plumage is dark brown, varied with reddish, and the head is adorned with a crest of long feathers. It is a remarkable bird in many respects. The hind toe is not placed high above the level of the other toes, as it is in the fowl order generally, but lies on the same plane with them; the shape of the foot becomes thus suited to the purely arboreal habits of the bird, enabling it to grasp firmly the branches of trees. This is a distinguishing character of all the birds in equinoctial America which represents the fowl and pheasant tribes of the old world, and affords another proof of the adaptation of the fauna to a forest region. The Cigana lives in considerable flocks on the lower trees and bushes bordering the streams and lagoons, and feeds on various wild fruits, especially the sour Goyava (Psidium sp.). The natives say it devours the fruit of arborescent Arums (Caladium arborescens), which grow in crowded masses around the swampy banks of lagoons. Its voice is a harsh, grating hiss; it makes the noise when alarmed or when disturbed by passing canoes, all the individuals sibilating as they fly heavily away from tree to tree. It is polygamous, like other members of the same order. It is never, however, by any chance, seen on the ground, and is nowhere domesticated. The flesh has an unpleasant odour of musk combined with wet hides—a smell called by the Brazilians catinga; it is, therefore, uneatable. If it be as unpalatable to carnivorous animals as it is to man, the immunity from persecution which it would thereby enjoy would account for its existing in such great numbers throughout the country.

We lost another of our crew here; and thus, at the commencement of our voyage, had before us the prospect of being forced to return, from sheer want of hands, to manage the canoe. Senhor Gomez, to whom we had brought letters of introduction from Senhor Joao Augusto Correia, a Brazilian gentlemen of high standing at Pará, tried what he could do to induce the canoe-men of his neighbourhood to engage with us, but it was a vain endeavour. The people of these parts seemed to be above working for wages. They are naturally indolent, and besides, have all some little business or plantation of their own, which gives them a livelihood with independence. It is difficult to obtain hands under any circumstances, but it was particularly so in our case, from being foreigners, and suspected, as was natural amongst ignorant people, of being strange in our habits. At length, our host lent us two of his slaves to help us on another stage, namely, to the village of Baiao, where we had great hopes of having this, our urgent want, supplied by the military commandant of the district.

September 2nd.—The distance from Vista Alegre to Baiao is about twenty-five miles. We had but little wind, and our men were therefore obliged to row the greater part of the way. The oars used in such canoes as ours are made by tying a stout paddle to the end of a long pole by means of woody lianas. The men take their stand on a raised deck, formed by a few rough planks placed over the arched covering in the fore part of the vessel, and pull with their backs to the stern. We started at six a.m., and about sunset reached a point where the west channel of the river, along which we had been travelling since we left Cametá, joined a broader middle one, and formed with it a great expanse of water. The islands here seem to form two pretty regular lines, dividing the great river into three channels. As we progressed slowly, we took the montaria, and went ashore, from time to time, to the houses, which were numerous on the river banks as well as on the larger islands. In low situations they had a very unfinished appearance, being mere frameworks raised high on wooden piles, and thatched with the leaves of the Ubussú palm. In their construction another palm tree is made much use of, viz., the Assai (Euterpe oleracea). The outer part of the stem of this species is hard and tough as horn; it is split into narrow planks, and these form a great portion of the walls and flooring. The residents told us that the western channel becomes nearly dry in the middle of the fine season, but that at high water, in April and May, the river rises to the level of the house floors. The river bottom is everywhere sandy, and the country perfectly healthy. The people seemed to all be contented and happy, but idleness and poverty were exhibited by many unmistakeable signs. As to the flooding of their island abodes, they did not seem to care about that at all. They seem to be almost amphibious, or as much at home on the water as on land. It was really quite alarming to see men and women and children, in little leaky canoes laden to the water-level with bag and baggage, crossing broad reaches of river. Most of them have houses also on the terra firma, and reside in the cool palm swamps of the Ygapó islands, as they are called, only in the hot and dry season. They live chiefly on fish, shellfish (amongst which were large Ampullariæ, whose flesh I found, on trial, to be a very tough morsel), the never failing farinha, and the fruits of the forest. Amongst the latter, the fruits of palm trees occupied the chief place. The Assai is the most in use, but this forms a universal article of diet in all parts of the country. The fruit, which is perfectly round, and about the size of a cherry, contains but a small portion of pulp lying between the skin and the hard kernel. This is made, with the addition of water, into a thick, violet-coloured beverage, which stains the lips like blackberries. The fruit of the Mirití is also a common article of food, although the pulp is sour and unpalatable, at least to European tastes. It is boiled, and then eaten with farinha. The Tucumá (Astrocaryum tucuma), and the Mucujá (Acrocomia lasiospatha), grow only on the mainland. Their fruits yield a yellowish, fibrous pulp, which the natives eat in the same way as the Mirití. They contain so much fatty matter, that vultures and dogs devour them greedily.

Early on the morning of September 3rd we reached the right or eastern bank, which is forty to sixty feet high at this point. The houses were more substantially built than those we had hitherto seen. We succeeded in buying a small turtle; most of the inhabitants had a few of these animals, which they kept in little enclosures made with stakes. The people were of the same class everywhere, Mamelucos. They were very civil; we were not able, however, to purchase much fresh food from them. I think this was owing to their really not having more than was absolutely required to satisfy their own needs. In these districts, where the people depend solely on fishing for animal food, there is a period of the year when they suffer hunger, so that they are disposed to highly prize a small stock when they have it. They generally answered in the negative when we asked, money in hand, whether they had fowls, turtles, or eggs to sell. “Nao ha, sinto que nao posso lhe ser bom;” or, “Nao ha, men coracao.” “We have none; I am sorry I cannot oblige you;” or, “There is none, my heart.”

Sept. 3rd to 7th.—At half-past eight a.m. we arrived at Baiao, which is built on a very high bank, and contains about 400 inhabitants. We had to climb to the village up a ladder, which is fixed against the bank, and, on arriving at the top, took possession of a room, which Senhor Seixas had given orders to be prepared for us. He himself was away at his sitio, and would not be here until the next day. We were now quite dependent upon him for men to enable us to continue our voyage, and so had no remedy but to wait his leisure. The situation of the place, and the nature of the woods around it, promised well for novelties in birds and insects; so we had no reason to be vexed at the delay, but brought our apparatus and store-boxes up from the canoe, and set to work.

The easy, lounging life of the people amused us very much. I afterwards had plenty of time to become used to tropical village life. There is a free, familiar, pro bono publico style of living in these small places, which requires some time for a European to fall into. No sooner were we established in our rooms, than a number of lazy young fellows came to look on and make remarks, and we had to answer all sorts of questions. The houses have their doors and windows open to the street, and people walk in and out as they please; there is always, however, a more secluded apartment, where the female members of the families reside. In their familiarity there is nothing intentionally offensive, and it is practised simply in the desire to be civil and sociable. A young Mameluco, named Soares, an Escrivao, or public clerk, took me into his house to show me his library. I was rather surprised to see a number of well-thumbed Latin classics: Virgil, Terence, Cicero’s Epistles, and Livy. I was not familiar enough, at this early period of my residence in the country, with Portuguese to converse freely with Senhor Soares, or ascertain what use he made of these books; it was an unexpected sight, a classical library in a mud-plastered and palm-thatched hut on the banks of the Tocantins.

The prospect from the village was magnificent, over the green wooded islands, far away to the grey line of forest on the opposite shore of the Tocantins. We were now well out of the low alluvial country of the Amazons proper, and the climate was evidently much drier than it is near Pará. They had had no rain here for many weeks, and the atmosphere was hazy around the horizon; so much so that the sun, before setting, glared like a blood-red globe. At Pará this never happens; the stars and sun are as clear and sharply defined when they peep above the distant treetops as they are at the zenith. This beautiful transparency of the air arises, doubtless, from the equal distribution through it of invisible vapour. I shall ever remember, in one of my voyages along the Pará river, the grand spectacle that was once presented at sunrise. Our vessel was a large schooner, and we were bounding along before a spanking breeze, which tossed the waters into foam as the day dawned. So clear was the air, that the lower rim of the full moon remained sharply defined until it touched the western horizon, whilst at the same time, the sun rose in the east. The two great orbs were visible at the same time, and the passage from the moonlit night to day was so gentle that it seemed to be only the brightening of dull weather. The woods around Baiao were of second growth, the ground having been formerly cultivated. A great number of coffee and cotton trees grew amongst the thickets. A fine woodland pathway extends for miles over the high, undulating bank, leading from one house to another along the edge of the cliff. I went into several of them, and talked to their inmates. They were all poor people. The men were out fishing, some far away, a distance of many days journey; the women plant mandioca, make the farinha, spin and weave cotton, manufacture soap of burnt cacao shells and andiroba oil, and follow various other domestic employments. I asked why they allowed their plantations to run to waste. They said that it was useless trying to plant anything hereabout; the Sauba ant devoured the young coffee trees, and everyone who attempted to contend against this universal ravager was sure to be defeated. The country, for many miles along the banks of the river, seemed to be well peopled. The inhabitants were nearly all of the tawny-white Mameluco class. I saw a good many mulattos, but very few negroes and Indians, and none that could be called pure whites.

When Senhor Seixas arrived, he acted very kindly. He provided us at once with two men, killed an ox in our honour, and treated us altogether with great consideration. We were not, however, introduced to his family. I caught a glimpse once of his wife, a pretty little Mameluco woman, as she was tripping with a young girl, whom I supposed to be her daughter, across the backyard. Both wore long dressing-gowns made of bright-coloured calico print, and had long wooden tobacco-pipes in their mouths. The room in which we slept and worked had formerly served as a storeroom for cacao, and at night I was kept awake for hours by rats and cockroaches, which swarm in all such places. The latter were running about all over the walls; now and then one would come suddenly with a whirr full at my face, and get under my shirt if I attempted to jerk it off. As to the rats, they were chasing one another by the dozens all night long over the floor, up and down the edges of the doors, and along the rafters of the open roof.

September 7th.—We started from Baiao at an early hour. One of our new men was a good-humoured, willing young mulatto named José; the other was a sulky Indian called Manoel, who seemed to have been pressed into our service against his will. Senhor Seixas, on parting, sent a quantity of fresh provisions on board. A few miles above Baiao the channel became very shallow; we ran aground several times, and the men had to disembark and shove the vessel off. Alexandro shot several fine fish here, with bow and arrow. It was the first time I had seen fish captured in this way. The arrow is a reed, with a steel barbed point, which is fixed in a hole at the end, and secured by fine twine made from the fibres of pineapple leaves. It is only in the clearest water that fish can be thus shot: and the only skill required is to make, in taking aim, the proper allowance for refraction.

The next day before sunrise a fine breeze sprang up, and the men awoke and set the sails. We glided all day through channels between islands with long, white, sandy beaches, over which, now and then, aquatic and wading birds were seen running. The forest was low, and had a harsh, dry aspect. Several palm trees grew here which we had not before seen. On low bushes, near the water, pretty, red-headed tanagers (Tanagra gularis) were numerous, flitting about and chirping like sparrows. About half-past four p.m., we brought to at the mouth of a creek or channel, where there was a great extent of sandy beach. The sand had been blown by the wind into ridges and undulations, and over the more moist parts, large flocks of sandpipers were running about. Alexandro and I had a long ramble over the rolling plain, which came as an agreeable change after the monotonous forest scenery amid which we had been so long travelling. He pointed out to me the tracks of a huge jaguar on the sand. We found here, also, our first turtle’s nest, and obtained 120 eggs from it, which were laid at a depth of nearly two feet from the surface, the mother first excavating a hole, and afterwards covering it up with sand. The place is discoverable only by following the tracks of the turtle from the water. I saw here an alligator for the first time, which reared its head and shoulders above the water just after I had taken a bath near the spot. The night was calm and cloudless, and we employed the hours before bedtime in angling by moonlight.

On the 10th, we reached a small settlement called Patos, consisting of about a dozen houses, and built on a high, rocky bank, on the eastern shore. The rock is the same nodular conglomerate which is found at so many places, from the seacoast to a distance of 600 miles up the Amazons. Mr. Leavens made a last attempt here to engage men to accompany us to the Araguaya, but it was in vain; not a soul could be induced by any amount of wages to go on such an expedition. The reports as to the existence of cedar were very vague. All said that the tree was plentiful somewhere, but no one could fix on the precise locality. I believe that the cedar grows, like all other forest trees, in a scattered way, and not in masses anywhere. The fact of its being the principal tree observed floating down with the current of the Amazons is to be explained by its wood being much lighter than that of the majority of trees. When the banks are washed away by currents, trees of all species fall into the river; but the heavier ones, which are the most numerous, sink, and the lighter, such as the cedar, alone float down to the sea.

Mr. Leavens was told that there were cedar trees at Trocará, on the opposite side of the river, near some fine rounded hills covered with forest, visible from Patos; so there we went. We found here several families encamped in a delightful spot. The shore sloped gradually down to the water, and was shaded by a few wide-spreading trees. There was no underwood. A great number of hammocks were seen slung between the tree trunks, and the litter of a numerous household lay scattered about. Women, old and young, some of the latter very good-looking, and a large number of children, besides pet animals, enlivened the encampment. They were all half-breeds, simple, well-disposed people, and explained to us that they were inhabitants of Cametá, who had come thus far, eighty miles, to spend the summer months. The only motive they could give for coming was that: “it was so hot in the town in the verao (summer), and they were all so fond of fresh fish.” Thus, these simple folks think nothing of leaving home and business to come on a three months’ picnic. It is the annual custom of this class of people throughout the province to spend a few months of the fine season in the wilder parts of the country. They carry with them all the farinha they can scrape together, this being the only article of food necessary to provide. The men hunt and fish for the day’s wants, and sometimes collect a little India-rubber, salsaparilla, or copaiba oil, to sell to traders on their return; the women assist in paddling the canoes, do the cooking, and sometimes fish with rod and line. The weather is enjoyable the whole time, and so days and weeks pass happily away.

One of the men volunteered to walk with us into the forest, and show us a few cedar trees. We passed through a mile or two of spiny thickets, and at length came upon the banks of the rivulet Trocará, which flows over a stony bed, and, about a mile above its mouth, falls over a ledge of rocks, thus forming a very pretty cascade. In the neighbourhood, we found a number of specimens of a curious land-shell, a large flat Helix, with a labyrinthine mouth (Anastoma). We learned afterwards that it was a species which had been discovered a few years previously by Dr. Gardner, the botanist, on the upper part of the Tocantins.

We saw here, for the first time, the splendid Hyacinthine macaw (Macrocercus hyacinthinus, Lath., the Araruna of the natives), one of the finest and rarest species of the Parrot family. It only occurs in the interior of Brazil, from 16° S. lat. to the southern border of the Amazons valley. It is three feet long from the beak to the tip of the tail, and is entirely of a soft hyacinthine blue colour, except round the eyes, where the skin is naked and white. It flies in pairs, and feeds on the hard nuts of several palms, but especially of the Mucujá (Acrocomia lasiospatha). These nuts, which are so hard as to be difficult to break with a heavy hammer, are crushed to a pulp by the powerful beak of this macaw.

Mr. Leavens was thoroughly disgusted with the people of Patos. Two men had come from below with the intention, I believe, of engaging with us, but they now declined. The inspector, constable, or governor of the place appeared to be a very slippery customer, and I fancy discouraged the men from going, whilst making a great show of forwarding our views. These outlying settlements are the resort of a number of idle, worthless characters. There was a kind of festival going on, and the people fuddled themselves with cashiri, an intoxicating drink invented by the Indians. It is made by soaking mandioca cakes in water until fermentation takes place, and tastes like new beer.

Being unable to obtain men, Mr. Leavens now gave up his project of ascending the river as far as the Araguaya. He assented to our request, however, to ascend to the cataracts near Arroyos. We started, therefore, from Patos with a more definite aim before us than we had hitherto. The river became more picturesque as we advanced. The water was very low, it being now the height of the dry reason; the islands were smaller than those further down, and some of them were high and rocky. Bold wooded bluffs projected into the stream, and all the shores were fringed with beaches of glistening white sand. On one side of the river there was an extensive grassy plain or campo with isolated patches of trees scattered over it. On the 14th and following day we stopped several times to ramble ashore. Our longest excursion was to a large shallow lagoon, choked up with aquatic plants, which lay about two miles across the campo. At a place called Juquerapuá, we engaged a pilot to conduct us to Arroyos, and a few miles above the pilot’s house, arrived at a point where it was not possible to advance further in our large canoe on account of the rapids.

September 16th.—Embarked at six a.m. in a large montaria which had been lent to us for this part of our voyage by Senhor Seixas, leaving the vigilinga anchored close to a rocky islet, named Santa Anna, to await our return. Isidoro was left in charge, and we were sorry to be obliged to leave behind also our mulatto José, who had fallen ill since leaving Baiao. We had then remaining only Alexandro, Manoel, and the pilot, a sturdy Tapuyo named Joaquim; scarcely a sufficient crew to paddle against the strong currents. At ten a.m. we arrived at the first rapids, which are called Tapaiunaquára. The river, which was here about a mile wide, was choked up with rocks, a broken ridge passing completely across it. Between these confused piles of stone the currents were fearfully strong, and formed numerous eddies and whirlpools. We were obliged to get out occasionally and walk from rock to rock, whilst the men dragged the canoe over the obstacles. Beyond Tapaiunaquára, the stream became again broad and deep, and the river scenery was beautiful in the extreme. The water was clear and of a bluish-green colour. On both sides of the stream stretched ranges of wooded hills, and in the middle picturesque islets rested on the smooth water, whose brilliant green woods fringed with palms formed charming bits of foreground to the perspective of sombre hills fading into grey in the distance. Joaquim pointed out to us grove after grove of Brazil nut trees (Bertholletia excelsa) on the mainland. This is one of the chief collecting grounds for this nut. The tree is one of the loftiest in the forest, towering far above its fellows; we could see the woody fruits, large and round as cannon-balls, dotted over the branches. The currents were very strong in some places, so that during the greater part of the way the men preferred to travel near the shore, and propel the boat by means of long poles.

We arrived at Arroyos about four o’clock in the afternoon, after ten hours’ hard pull. The place consists simply of a few houses built on a high bank, and forms a station where canoemen from the mining countries of the interior of Brazil stop to rest themselves before or after surmounting the dreaded falls and rapids of Guaribas, situated a couple of miles further up. We dined ashore, and in the evening again embarked to visit the falls. The vigorous and successful way in which our men battled with the terrific currents excited our astonishment. The bed of the river, here about a mile wide, is strewn with blocks of various sizes, which lie in the most irregular manner, and between them rush currents of more or less rapidity. With an accurate knowledge of the place and skilful management, the falls can be approached in small canoes by threading the less dangerous channels. The main fall is about a quarter of a mile wide; we climbed to an elevation overlooking it, and had a good view of the cataract. A body of water rushes with terrific force down a steep slope, and boils up with deafening roar around the boulders which obstruct its course. The wildness of the whole scene was very impressive. As far as the eye could see, stretched range after range of wooded hills and scores of miles of beautiful wilderness, inhabited only by scanty tribes of wild Indians. In the midst of such a solitude, the roar of the cataract seemed fitting music.

September 17th.—We commenced early in the morning our downward voyage. Arroyos is situated in about 4° 10′ S. lat.; and lies, therefore, about 130 miles from the mouth of the Tocantins. Fifteen miles above Guaribas, another similar cataract called Tabocas lies across the river. We were told that there were in all fifteen of these obstructions to navigate, between Arroyos and the mouth of the Araguaya. The worst was the Inferno, the Guaribas standing second to it in evil reputation. Many canoes and lives have been lost here, most of the accidents arising through the vessels being hurled against an enormous cubical mass of rock called the Guaribinha, which we, on our trip to the falls in the small canoe, passed round with the greatest ease about a quarter of a mile below the main falls. This, however, was the dry season; in the time of full waters, a tremendous current sets against it. We descended the river rapidly, and found it excellent fun shooting the rapids. The men seemed to delight in choosing the swiftest parts of the current; they sang and yelled in the greatest excitement, working the paddles with great force, and throwing clouds of spray above us as we bounded downwards. We stopped to rest at the mouth of a rivulet named Caganxa. The pilot told us that gold had been found in the bed of this brook; so we had the curiosity to wade several hundred yards through the icy cold waters in search of it. Mr. Leavens seemed very much interested in the matter. He picked up all the shining stones he could espy in the pebbly bottom, in hopes of finding diamonds also. There is, in fact, no reason why both gold and diamonds should not be found here, the hills being a continuation of those of the mining countries of interior Brazil, and the brooks flowing through the narrow valleys between them.

On arriving at the place where we had left our canoe, we found poor José the mulatto much worse, so we hastened on to Juquerapuá to procure aid. An old half-caste woman took charge of him; she made poultices of the pulp of a wild fruit, administered cooling draughts made from herbs which grew near the house, and in fact, acted the part of nurse admirably. We stayed at this place all night and part of the following day, and I had a stroll along a delightful pathway, which led over hill and dale, two or three miles through the forest. I was surprised at the number and variety of brilliantly-coloured butterflies; they were all of small size and started forth from the low bushes, which bordered the road, at every step I took. I first heard here the notes of a trogon; it was seated alone on a branch, at no great elevation; a beautiful bird, with glossy-green back and rose-coloured breast (probably Trogon melanurus). At intervals it uttered, in a complaining tone, a sound resembling the words “quá, quá.” It is a dull inactive bird, and not very ready to take flight when approached. In this respect, however, the trogons are not equal to the jacamars, whose stupidity in remaining at their posts, seated on low branches in the gloomiest shades of the forest, is somewhat remarkable in a country where all other birds are exceedingly wary. One species of jacamar was not uncommon here (Galbula viridis); I sometimes saw two or three together seated on a slender branch, silent and motionless with the exception of a slight movement of the head; when an insect flew past within a short distance, one of the birds would dart off, seize it, and return again to its sitting-place. The trogons are found in the tropics of both hemispheres. The jacamars, which are clothed in plumage of the most beautiful golden-bronze and steel colours, are peculiar to tropical America.

At night I slept ashore as a change from the confinement of the canoe, having obtained permission from Senhor Joaquim to sling my hammock under his roof. The house, like all others in these out-of-the-way parts of the country, was a large open, palm-thatched shed, having one end enclosed by means of partitions also made of palm-leaves, so as to form a private apartment. Under the shed were placed all the household utensils; earthenware jars, pots, and kettles, hunting and fishing implements, paddles, bows and arrows, harpoons, and so forth. One or two common wooden chests serve to contain the holiday clothing of the females. There is no other furniture except a few stools and the hammock, which answers the purposes of chair and sofa. When a visitor enters, he is asked to sit down in a hammock; persons who are on intimate terms with each other recline together in the same hammock, one at each end. This is a very convenient arrangement for friendly conversation. There are neither tables nor chairs; the cloth for meals is spread on a mat, and the guests squat round in any position they choose. There is no cordiality of manners, but the treatment of the guests shows a keen sense of the duties of hospitality on the part of the host. There is a good deal of formality in the intercourse of these half-wild mamelucos, which, I believe, has been chiefly derived from their Indian forefathers, although a little of it may have been copied from the Portuguese.

A little distance from the house were the open sheds under which the farinha for the use of the establishment was manufactured. In the centre of each shed stood the shallow pans, made of clay and built over ovens, where the meal is roasted. A long flexible cylinder made of the peel of a marantaceous plant, plaited into the proper form, hung suspended from a beam; it is in this that the pulp of the mandioca is pressed, and from it the juice, which is of a highly poisonous nature, although the pulp is wholesome food, runs into pans placed beneath to receive it. A wooden trough, such as is used in all these places for receiving the pulp before the poisonous matter is extracted, stood on the ground, and from the posts hung the long wicker-work baskets, or aturas, in which the women carry the roots from the roça or clearing; a broad ribbon made from the inner bark of the monguba tree is attached to the rims of the baskets, and is passed round the forehead of the carriers, to relieve their backs in supporting the heavy load. Around the shed were planted a number of banana and other fruit trees; amongst them were the never-failing capsicum-pepper bushes, brilliant as holly-trees at Christmas time with their fiery-red fruit, and lemon trees; the one supplying the pungent, the other the acid, for sauce to the perpetual meal of fish. There is never in such places any appearance of careful cultivation—no garden or orchard. The useful trees are surrounded by weeds and bushes, and close behind rises the everlasting forest.

There were other strangers under Senhor Joaquim’s roof besides myself—mulattos, mamelucos, and Indian,—so we formed altogether a large party. Houses occur at rare intervals in this wild country, and hospitality is freely given to the few passing travellers. After a frugal supper, a large wood fire was lighted in the middle of the shed, and all turned in to their hammocks, and began to converse. A few of the party soon dropped asleep; others, however, kept awake until a very late hour telling stories. Some related adventures which had happened to them whilst hunting or fishing; others recounted myths about the Curupíra, and other demons or spirits of the forest. They were all very appropriate to the time and place, for now and then a yell or a shriek resounded through the gloomy wilderness around the shed. One old parchment-faced fellow, with a skin the colour of mahogany, seemed to be a capital story-teller; but I was sorry I did not know enough of the language to follow him in all the details which he gave. Amongst other things, he related an adventure he had once had with a jaguar. He got up from his hammock in the course of the narrative to give it the greater effect by means of gestures; he seized a bow and a large taquará arrow to show how he slew the beast, imitated its hoarse growl, and danced about the fire like a demon.

In descending the river we landed frequently, and Mr. Wallace and I lost no chance of adding to our collections, so that before the end of our journey, we had got together a very considerable number of birds, insects, and shells, chiefly taken, however, in the low country. Leaving Baiao, we took our last farewell of the limpid waters and varied scenery of the upper river, and found ourselves again in the humid flat region of the Amazons valley. We sailed down this lower part of the river by a different channel from the one we travelled along in ascending, and frequently went ashore on the low islands in mid-river. As already stated, these are covered with water in the wet season; but at this time, there having been three months of fine weather, they were dry throughout, and by the subsidence of the waters, placed four or five feet above the level of the river. They are covered with a most luxuriant forest, comprising a large number of india-rubber trees. We found several people encamped here, who were engaged in collecting and preparing the rubber, and thus had an opportunity of observing the process.

The tree which yields this valuable sap is the Siphonia elastica, a member of the Euphorbiaceous order; it belongs, therefore, to a group of plants quite different from that which furnishes the caoutchouc of the East Indies and Africa. This latter is the product of different species of Ficus, and is considered, I believe, in commerce, an inferior article to the India-rubber of Pará. The Siphonia elastica grows only on the lowlands in the Amazons region; hitherto, the rubber has been collected chiefly in the islands and swampy parts of the mainland within a distance of fifty to a hundred miles to the west of Pará; but there are plenty of untapped trees still growing in the wilds of the Tapajos, Madeira, Juruá, and Jauarí, as far as 1800 miles from the Atlantic coast. The tree is not remarkable in appearance; in bark and foliage it is not unlike the European ash. But the trunk, like that of all forest trees, shoots up to an immense height before throwing off branches. The trees seem to be no man’s property hereabout. The people we met with told us they came every year to collect rubber on these islands as soon as the waters had subsided, namely in August, and remained until January or February. The process is very simple. Every morning each person, man or woman, to whom is allotted a certain number of trees, goes the round of the whole and collects in a large vessel the milky sap which trickles from gashes made in the bark on the preceding evening, and which is received in little clay cups, or in ampullaria shells stuck beneath the wounds. The sap, which at first is of the consistence of cream, soon thickens; the collectors are provided with a great number of wooden moulds of the shape in which the rubber is wanted, and when they return to the camp, they dip them into the liquid, laying on, in the course of several days, one coat after another. When this is done, the substance is white and hard; the proper colour and consistency are given by passing it repeatedly through a thick black smoke obtained by burning the nuts of certain palm trees, after which process the article is ready for sale. India-rubber is known throughout the province only by the name of seringa, the Portuguese word for syringe; it owes this appellation to the circumstance that it was only in this form that the first Portuguese settlers noticed it to be employed by the aborigines. It is said that the Indians were first taught to make syringes of rubber by seeing natural tubes formed by it when the spontaneously-flowing sap gathered round projecting twigs. Brazilians of all classes still use it extensively in the form of syringes, for injections form a great feature in the popular system of cures; the rubber for this purpose is made into a pear- shaped bottle, and a quill fixed in the long neck.

September 24th.—Opposite Cametá, the islands are all planted with cacao, the tree which yields the chocolate nut. The forest is not cleared for the purpose, but the cacao plants are stuck in here and there almost at random amongst the trees. There are many houses on the banks of the river, all elevated above the swampy soil on wooden piles, and furnished with broad ladders by which to mount to the ground floor. As we passed by in our canoe, we could see the people at their occupations in the open verandas, and in one place saw a ball going on in broad daylight; there were fiddles and guitars hard at work, and a number of lads in white shirts and trousers dancing with brown damsels clad in showy print dresses. The cacao tree produces a curious impression on account of the flowers and fruit growing directly out of the trunk and branches. There is a whole group of wild fruit trees which have the same habit in this country. In the wildernesses where the cacao is planted, the collecting of the fruit is dangerous due to the number of poisonous snakes which inhabit the places. One day, when we were running our montaria to a landing-place, we saw a large serpent on the trees overhead as we were about to brush past; the boat was stopped just in the nick of time, and Mr. Leavens brought the reptile down with a charge of shot.

September 26th.—At length we got clear of the islands, and saw once more before us the sea-like expanse of waters which forms the mouth of the Tocantins. The river had now sunk to its lowest point, and numbers of fresh-water dolphins were rolling about in shoaly places. There are here two species, one of which was new to science when I sent specimens to England; it is called the Tucuxí (Steno tucuxi of Gray). When it comes to the surface to breathe, it rises horizontally, showing first its back fin, then draws an inspiration, and dives gently down, head foremost. This mode of proceeding distinguishes the Tucuxí at once from the other species, which is called Bouto or porpoise by the natives (Inia Geoffroyi of Desmarest). When this rises the top of the head is the part first seen; it then blows, and immediately afterwards dips head downwards, its back curving over, exposing successively the whole dorsal ridge with its fin. It seems thus to pitch heels over head, but does not show the tail fin. Besides this peculiar motion, it is distinguished from the Tucuxí by its habit of generally going in pairs. Both species are exceedingly numerous throughout the Amazons and its larger tributaries, but they are nowhere more plentiful than in the shoaly water at the mouth of the Tocantins, especially in the dry season. In the Upper Amazons a third pale flesh-coloured species is also abundant (the Delphinus pallidus of Gervais). With the exception of a species found in the Ganges, all other varieties of dolphin inhabit the sea exclusively. In the broader parts of the Amazons, from its mouth to a distance of fifteen hundred miles in the interior, one or other of the three kinds here mentioned are always heard rolling, blowing, and snorting, especially at night, and these noises contribute much to the impression of sea-wide vastness and desolation which haunts the traveller. Besides dolphins in the water, frigate birds in the air are characteristic of this lower part of the Tocantins. Flocks of them were seen the last two or three days of our journey, hovering above at an immense height. Towards night, we were obliged to cast anchor over a shoal in the middle of the river to await the ebb tide. The wind blew very strongly, and this, together with the incoming flow, caused such a heavy sea that it was impossible to sleep. The vessel rolled and pitched until every bone in our bodies ached with the bumps we received, and we were all more or less sea-sick. On the following day we entered the Anapú, and on the 30th September, after threading again the labyrinth of channels communicating between the Tocantins and the Moju, arrived at Pará.

I will now give a short account of Cametá, the principal town on the banks of the Tocantins, which I visited for the second time, in June, 1849; Mr. Wallace, in the same month, departed from Pará to explore the rivers Guamá and Capim. I embarked as passenger in a Cametá trading vessel, the St. John, a small schooner of thirty tons burthen. I had learnt by this time that the only way to attain the objects for which I had come to this country was to accustom myself to the ways of life of the humbler classes of the inhabitants. A traveller on the Amazons gains little by being furnished with letters of recommendation to persons of note, for in the great interior wildernesses of forest and river the canoe-men have pretty much their own way; the authorities cannot force them to grant passages or to hire themselves to travellers, and therefore, a stranger is obliged to ingratiate himself with them in order to get conveyed from place to place. I thoroughly enjoyed the journey to Cametá; the weather was again beautiful in the extreme. We started from Pará at sunrise on the 8th of June, and on the 10th emerged from the narrow channels of the Anapu into the broad Tocantins. The vessel was so full of cargo that there was no room to sleep in the cabin; so we passed the nights on deck. The captain or supercargo, called in Portuguese cabo, was a mameluco, named Manoel, a quiet, good-humoured person, who treated me with the most unaffected civility during the three days’ journey. The pilot was also a mameluco, named John Mendez, a handsome young fellow, full of life and spirit. He had on board a wire guitar or viola, as it is here called; and in the bright moonlight nights, as we lay at anchor hour after hour waiting for the tide, he enlivened us all with songs and music. He was on the best of terms with the cabo, both sleeping in the same hammock slung between the masts. I passed the nights wrapped in an old sail outside the roof of the cabin. The crew, five in number, were Indians and half-breeds, all of whom treated their two superiors with the most amusing familiarity, yet I never sailed in a better managed vessel than the St. John.

In crossing to Cametá we had to await the flood-tide in a channel called Entre-as-Ilhas, which lies between two islands in mid- river, and John Mendez, being in good tune, gave us an extempore song, consisting of a great number of verses. The crew lay about the deck listening, and all joined in the chorus. Some stanzas related to me, telling how I had come all the way from “Inglaterra,” to skin monkeys and birds and catch insects; the last-mentioned employment of course giving ample scope for fun. He passed from this to the subject of political parties in Cametá; and then, as all the hearers were Cametaenses and understood the hits, there were roars of laughter, some of them rolling over and over on the deck, so much were they tickled. Party spirit runs high at Cametá, not merely in connection with local politics, but in relation to affairs of general concern, such as the election of members to the Imperial Parliament, and so forth. This political strife is partly attributable to the circumstance that a native of Cametá, Dr. Angelo Custodio Correia, had been in almost every election, one of the candidates for the representation of the province. I fancied these shrewd but unsophisticated canoe-men saw through the absurdities attending these local contests, and hence their inclination to satirise them; they were, however, evidently partisans of Dr. Angelo. The brother of Dr. Angelo, Joao Augusto Correia, a distinguished merchant, was an active canvasser. The party of the Correias was the Liberal, or, as it is called throughout Brazil, the Santa Luzia faction; the opposite side, at the head of which was one Pedro Moraes, was the Conservative, or Saquarema party. I preserved one of the stanzas of the song, which, however, does not contain much point; it ran thus:—

Ora paná, tana paná!, pana taná,
Joao Augusto hé bonito e homem pimpao,
Mas Pedro hé feio e hum grande ladrao,
(Chorus) Ora paná, etc.
John Augustus is handsome and as a man ought to be,
But Peter is ugly and a great thief.
(Chorus) Ora paná, etc.

The canoe-men of the Amazons have many songs and choruses, with which they are in the habit of relieving the monotony of their slow voyages, and which are known all over the interior. The choruses consist of a simple strain, repeated almost to weariness, and sung generally in unison, but sometimes with an attempt at harmony. There is a wildness and sadness about the tunes which harmonise well with, and in fact are born of, the circumstances of the canoe-man’s life: the echoing channels, the endless gloomy forests, the solemn nights, and the desolate scenes of broad and stormy waters and falling banks. Whether they were invented by the Indians or introduced by the Portuguese it is hard to decide, as many of the customs of the lower classes of Portuguese are so similar to those of the Indians that they have become blended with them. One of the commonest songs is very wild and pretty. It has for refrain the words “Mai, Mai” (“Mother, Mother”), with a long drawl on the second word. The stanzas are quite variable; the best wit on board starts the verse, improvising as he goes on, and the others join in the chorus. They all relate to the lonely river life and the events of the voyage—the shoals, the wind, how far they shall go before they stop to sleep, and so forth. The sonorous native names of places, Goajará, Tucumandúba, etc., add greatly to the charm of the wild music. Sometimes they bring in the stars thus:—

A lua está sahindo,
Mai, Mai!
A lua está sahindo,
Mai, Mai!
As sete estrellas estao chorando,
Mai, Mai!
Por s’acharem desamparados,
Mai, Mai!

The moon is rising,
Mother, Mother!
The moon is rising,
Mother, Mother!
The seven stars (Pleiades) are weeping,
Mother, Mother!
To find themselves forsaken,
Mother, mother!

I fell asleep about ten o’clock, but at four in the morning John Mendez woke me to enjoy the sight of the little schooner tearing through the waves before a spanking breeze. The night was transparently clear and almost cold, the moon appeared sharply defined against the dark blue sky, and a ridge of foam marked where the prow of the vessel was cleaving its way through the water. The men had made a fire in the galley to make tea of an acid herb, called erva cidreira, a quantity of which they had gathered at the last landing-place, and the flames sparkled cheerily upwards. It is at such times as these that Amazon travelling is enjoyable, and one no longer wonders at the love which many, both natives and strangers, have for this wandering life. The little schooner sped rapidly on with booms bent and sails stretched to the utmost; just as day dawned, we ran with scarcely slackened speed into the port of Cameta, and cast anchor.

I stayed at Cametá until the 16th of July, and made a considerable collection of the natural productions of the neighbourhood. The town in 1849 was estimated to contain about 5000 inhabitants, but the municipal district of which Cametá is the capital numbered 20,000; this, however, comprised the whole of the lower part of the Tocantins, which is the most thickly populated part of the province of Pará. The productions of the district are cacao, india-rubber, and Brazil nuts. The most remarkable feature in the social aspect of the place is the hybrid nature of the whole population, the amalgamation of the white and Indian races being here complete. The aborigines were originally very numerous on the western bank of the Tocantins, the principal tribe having been the Camútas, from which the city takes its name. They were a superior nation, settled, and attached to agriculture, and received with open arms the white immigrants who were attracted to the district by its fertility, natural beauty, and the healthfulness of the climate. The Portuguese settlers were nearly all males, the Indian women were good-looking, and made excellent wives; so the natural result has been, in the course of two centuries, a complete blending of the two races. There is now, however, a considerable infusion of negro blood in the mixture, several hundred African slaves having been introduced during the last seventy years. The few whites are chiefly Portuguese, but there are also two or three Brazilian families of pure European descent. The town consists of three long streets, running parallel to the river, with a few shorter ones crossing them at right angles. The houses are very plain, being built, as usual in this country, simply of a strong framework, filled up with mud, and coated with white plaster. A few of them are of two or three stories. There are three churches, and also a small theatre, where a company of native actors at the time of my visit were representing light Portuguese plays with considerable taste and ability. The people have a reputation all over the province for energy and perseverance; and it is often said that they are as keen in trade as the Portuguese. The lower classes are as indolent and sensual here as in other parts of the province, a moral condition not to be wondered at in a country where perpetual summer reigns, and where the necessities of life are so easily obtained. But they are light-hearted, quick-witted, communicative, and hospitable. I found here a native poet, who had written some pretty verses, showing an appreciation of the natural beauties of the country, and was told that the Archbishop of Bahia, the primate of Brazil, was a native of Cametá. It is interesting to find the mamelucos displaying talent and enterprise, for it shows that degeneracy does not necessarily result from the mixture of white and Indian blood. The Cametaenses boast, as they have a right to do, of theirs being the only large town which resisted successfully the anarchists in the great rebellion of 1835-6. Whilst the whites of Pará were submitting to the rule of half-savage revolutionists, the mamelucos of Cametá placed themselves under the leadership of a courageous priest, named Prudencio; they armed themselves, fortified the place, and repulsed the large forces which the insurgents of Pará sent to attack the place. The town not only became the refuge for all loyal subjects, but was a centre whence large parties of volunteers sallied forth repeatedly to attack the anarchists in their various strongholds.

The forest behind Cametá is traversed by several broad roads, which lead over undulating ground many miles into the interior. They pass generally under shade, and part of the way through groves of coffee and orange trees, fragrant plantations of cacao, and tracts of second-growth woods. The narrow brook-watered valleys, with which the land is intersected, alone have remained clothed with primæval forest, at least near the town. The houses along these beautiful roads belong chiefly to Mameluco, mulatto, and Indian families, each of which has its own small plantation. There are only a few planters with larger establishments, and these have seldom more than a dozen slaves. Besides the main roads, there are endless bye-paths which thread the forest and communicate with isolated houses. Along these the traveller may wander day after day without leaving the shade, and everywhere meet with cheerful, simple, and hospitable people.

Soon after landing, I was introduced to the most distinguished citizen of the place, Dr. Angelo Custodio Correia, whom I have already mentioned. This excellent man was a favourable specimen of the highest class of native Brazilians. He had been educated in Europe, was now a member of the Brazilian Parliament, and had been twice president of his native province. His manners were less formal, and his goodness more thoroughly genuine, perhaps, than is the rule generally with Brazilians. He was admired and loved, as I had ample opportunity of observing, throughout all Amazonia. He sacrificed his life in 1855, for the good of his fellow- townsmen, when Cameta was devastated by the cholera; having stayed behind with a few heroic spirits to succour invalids and direct the burying of the dead, when nearly all the chief citizens had fled from the place. After he had done what he could, he embarked for Pará but was himself then attacked with cholera, and died on board the steamer before he reached the capital. Dr. Angelo received me with the usual kindness which he showed to all strangers. He procured me, unsolicited, a charming country house, free of rent, hired a mulatto servant for me, and thus relieved me of the many annoyances and delays attendant on a first arrival in a country town where even the name of an inn is unknown. The rocinha, thus given up for my residence, belonged to a friend of his, Senhor José Raimundo Furtado, a stout florid-complexioned gentleman, such a one as might be met with any day in a country town in England. To him also I was indebted for many acts of kindness.

The rocinha was situated near a broad grassy road bordered by lofty woods, which leads from Cametá to the Aldeia, a village two miles distant. My first walks were along this road. From it branches another similar but still more picturesque road, which runs to Curimá and Pacajá, two small settlements, several miles distant, in the heart of the forest. The Curimá road is beautiful in the extreme. About half a mile from the house where I lived, it crosses a brook flowing through a deep dell by means of a long rustic wooden bridge. The virgin forest is here left untouched; numerous groups of slender palms, mingled with lofty trees overrun with creepers and Parásites, fill the shady glen and arch over the bridge, forming one of the most picturesque scenes imaginable. A little beyond the bridge there was an extensive grove of orange and other trees, which yielded me a rich harvest. The Aldeia road runs parallel to the river, the land from the border of the road to the indented shore of the Tocantins forming a long slope which was also richly wooded; this slope was threaded by numerous shady paths, and abounded in beautiful insects and birds. At the opposite or southern end of the town, there was a broad road called the Estrada da Vacaria; this ran along the banks of the Tocantins at some distance from the river, and continued over hill and dale, through bamboo thickets and palm swamps, for about fifteen miles.

At Cametá I chanced to verify a fact relating to the habits of a large hairy spider of the genus Mygale, in a manner worth recording. The species was M. avicularia, or one very closely allied to it; the individual was nearly two inches in length of body, but the legs expanded seven inches, and the entire body and legs were covered with coarse grey and reddish hairs. I was attracted by a movement of the monster on a tree-trunk; it was close beneath a deep crevice in the tree, across which was stretched a dense white web. The lower part of the web was broken, and two small birds, finches, were entangled in the pieces; they were about the size of the English siskin, and I judged the two to be male and female. One of them was quite dead, the other lay under the body of the spider, not quite dead, and was smeared with the filthy liquor or saliva exuded by the monster. I drove away the spider and took the birds, but the second one soon died. The fact of species of Mygale sallying forth at night, mounting trees, and sucking the eggs and young of humming-birds, has been recorded long ago by Madame Merian and Palisot de Beauvois; but, in the absence of any confirmation, it has come to be discredited. From the way the fact has been related, it would appear that it had been merely derived from the report of natives, and had not been witnessed by the narrators. Count Langsdorff, in his Expedition into the Interior of Brazil, states that he totally disbelieved the story. I found the circumstance to be quite a novelty to the residents hereabout. The Mygales are quite common insects: some species make their cells under stones, others form artistical tunnels in the earth, and some build their dens in the thatch of houses. The natives call them Aranhas carangueijeiras, or crab-spiders. The hairs with which they are clothed come off when touched, and cause a peculiar and almost maddening irritation. The first specimen that I killed and prepared was handled incautiously, and I suffered terribly for three days afterwards. I think this is not owing to any poisonous quality residing in the hairs, but to their being short and hard, and thus getting into the fine creases of the skin. Some Mygales are of immense size. One day I saw the children belonging to an Indian family, who collected for me with one of these monsters secured by a cord round its waist, by which they were leading it about the house as they would a dog.

The only monkeys I observed at Cameta were the Couxio (Pithecia Satanas)—a large species, clothed with long brownish-black hair—and the tiny Midas argentatus. The Couxio has a thick bushy tail, and the hair of the head, which looks as if it had been carefully combed, sits on it like a wig. It inhabits only the most retired parts of the forest, on the terra firma, and I observed nothing of its habits. The little Midas argentatus is one of the rarest of the American monkeys; indeed, I have not heard of its being found anywhere except near Cametá, where I once saw three individuals, looking like so many white kittens, running along a branch in a cacao grove; in their motions, they resembled precisely the Midas ursulus already described. I saw afterwards a pet animal of this species, and heard that there were many so kept, and that they were esteemed as great treasures. The one mentioned was full-grown, although it measured only seven inches in length of body. It was covered with long, white, silky hairs, the tail being blackish, and the face nearly naked and flesh-coloured. It was a most timid and sensitive little thing. The woman who owned it carried it constantly in her bosom, and no money would induce her to part with her pet. She called it Mico. It fed from her mouth and allowed her to fondle it freely, but the nervous little creature would not permit strangers to touch it. If any one attempted to do so, it shrank back, the whole body trembling with fear, and its teeth chattered whilst it uttered its tremulous, frightened tones. The expression of its features was like that of its more robust brother, Midas ursulus; the eyes, which were black, were full of curiosity and mistrust, and were always kept fixed upon the person who attempted to advance towards it.

In the orange groves and other parts, humming-birds were plentiful, but I did not notice more than three species. I saw one day a little pigmy belonging to the genus Phæthornis in the act of washing itself in a brook; perched on a thin branch, one end of which was under water. It dipped itself, then fluttered its wings and pruned its feathers, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy itself alone in the shady nook which it had chosen—a place overshadowed by broad leaves of ferns and Heliconiæ. I thought, as I watched it, that there was no need for poets to invent elves and gnomes whilst Nature furnishes us with such marvellous little sprites ready at hand.

My return-journey to Pará afforded many incidents characteristic of Amazonian travelling. I left Cametá on the 16th of July. My luggage was embarked in the morning in the Santa Rosa, a vessel of the kind called cuberta, or covered canoe. The cuberta is very much used on these rivers. It is not decked, but the sides forward are raised and arched over so as to admit of cargo being piled high above the water-line. At the stern is a neat square cabin, also raised, and between the cabin and covered forepart is a narrow piece decked over, on which are placed the cooking arrangements. This is called the tombadilha or quarterdeck, and when the canoe is heavily laden, it goes underwater as the vessel heels over to the wind. There are two masts, rigged with fore and aft sails. The foremast has often besides a main and top sail. The forepart is planked over at the top, and on this raised deck the crew work the vessel, pulling it along, when there is no wind, by means of the long oars already described.

As I have just said, my luggage was embarked in the morning. I was informed that we should start with the ebb-tide in the afternoon; so I thought I should have time to pay my respects to Dr. Angelo and other friends, whose extreme courtesy and goodness had made my residence at Cametá so agreeable. After dinner the guests, according to custom at the house of the Correias, walked into the cool verandah which overlooks the river; and there we saw the Santa Rosa, a mere speck in the offing miles away, tacking down river with a fine breeze. I was now in a fix, for it would be useless attempting to overtake the cuberta, and besides the sea ran too high for any montaria. I was then told that I ought to have been aboard hours before the time fixed for starting, because when a breeze springs up, vessels start before the tide turns; the last hour of the flood not being very strong. All my precious collections, my clothes, and other necessaries were on board, and it was indispensable that I should be at Pará when the things were disembarked. I tried to hire a montaria and men, but was told that it would be madness to cross the river in a small boat with this breeze. On going to Senhor Laroque, another of my Cametá friends, I was relieved of my embarrassment, for I found there an English gentleman, Mr. Patchett of Pernambuco, who was visiting Pará and its neighbourhood on his way to England, and who, as he was going back to Pará in a small boat with four paddles, which would start at midnight, kindly offered me a passage. The evening from seven to ten o’clock was very stormy. About seven, the night became intensely dark, and a terrific squall of wind burst forth, which made the loose tiles fly over the housetops; to this succeeded lightning and stupendous claps of thunder, both nearly simultaneous. We had had several of these short and sharp storms during the past month. At midnight, when we embarked, all was as calm as though a ruffle had never disturbed air, forest, or river. The boat sped along like an arrow to the rhythmic paddling of the four stout youths we had with us, who enlivened the passage with their wild songs. Mr. Patchett and I tried to get a little sleep, but the cabin was so small and encumbered with boxes placed at all sorts of angles, that we found sleep impossible. I was just dozing when the day dawned, and, on awakening, the first object I saw was the Santa Rosa, at anchor under a green island in mid-river. I preferred to make the remainder of the voyage in company of my collections, so bade Mr. Patchett good-day. The owner of the Santa Rosa, Senhor Jacinto Machado, whom I had not seen before, received me aboard, and apologised for having started without me. He was a white man, a planter, and was now taking his year’s production of cacao, about twenty tons, to Pará. The canoe was very heavily laden, and I was rather alarmed to see that it was leaking at all points. The crew were all in the water diving about to feel for the holes, which they stopped with pieces of ray and clay, and an old negro was baling the water out of the hold. This was a pleasant prospect for a three-day voyage! Senhor Machado treated it as the most ordinary incident possible: “It was always likely to leak, for it was an old vessel that had been left as worthless high and dry on the beach, and he had bought it very cheap.”

When the leaks were stopped, we proceeded on our journey and at night reached the mouth of the Anapú. I wrapped myself in an old sail, and fell asleep on the raised deck. The next day, we threaded the Igarapé-mirim, and on the 19th descended the Mojú. Senhor Machado and I by this time had become very good friends. At every interesting spot on the banks of the Mojú, he manned the small boat and took me ashore. There are many large houses on this river belonging to what were formerly large and flourishing plantations, but which, since the Revolution of 1835-6, had been suffered to go to decay. Two of the largest buildings were constructed by the Jesuits in the early part of the last century. We were told that there were formerly eleven large sugar mills on the banks of the Mojú, whilst now there are only three. At Burujúba, there is a large monastery in a state of ruin; part of the edifice, however, was still inhabited by a Brazilian family. The walls are four feet in thickness. The long dark corridors and gloomy cloisters struck me as very inappropriate in the midst of this young and radiant nature. They would be better if placed on some barren moor in Northern Europe than here in the midst of perpetual summer. The next turn in the river below Burujúba brought the city of Pará into view. The wind was now against us, and we were obliged to tack about. Towards evening, it began to blow stiffly, the vessel heeled over very much, and Senhor Machado, for the first time, trembled for the safety of his cargo; the leaks burst out afresh when we were yet two miles from the shore. He ordered another sail to be hoisted in order to run more quickly into port, but soon afterwards an extra puff of wind came, and the old boat lurched alarmingly, the rigging gave way, and down fell boom and sail with a crash, encumbering us with the wreck. We were then obliged to have recourse to oars; and as soon as we were near the land, fearing that the crazy vessel would sink before reaching port, I begged Senhor Machado to send me ashore in the boat with the more precious portion of my collections.

Chapter V.
CARAPÍ AND THE BAY OF MARAJÓ

River Pará and Bay of Marajó — Journey to Caripí — Negro Observance of Christmas — A German Family — Bats — Ant-eaters — Humming-birds — Excursion to the Murucupí — Domestic Life of the Inhabitants — Hunting Excursion with Indians — White Ants.

That part of the Pará river which lies in front of the city, as I have already explained, forms a narrow channel, being separated from the main waters of the estuary by a cluster of islands. This channel is about two miles broad, and constitutes part of the minor estuary of Goajará, into which the three rivers Guamá, Mojú, and Acará discharge their waters. The main channel of the Pará lies ten miles away from the city, directly across the river; at that point, after getting clear of the islands, a great expanse of water is beheld, ten to twelve miles in width; on the opposite shore the island of Marajó, being visible only in clear weather as a line of tree-tops dotting the horizon. A little further upwards, that is to the southwest, the mainland on the right or eastern shore appears, this is called Carnapijó; it is rocky, covered with the never-ending forest, and the coast, which is fringed with broad sandy beaches, describes a gentle curve inwards. The broad reach of the Pará in front of this coast is called the Bahia, or Bay of Marajó. The coast and the interior of the land are peopled by civilised Indians and Mamelucos, with a mixture of free negroes and mulattos. They are poor, for the waters are not abundant in fish, and they are dependent for a livelihood solely on their small plantations, and the scant supply of game found in the woods. The district was originally peopled by various tribes of Indians, of whom the principal were the Tupinambás and Nhengahíbas. Like all the coast tribes, whether inhabiting the banks of the Amazons or the seashore between Pará and Bahia, they were far more advanced in civilisation than the hordes scattered through the interior of the country, some of which still remain in the wild state, between the Amazons and the Plata. There are three villages on the coast of Carnapijó, and several planters’ houses, formerly the centres of flourishing estates, which have now relapsed into forest in consequence of the scarcity of labour and diminished enterprise. One of the largest of these establishments is called Caripí. At the time of which I am speaking, it belonged to a Scotch gentleman, Mr. Campbell, who had married the daughter of a large Brazilian proprietor. Most of the occasional English and American visitors to Pará had made some stay at Caripí, and it had obtained quite a reputation for the number and beauty of the birds and insects found there; I therefore applied for, and obtained permission, to spend two or three months at the place. The distance from Pará was about twenty-three miles, round by the northern end of the Ilha das oncas (Isle of Tigers), which faces the city. I bargained for a passage thither with the cabo of a small trading-vessel, which was going past the place, and started on the 7th of December, 1848.

We were thirteen persons aboard: the cabo, his pretty mulatto mistress, the pilot and five Indian canoemen, three young mamelucos (tailor-apprentices who were taking a holiday trip to Cametá), a heavily chained runaway slave, and myself. The young mamelucos were pleasant, gentle fellows; they could read and write, and amused themselves on the voyage with a book containing descriptions and statistics of foreign countries, in which they seemed to take great interest—one reading whilst the others listened. At Uirapiranga, a small island behind the Ilha das oncas, we had to stop a short time to embark several pipes of cashaça at a sugar estate. The cabo took the montaria and two men; the pipes were rolled into the water and floated to the canoe, the men passing cables round and towing them through a rough sea. Here we slept, and the following morning, continuing our voyage, entered a narrow channel which intersects the land of Carnapijó. At 2 p.m. we emerged from this channel, which is called the Aititúba, or Arrozal, into the broad Bahia, and then saw, two or three miles away to the left, the red-tiled mansion of Caripí, embosomed in woods on the shores of a charming little bay.

The water is very shallow near the shore, and when the wind blows there is a heavy ground swell. A few years previously, an English gentleman, Mr. Graham, an amateur naturalist, was capsized here and drowned with his wife and child, whilst passing in a heavily-laden montaria to his large canoe. Remembering their fate, I was rather alarmed to see that I should be obliged to take all my luggage ashore in one trip in a leaky little boat. The pile of chests with two Indians and myself sank the montaria almost to the level of the water. I was kept busy bailing all the way. The Indians manage canoes in this condition with admirable skill. They preserve the nicest equilibrium, and paddle so gently that not the slightest oscillation is perceptible. On landing, an old negress named Florinda, the feitora or manageress of the establishment (which was kept only as a poultry-farm and hospital for sick slaves), gave me the keys, and I forthwith took possession of the rooms I required.

I remained here nine weeks, or until the 12th of February, 1849. The house was very large and most substantially built, but consisted of only one story. I was told it was built by the Jesuits more than a century ago. The front had no veranda, the doors opening upon a slightly elevated terrace about a hundred yards distant from the broad sandy beach. Around the residence the ground had been cleared to the extent of two or three acres, and was planted with fruit trees. Well-trodden pathways through the forest led to little colonies of the natives on the banks of retired creeks and rivulets in the interior. I led here a solitary but not unpleasant life; for there was a great charm in the loneliness of the place. The swell of the river beating on the sloping beach caused an unceasing murmur, which lulled me to sleep at night, and seemed appropriate music in those midday hours when all nature was pausing breathless under the rays of a vertical sun. Here I spent my first Christmas Day in a foreign land. The festival was celebrated by the negroes of their own free will and in a very pleasing manner. The room next to the one I had chosen was the capella, or chapel. It had a little altar which was neatly arranged, and the room was furnished with a magnificent brass chandelier. Men, women, and children were busy in the chapel all day on the 24th of December decorating the altar with flowers and strewing the floor with orange-leaves. They invited some of their neighbours to the evening prayers, and when the simple ceremony began an hour before midnight, the chapel was crowded. They were obliged to dispense with the mass, for they had no priest; the service therefore consisted merely of a long litany and a few hymns. There was placed on the altar a small image of the infant Christ, the “Menino Deos” as they called it, or the child-god, which had a long ribbon depending from its waist. An old white-haired negro led off the litany, and the rest of the people joined in the responses. After the service was over they all went up to the altar, one by one, and kissed the end of the ribbon. The gravity and earnestness shown throughout the proceedings were remarkable. Some of the hymns were very simple and beautiful, especially one beginning “Virgem soberana,” a trace of whose melody springs to my recollection whenever I think on the dreamy solitude of Caripí.

The next day after I arrived, two blue-eyed and red-haired boys came up and spoke to me in English, and presently their father made his appearance. They proved to be a German family named Petzell, who were living in the woods, Indian fashion, about a mile from Caripí. Petzell explained to me how he came here. He said that thirteen years ago he came to Brazil with a number of other Germans under engagement to serve in the Brazilian army. When his time had expired he came to Pará to see the country, but after a few months’ rambling left the place to establish himself in the United States. There he married, went to Illinois, and settled as farmer near St. Louis. He remained on his farm seven or eight years, and had a family of five children. He could never forget, however, the free river-life and perpetual summer of the banks of the Amazons; so, he persuaded his wife to consent to break up their home in North America, and migrate to Pará. No one can imagine the difficulties the poor fellow had to go through before reaching the land of his choice. He first descended the Mississippi, feeling sure that a passage to Pará could be got at New Orleans. He was there told that the only port in North America he could start from was New York, so away he sailed for New York; but there was no chance of a vessel sailing thence to Pará, so he took a passage to Demerara, as bringing him, at any rate, near to the desired land. There is no communication whatever between Demerara and Pará, and he was forced to remain here with his family four or five months, during which they all caught the yellow fever, and one of his children died. At length, he heard of a small coasting vessel going to Cayenne, so he embarked, and thereby got another stage nearer the end of his journey. A short time after reaching Cayenne, he shipped in a schooner that was going to Pará, or rather the island of Marajó, for a cargo of cattle. He had now fixed himself, after all his wanderings, in a healthy and fertile little nook on the banks of a rivulet near Caripí, built himself a log-hut, and planted a large patch of mandioca and Indian corn. He seemed to be quite happy, but his wife complained much of the want of wholesome food, meat, and wheaten bread. I asked the children whether they liked the country; they shook their heads, and said they would rather be in Illinois. Petzell told me that his Indian neighbours treated him very kindly; one or other of them called almost every day to see how he was getting on, and they had helped him in many ways. He had a high opinion of the Tapuyos, and said, “If you treat them well, they will go through fire to serve you.”

Petzell and his family were expert insect-collectors, so I employed them at this work during my stay at Caripí. The daily occurrences here were after a uniform fashion. I rose with the dawn, took a cup of coffee, and then sallied forth after birds. At ten I breakfasted, and devoted the hours from ten until three to entomology. The evening was occupied in preserving and storing my captures. Petzell and I sometimes undertook long excursions, occupying the whole day. Our neighbours used to bring me all the quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, and shells they met with, and so altogether I was enabled to acquire a good collection of the productions of the district.

The first few nights I was much troubled by bats. The room where I slept had not been used for many months, and the roof was open to the tiles and rafters. The first night I slept soundly and did not perceive anything unusual, but on the next I was aroused about midnight by the rushing noise made by vast hosts of bats sweeping about the room. The air was alive with them; they had put out the lamp, and when I relighted it the place appeared blackened with the impish multitudes that were whirling round and round. After I had laid about well with a stick for a few minutes, they disappeared amongst the tiles, but when all was still again they returned, and once more extinguished the light. I took no further notice of them, and went to sleep. The next night several got into my hammock; I seized them as they were crawling over me, and dashed them against the wall. The next morning I found a wound, evidently caused by a bat, on my hip. This was rather unpleasant, so I set to work with the negroes, and tried to exterminate them. I shot a great many as they hung from the rafters, and the negroes having mounted with ladders to the roof outside, routed out from beneath the caves many hundreds of them, including young broods. There were altogether four species—two belonging to the genus Dysopes, one to Phyllostoma, and the fourth to Glossophaga. By far the greater number belonged to the Dysopes perotis, a species having very large ears, and measuring two feet from tip to tip of the wings. The Phyllostoma was a small kind, of a dark-grey colour, streaked with white down the back, and having a leaf-shaped fleshy expansion on the tip of the nose. I was never attacked by bats except on this occasion. The fact of their sucking the blood of persons sleeping, from wounds which they make in the toes, is now well established; but it is only a few persons who are subject to this blood-letting. According to the negroes, the Phyllostoma is the only kind which attacks man. Those which I caught crawling over me were Dysopes, and I am inclined to think many different kinds of bats have this propensity.

One day I was occupied searching for insects in the bark of a fallen tree, when I saw a large cat-like animal advancing towards the spot. It came within a dozen yards before perceiving me. I had no weapon with me but an old chisel, and was getting ready to defend myself if it should make a spring, when it turned around hastily and trotted off. I did not obtain a very distinct view of it, but I could see its colour was that of the Puma, or American Lion, although it was rather too small for that species. The Puma is not a common animal in the Amazons forests. I did not see altogether more than a dozen skins, in the possession of the natives. The fur is of a fawn colour. On account of its hue resembling that of a deer common in the forests, the natives call it the Sassú-arána,[^[1]] or the false deer; that is, an animal which deceives one at first sight by its superficial resemblance to a deer. The hunters are not at all afraid of it, and speak always in disparaging terms of its courage. Of the Jaguar, they give a very different account.

[1] The old zoologist Marcgrave called the Puma the Cuguacuarana, probably (the c’s being soft) a misspelling of Sassú-arána; hence, the name Cougouar employed by French zoologists, and copied in most works on natural history.

The only species of monkey I met with at Caripí was the same dark-coloured little Midas already mentioned as found near Pará. The great Ant-eater, Tamandua of the natives (Myrmecophaga jubata), was not uncommon here. After the first few weeks of residence, I ran short of fresh provisions. The people of the neighbourhood had sold me all the fowls they could spare; I had not yet learned to eat the stale and stringy salt-fish which is the staple food in these places, and for several days I had lived on rice-porridge, roasted bananas, and farinha. Florinda asked me whether I could eat Tamanduá. I told her almost anything in the shape of flesh would be acceptable; so the same day she went with an old negro named Antonio and the dogs, and in the evening brought one of the animals. The meat was stewed and turned out very good, something like goose in flavour. The people at Caripí would not touch a morsel, saying it was not considered fit to eat in these parts; I had read, however, that it was an article of food in other countries of South America. During the next two or three weeks, whenever we were short of fresh meat, Antonio was always ready, for a small reward, to get me a Tamanduá. But one day he came to me in great distress, with the news that his favourite dog, Atrevido, had been caught in the grip of an ant-eater, and was killed. We hastened to the place, and found the dog was not dead, but severely torn by the claws of the animal, which itself was mortally wounded, and was now relaxing its grasp.

The habits of the Myrmecophaga jubata are now pretty well known. It is not uncommon in the drier forests of the Amazons valley, but is not found, I believe, in the Ygapó, or flooded lands. The Brazilians call the species the Tamanduá bandeira, or the Banner Ant-eater, the term banner being applied in allusion to the curious colouration of the animal, each side of the body having a broad oblique stripe, half grey and half black, which gives it some resemblance to a heraldic banner. It has an excessively long slender muzzle, and a wormlike extensile tongue. Its jaws are destitute of teeth. The claws are much elongated, and its gait is very awkward. It lives on the ground, and feeds on termites, or white ants; the long claws being employed to pull in pieces the solid hillocks made by the insects, and the long flexible tongue to lick them up from the crevices. All the other species of this singular genus are arboreal. I met with four species altogether. One was the Myrmecophaga tetradactyla; the two others, more curious and less known, were very small kinds, called Tamanduá-i. Both are similar in size—ten inches in length, exclusive of the tail—and in the number of the claws, having two of unequal length to the anterior feet, and four to the hind feet. One species is clothed with greyish-yellow silky hair; this is of rare occurrence. The other has a fur of a dingy brown colour, without silky lustre. One was brought to me alive at Caripí, having been caught by an Indian, clinging motionless inside a hollow tree. I kept it in the house about twenty-four hours. It had a moderately long snout, curved downwards, and extremely small eyes. It remained nearly all the time without motion except when irritated, in which case it reared itself on its hind legs from the back of a chair to which it clung, and clawed out with its forepaws like a cat. Its manner of clinging with its claws, and the sluggishness of its motions, gave it a great resemblance to a sloth. It uttered no sound, and remained all night on the spot where I had placed it in the morning. The next day, I put it on a tree in the open air, and at night it escaped. These small Tamanduás are nocturnal in their habits, and feed on those species of termites which construct earthy nests that look like ugly excrescences on the trunks and branches of trees. The different kinds of ant-eaters are thus adapted to various modes of life, terrestrial and arboreal. Those which live on trees are again either diurnal or nocturnal, for Myrmecophaga tetradactyla is seen moving along the main branches in the daytime. The allied group of the Sloths, which are still more exclusively South American forms than ant-eaters are, at the present time furnish arboreal species only, but formerly terrestrial forms of sloths also existed, as the Megatherium, whose mode of life was a puzzle, seeing that it was of too colossal a size to live on trees, until Owen showed how it might have obtained its food from the ground.

In January the orange-trees became covered with blossom—at least to a greater extent than usual, for they flower more or less in this country all the year round—and attracting a great number of humming-birds. Every day, in the cooler hours of the morning, and in the evening from four o’clock until six, they were to be seen whirring about the trees by scores. Their motions are unlike those of all other birds. They dart to and fro so swiftly that the eye can scarcely follow them, and when they stop before a flower, it is only for a few moments. They poise themselves in an unsteady manner, their wings moving with inconceivable rapidity, probe the flower, and then shoot off to another part of the tree. They do not proceed in that methodical manner which bees follow, taking the flowers seriatim, but skip about from one part of the tree to another in the most capricious way. Sometimes two males close with each other and fight, mounting upwards in the struggle, as insects are often seen to do when similarly engaged, and then separating hastily and darting back to their work. Now and then they stop to rest, perching on leafless twigs, where they may be sometimes seen probing, from the places where they sit, the flowers within their reach. The brilliant colours with which they are adorned cannot be seen whilst they are fluttering about, nor can the different species be distinguished unless they have a deal of white hue in their plumage, such as Heliothrix auritus, which is wholly white underneath, although of a glittering green colour above, and the white-tailed Florisuga mellivora. There is not a great variety of humming-birds in the Amazons region, the number of species being far smaller in these uniform forest plains than in the diversified valleys of the Andes, under the same parallels of latitude. The family is divisible into two groups, contrasted in form and habits: one containing species which live entirely in the shade of the forest, and the other comprising those which prefer open sunny places. The forest species (Phaethorninæ) are seldom seen at flowers, flowers being, in the shady places where they abide, of rare occurrence; but they search for insects on leaves, threading the bushes and passing above and beneath each leaf with wonderful rapidity. The other group (Trochilinæ) are not quite confined to cleared places, as they come into the forest wherever a tree is in blossom, and descend into sunny openings where flowers are to be found. But it is only where the woods are less dense than usual that this is the case; in the lofty forests and twilight shades of the lowlands and islands, they are scarcely ever seen. I searched well at Caripí, expecting to find the Lophornis Gouldii, which I was told had been obtained in the locality. This is one of the most beautiful of all humming-birds, having round the neck a frill of long white feathers tipped with golden green. I was not, however, so fortunate as to meet with it. Several times I shot by mistake a humming-bird hawk-moth instead of a bird. This moth (Macroglossa Titan) is somewhat smaller than humming-birds generally are; but its manner of flight, and the way it poises itself before a flower whilst probing it with its proboscis, are precisely like the same actions of humming-birds. It was only after many days’ experience that I learned to distinguish one from the other when on the wing. This resemblance has attracted the notice of the natives, all of whom, even educated whites, firmly believe that one is transmutable into the other. They have observed the metamorphosis of caterpillars into butterflies, and think it not at all more wonderful that a moth should change into a humming-bird. The resemblance between this hawk-moth and a humming-bird is certainly very curious, and strikes one even when both are examined in the hand. Holding them sideways, the shape of the head and position of the eyes in the moth are seen to be nearly the same as in the bird, the extended proboscis representing the long beak. At the tip of the moth’s body there is a brush of long hair-scales resembling feathers, which, being expanded, looks very much like a bird’s tail. But, of course, all these points of resemblance are merely superficial. The negroes and Indians tried to convince me that the two were of the same species. “Look at their feathers,” they said; “their eyes are the same, and so are their tails.” This belief is so deeply rooted that it was useless to reason with them on the subject. The Macroglossa moths are found in most countries, and have everywhere the same habits; one well-known species is found in England. Mr. Gould relates that he once had a stormy altercation with an English gentleman, who affirmed that humming-birds were found in England, for he had seen one flying in Devonshire, meaning thereby the moth Macroglossa stellatarum. The analogy between the two creatures has been brought about, probably, by the similarity of their habits, there being no indication of the one having been adapted in outward appearance with reference to the other.

It has been observed that humming-birds are unlike other birds in their mental qualities, resembling in this respect insects rather than warm-blooded vertebrate animals. The want of expression in their eyes, the small degree of versatility in their actions, the quickness and precision of their movements, are all so many points of resemblance between them and insects. In walking along the alleys of the forest, a Phaethornis frequently crosses one’s path, often stopping suddenly and remaining poised in mid-air, a few feet distant from the face of the intruder. The Phaethorninæ are certainly more numerous in the Amazons region than the Trochilinæ. They build their nests, which are made of fine vegetable fibres and lichens; densely woven together and thickly lined with silk-cotton from the fruit of the samaüma tree (Eriodendron samauma); and on the inner sides lined with of the tips of palm-fronds. They are long and purse-shaped. The young when first hatched have very much shorter bills than their parents. The only species of Trochilinæ which I found at Caripí were the little brassy-green Polytmus viridissimus, the sapphire and emerald (Thalurania furcata), and the large falcate-winged Campylopterus obscurus.

Snakes were very numerous at Caripí; many harmless species were found near the house, and these sometimes came into the rooms. I was wandering one day amongst the green bushes of Guajará, a tree which yields a grape-like berry (Chrysobalanus Icaco) and grows along all these sandy shores, when I was startled by what appeared to be the flexuous stem of a creeping plant endowed with life and threading its way amongst the leaves and branches. This animated liana turned out to be a pale-green snake, the Dryophis fulgida. Its whole body is of the same green hue, and it is thus rendered undistinguishable amidst the foliage of the Guajará bushes, where it prowls in search of its prey, tree-frogs and lizards. The forepart of its head is prolonged into a slender pointed beak, and the total length of the reptile was six feet. There was another kind found amongst bushes on the borders of the forest closely allied to this, but much more slender, viz., the Dryophis acuminata. This grows to a length of four feet eight inches, the tail alone being twenty-two inches; but the diameter of the thickest part of the body is little more than a quarter of an inch. It is of light-brown colour, with iridescent shades variegated with obscurer markings, and looks like a piece of whipcord. One individual which I caught of this species had a protuberance near the middle of the body. Upon opening it, I found a half-digested lizard which was much more bulky than the snake itself. Another kind of serpent found here, a species of Helicops, was amphibious in its habits. I saw several of this in wet weather on the beach, which, on being approached, always made straightway for the water, where they swam with much grace and dexterity. Florinda one day caught a Helicops whilst angling for fish, it having swallowed the fishhook with the bait. She and others told me these water-snakes lived on small fishes, but I did not meet with any proof of the statement. In the woods, snakes were constantly occurring; it was not often, however, that I saw poisonous species. There were many arboreal kinds besides the two just mentioned; and it was rather alarming, in entomologising about the trunks of trees, to suddenly encounter, on turning round, as sometimes happened, a pair of glittering eyes and a forked tongue within a few inches of one’s head. The last kind I shall mention is the Coral-snake, which is a most beautiful object when seen coiled up on black soil in the woods. The one I saw here was banded with black and vermilion, the black bands having each two clear white rings. The state of specimens preserved in spirits can give no idea of the brilliant colours which adorn the Coral-snake in life.

Petzell and I, as already mentioned, made many excursions of long extent in the neighbouring forest. We sometimes went to Murucupí, a creek which passes through the forest, about four miles behind Caripí, the banks of which are inhabited by Indians and half-breeds who have lived there for many generations in perfect seclusion from the rest of the world, the place being little known or frequented. A path from Caripí leads to it through a gloomy tract of virgin forest, where the trees are so closely packed together that the ground beneath is thrown into the deepest shade, under which nothing but fetid fungi and rotting vegetable debris is to be seen. On emerging from this unfriendly solitude near the banks of the Murucupí, a charming contrast is presented. A glorious vegetation, piled up to an immense height, clothes the banks of the creek, which traverses a broad tract of semi-cultivated ground, and the varied masses of greenery are lighted up with the sunny glow. Open palm-thatched huts peep forth here and there from amidst groves of banana, mango, cotton, and papaw trees and palms. On our first excursion, we struck the banks of the river in front of a house of somewhat more substantial architecture than the rest, having finished mud walls that were plastered and whitewashed, and had a covering of red tiles. It seemed to be full of children, and the aspect of the household was improved by a number of good-looking mameluco women, who were busily employed washing, spinning, and making farinha. Two of them, seated on a mat in the open verandah, were engaged sewing dresses, for a festival was going to take place a few days hence at Balcarem, a village eight miles distant from Murucupí, and they intended to be present to hear mass and show their finery. One of the children, a naked boy about seven years of age, crossed over with the montaria to fetch us. We were made welcome at once, and asked to stay for dinner. On our accepting the invitation, a couple of fowls were killed, and a wholesome stew of seasoned rice and fowls soon put into preparation. It is not often that the female members of a family in these retired places are familiar with strangers; but, these people had lived a long time in the capital, and therefore, were more civilised than their neighbours. Their father had been a prosperous tradesman, and had given them the best education the place afforded. After his death the widow with several daughters, married and unmarried, retired to this secluded spot, which had been their sitio, farm or country-house, for many years. One of the daughters was married to a handsome young mulatto, who was present, and sang us some pretty songs, accompanying himself on the guitar.

After dinner I expressed a wish to see more of the creek; so a lively and polite old man, whom I took to be one of the neighbours, volunteered as guide. We embarked in a little montaria, and paddled some three or four miles up and down the stream. Although I had now become familiarised with beautiful vegetation, all the glow of fresh admiration came again to me in this place. The creek was about a hundred yards wide, but narrower in some places. Both banks were masked by lofty walls of green drapery, here and there a break occurring, through which, under overarching trees, glimpses were obtained of the palm-thatched huts of settlers. The projecting boughs of lofty trees, which in some places stretched half-way across the creek, were hung with natural garlands and festoons, and an endless variety of creeping plants clothed the water-frontage, some of which, especially the Bignonias, were ornamented with large gaily-coloured flowers. Art could not have assorted together beautiful vegetable forms so harmoniously as was here done by Nature. Palms, as usual, formed a large proportion of the lower trees; some of them, however, shot up their slim stems to a height of sixty feet or more, and waved their bunches of nodding plumes between us and the sky. One kind of palm, the Pashiúba (Iriartea exorhiza), which grows here in greater abundance than elsewhere, was especially attractive. It is not one of the tallest kinds, for when full-grown its height is not more, perhaps, than forty feet; the leaves are somewhat less drooping, and the leaflets much broader than in other species, so that they have not that feathery appearance which those of some palms have, but still they possess their own peculiar beauty. My guide put me ashore in one place to show me the roots of the Pashiúba. These grow above ground, radiating from the trunk many feet above the surface, so that the tree looks as if supported on stilts; and a person can, in old trees, stand upright amongst the roots with the perpendicular stem wholly above his head. It adds to the singularity of their appearance that these roots, which have the form of straight rods, are studded with stout thorns, whilst the trunk of the tree is quite smooth. The purpose of this curious arrangement is, perhaps, similar to that of the buttress roots already described—namely, to recompense the tree by root-growth above the soil for its inability, in consequence of the competition of neighbouring roots, to extend it underground. The great amount of moisture and nutriment contained in the atmosphere may also favour these growths.

On returning to the house, I found Petzell had been well occupied during the hot hours of the day collecting insects in a neighbouring clearing. Our kind hosts gave us a cup of coffee about five o’clock, and we then started for home. The last mile of our walk was performed in the dark. The forest in this part is obscure even in broad daylight, but I was scarcely prepared for the intense opacity of darkness which reigned here on this night, and which prevented us from seeing each other whilst walking side by side. Nothing occurred of a nature to alarm us, except that now and then a sudden rush was heard amongst the trees, and once a dismal shriek startled us. Petzell tripped at one place and fell all his length into the thicket. With this exception, we kept well to the pathway, and in due time arrived safely at Caripí.

One of my neighbours at Murucupí was a hunter of reputation in these parts. He was a civilised Indian, married and settled, named Raimundo, whose habit was to sally forth at intervals to certain productive hunting-grounds, the situation of which he kept secret, and procure fresh provisions for his family. I had found out by this time that animal food was as much a necessary of life in this exhausting climate as it is in the North of Europe. An attempt which I made to live on vegetable food was quite a failure, and I could not eat the execrable salt-fish which Brazilians use. I had been many days without meat of any kind, and nothing more was to be found near Caripí, so I asked as a favour of Senhor Raimundo permission to accompany him on one of his hunting-trips, and shoot a little game for my own use. He consented, and appointed a day on which I was to come over to his house to sleep, so as to be ready for starting with the ebb-tide shortly after midnight.

The locality we were to visit was situated near the extreme point of the land of Carnapijó, where it projects northwardly into the middle of the Pará estuary, and is broken into a number of islands. On the afternoon of January 11th, 1849, I walked through the woods to Raimundo’s house, taking nothing with me but a double-barrelled gun, a supply of ammunition, and a box for the reception of any insects I might capture. Raimundo was a carpenter, and seemed to be a very industrious, man; he had two apprentices, Indians like himself—one a young lad, and the other apparently about twenty years of age. His wife was of the same race. The Indian women are not always of a taciturn disposition like their husbands. Senhora Dominga was very talkative; there was another old squaw at the house on a visit, and the tongues of the two were going at a great rate the whole evening, using only the Tupí language. Raimundo and his apprentices were employed building a canoe. Notwithstanding his industry, he seemed to be very poor, and this was the condition of most of the residents on the banks of the Murucupí. They have, nevertheless, considerable plantations of mandioca and Indian corn, besides small plots of cotton, coffee, and sugarcane; the soil is very fertile, they have no rent to pay, and no direct taxes. There is, moreover, always a market in Pará, twenty miles distant, for their surplus produce, and a ready communication with it by water.

In the evening we had more visitors. The sounds of pipe and tabor were heard, and presently a procession of villagers emerged from a pathway through the mandioca fields. They were on a begging expedition for St. Thomé, the patron saint of Indians and Mamelucos. One carried a banner, on which was crudely painted the figure of St. Thomé with a glory round his head. The pipe and tabor were of the simplest description. The pipe was a reed pierced with four holes, by means of which a few unmusical notes were produced, and the tabor was a broad hoop with a skin stretched over each end. A deformed young man played both the instruments. Senhor Raimundo received them with the quiet politeness which comes so naturally to the Indian when occupying the position of host. The visitors, who had come from the Villa de Condé, five miles through the forest, were invited to rest. Raimundo then took the image of St. Thomé from one of the party, and placed it by the side of Nossa Senhora in his own oratorio, a little decorated box in which every family keeps its household gods, finally lighting a couple of wax candles before it. Shortly afterwards a cloth was laid on a mat, and all the guests were invited to supper. The fare was very scanty; a boiled fowl with rice, a slice of roasted pirarucú, farinha, and bananas. Each one partook very sparingly, some of the young men contenting themselves with a plateful of rice. One of the apprentices stood behind with a bowl of water and a towel, with which each guest washed his fingers and rinsed his mouth after the meal. They stayed all night: the large open shed was filled with hammocks, which were slung from pole to pole; and upon retiring, Raimundo gave orders for their breakfast in the morning.

Raimundo called me at two o’clock, when we embarked (he, his older apprentice Joaquim, and myself) in a shady place where it was so dark that I could see neither canoe nor water, taking with us five dogs. We glided down a winding creek where huge trunks of trees slanted across close overhead, and presently emerged into the Murucupí. A few yards further on we entered the broader channel of the Aititúba. This we crossed, and entered another narrow creek on the opposite side. Here the ebb-tide was against us, and we had great difficulty in making progress. After we had struggled against the powerful current a distance of two miles, we came to a part where the ebb-tide ran in the opposite direction, showing that we had crossed the watershed. The tide flows into this channel or creek at both ends simultaneously, and meets in the middle, although there is apparently no difference of level, and the breadth of the water is the same. The tides are extremely intricate throughout all the infinite channels and creeks which intersect the lands of the Amazons delta. The moon now broke forth and lighted up the trunks of colossal trees, the leaves of monstrous Jupatí palms which arched over the creek, and revealed groups of arborescent arums standing like rows of spectres on its banks. We had a glimpse now and then into the black depths of the forest, where all was silent except the shrill stridulation of wood-crickets. Now and then a sudden plunge in the water ahead would startle us, caused by heavy fruit or some nocturnal animal dropping from the trees. The two Indians here rested on their paddles and allowed the canoe to drift with the tide. A pleasant perfume came from the forest, which Raimundo said proceeded from a cane-field. He told me that all this land was owned by large proprietors at Pará, who had received grants from time to time from the Government for political services. Raimundo was quite in a talkative humour; he related to me many incidents of the time of the “Cabanagem,” as the revolutionary days of 1835-6 are popularly called. He said he had been much suspected himself of being a rebel, but declared that the suspicion was unfounded. The only complaint he had to make against the white man was that he monopolised the land without having any intention or prospect of cultivating it. He had been turned out of one place where he had squatted and cleared a large piece of forest. I believe the law of Brazil at this time was that the new lands should become the property of those who cleared and cultivated them, if their right was not disputed within a given term of years by some one who claimed the proprietorship. This land-law has since been repealed, and a new one adopted founded on that of the United States. Raimundo spoke of his race as the redskins, “pelle vermelho;” they meant well to the whites, and only begged to be let alone. “God,” he said, “had given room enough for us all.” It was pleasant to hear the shrewd good-natured fellow talk in this strain. Our companion, Joaquim, had fallen asleep; the night air was cool, and the moonlight lit up the features of Raimundo, revealing a more animated expression than is usually observable in Indian countenances. I always noticed that Indians were more cheerful on a voyage, especially in the cool hours of night and morning, than when ashore. There is something in their constitution of body which makes them feel excessively depressed in the hot hours of the day, especially inside their houses. Their skin is always hot to the touch. They certainly do not endure the heat of their own climate so well as the whites. The negroes are totally different in this respect; the heat of midday has very little effect on them, and they dislike the cold nights on the river.

We arrived at our hunting-ground about half-past four. The channel was broader here and presented several ramifications. It yet wanted an hour and a half to daybreak, so Raimundo recommended me to have a nap. We both stretched ourselves on the benches of the canoe and fell asleep, letting the boat drift with the tide, which was now slack. I slept well considering the hardness of our bed, and when I awoke in the middle of a dream about home-scenes, the day was beginning to dawn. My clothes were quite wet with the dew. The birds were astir, the cicadas had begun their music, and the Urania Leilus, a strange and beautiful tailed and gilded moth, whose habits are those of a butterfly, commenced to fly in flocks over the tree-tops. Raimundo exclaimed “Clareia o dia!”—“The day brightens!” The change was rapid: the sky in the east assumed suddenly the loveliest azure colour, across which streaks of thin white clouds were painted. It is at such moments as this when one feels how beautiful our earth truly is! The channel on whose waters our little boat was floating was about two hundred yards wide; others branched off right and left, surrounding the group of lonely islands which terminate the land of Carnapijó. The forest on all sides formed a lofty hedge without a break; below, it was fringed with mangrove bushes, whose small foliage contrasted with the large glossy leaves of the taller trees, or the feather and fan-shaped fronds of palms.

Being now arrived at our destination, Raimundo turned up his trousers and shirt-sleeves, took his long hunting-knife, and leapt ashore with the dogs. He had to cut a gap in order to enter the forest. We expected to find Pacas and Cutías; and the method adopted to secure them was this: at the present early hour they would be seen feeding on fallen fruits, but would quickly, on hearing a noise, betake themselves to their burrows; Raimundo was then to turn them out by means of the dogs, and Joaquim and I were to remain in the boat with our guns, ready to shoot all that came to the edge of the stream—the habits of both animals, when hard-pressed, being to take to the water. We had not long to wait. The first arrival was a Paca, a reddish, nearly tail-less rodent, spotted with white on the sides, and intermediate in size and appearance between a hog and a hare. My first shot did not take effect; the animal dived into the water and did not reappear. A second was brought down by my companion as it was rambling about under the mangrove bushes. A Cutía next appeared: this is also a rodent, about one-third the size of the Paca; it swims, but does not dive, and I was fortunate enough to shoot it. We obtained in this way two more Pacas and another Cutía. All the time the dogs were yelping in the forest. Shortly afterwards Raimundo made his appearance, and told us to paddle to the other side of the island. Arrived there, we landed and prepared for breakfast. It was a pretty spot—a clean, white, sandy beach beneath the shade of wide-spreading trees. Joaquim made a fire. He first scraped fine shavings from the midrib of a Bacaba palm-leaf; these he piled into a little heap in a dry place, and then struck a light in his bamboo tinderbox with a piece of an old file and a flint, the tinder being a felt-like substance manufactured by an ant (Polyrhachis bispinosus). By gentle blowing, the shavings ignited, dry sticks were piled on them, and a good fire soon resulted. He then singed and prepared the cutía, finishing by running a spit through the body and fixing one end in the ground in a slanting position over the fire. We had brought with us a bag of farinha and a cup containing a lemon, a dozen or two of fiery red peppers, and a few spoonsful of salt. We breakfasted heartily when our cutía was roasted, and washed the meal down with a calabash full of the pure water of the river.

After breakfast the dogs found another cutia, which was hidden in its burrow two or three feet beneath the roots of a large tree, and it took Raimundo nearly an hour to disinter it. Soon afterwards we left this place, crossed the channel, and, paddling past two islands, obtained a glimpse of the broad river between them, with a long sandy spit, on which stood several scarlet ibises and snow-white egrets. One of the islands was low and sandy, and half of it was covered with gigantic arum-trees, the often-mentioned Caladium arborescens, which presented a strange sight. Most people are acquainted with the little British species, Arum maculatum, which grows in hedge-bottoms, and many, doubtless, have admired the larger kinds grown in hothouses; they can therefore form some idea of a forest of arums. On this islet the woody stems of the plants near the bottom were eight to ten inches in diameter, and the trees were twelve to fifteen feet high; all growing together in such a manner that there was just room for a man to walk freely between them. There was a canoe inshore, with a man and a woman: the man, who was hooting with all his might, told us in passing that his son was lost in the “aningal” (arum-grove). He had strayed whilst walking ashore, and the father had now been an hour waiting for him in vain.

About one o’clock we again stopped at the mouth of a little creek. It was now intensely hot. Raimundo said deer were found here; so he borrowed my gun, as being a more effective weapon than the wretched arms called Lazarinos, which he, in common with all the native hunters, used, and which sell at Pará for seven or eight shillings apiece. Raimundo and Joaquim now stripped themselves quite naked, and started off in different directions through the forest, going naked in order to move with less noise over the carpet of dead leaves, amongst which they stepped so stealthily that not the slightest rustle could be heard. The dogs remained in the canoe, in the neighbourhood of which I employed myself two hours entomologising. At the end of that time my two companions returned, having met with no game whatever.

We now embarked on our return voyage. Raimundo cut two slender poles, one for a mast and the other for a sprit: to these he rigged a sail we had brought in the boat, for we were to return by the open river, and expected a good wind to carry us to Caripí. As soon as we got out of the channel we began to feel the wind—the sea-breeze, which here makes a clean sweep from the Atlantic. Our boat was very small and heavily laden; and when, after rounding a point, I saw the great breadth we had to traverse (seven miles), I thought the attempt to cross in such a slight vessel foolhardy in the extreme. The waves ran very high, there was no rudder, Raimundo steered with a paddle, and all we had to rely upon to save us from falling into the trough of the sea and being instantly swamped were his nerve and skill. There was just room in the boat for our three selves, the dogs, and the game we had killed, and when between the swelling ridges of waves in so frail a shell, our destruction seemed inevitable; as it was, we shipped a little water now and then. Joaquim assisted with his paddle to steady the boat: my time was fully occupied in bailing out the water and watching the dogs, which were crowded together in the prow, yelling with fear; one or other of them occasionally falling over the side and causing great commotion in scrambling in again. Off the point was a ridge of rocks, over which the surge raged furiously. Raimundo sat at the stern, rigid and silent, his eye steadily watching the prow of the boat. It was almost worth the risk and discomfort of the passage to witness the seamanlike ability displayed by Indians on the water. The little boat rode beautifully, rising well with each wave, and in the course of an hour and a half we arrived at Caripí, thoroughly tired and wet through to the skin.

On the 16th of January, the dry season came abruptly to an end. The sea-breezes, which had been increasing in force for some days, suddenly ceased, and the atmosphere became misty; at length heavy clouds collected where a uniform blue sky had for many weeks prevailed, and down came a succession of heavy showers, the first of which lasted a whole day and night. This seemed to give a new stimulus to animal life. On the first night there was a tremendous uproar—tree-frogs, crickets, goat-suckers, and owls all joining to perform a deafening concert. One kind of goat-sucker kept repeating at intervals throughout the night a phrase similar to the Portuguese words, “Joao corta pao,”—“John, cut wood”—a phrase which forms the Brazilian name of the bird. An owl in one of the Genipapa trees muttered now and then a succession of syllables resembling the word “Murucututú.” Sometimes the croaking and hooting of frogs and toads were so loud that we could not hear one another’s voices within doors. Swarms of dragonflies appeared in the daytime about the pools of water created by the rain, and ants and termites came forth in the winged state in vast numbers. I noticed that the winged termites, or white ants, which came by hundreds to the lamps at night, when alighting on the table, often jerked off their wings by a voluntary movement. On examination I found that the wings were not shed by the roots, for a small portion of the stumps remained attached to the thorax. The edge of the fracture was in all cases straight, not ruptured; there is, in fact, a natural seam crossing the member towards its root, and at this point the long wing naturally drops or is jerked off when the insect has no further use for it. The white ant is endowed with wings simply for the purpose of flying away from the colony peopled by its wingless companions, to pair with individuals of the same or other colonies, and thus propagate and disseminate its kind. The winged individuals are males and females, whilst the great bulk of their wingless fraternity are of no sex, but are of two castes, soldiers and workers, which are restricted to the functions of building the nests, nursing, and defending the young brood. The two sexes mate whilst on the ground, after the wings are shed; and then the married couples, if they escape the numerous enemies which lie in wait for them, proceed to the task of founding new colonies. Ants and white ants have much that is analogous in their modes of life: they belong, however, to two widely different orders of insects, strongly contrasted in their structure and manner of growth.

I amassed at Caripí a very large collection of beautiful and curious insects, amounting altogether to about twelve hundred species. The number of Coleoptera was remarkable, seeing that this order is so poorly represented near Pará. I attributed their abundance to the number of new clearings made in the virgin forest by the native settlers. The felled timber attracts lignivorous insects, and these draw in their train the predaceous species of various families. As a general rule, the species were smaller and much less brilliant in colours than those of Mexico and South Brazil. The species too, although numerous, were not represented by great numbers of individuals; they were also extremely nimble, and therefore much less easy of capture than insects of the same order in temperate climates. The carnivorous beetles at Caripí were, like those of Pará, chiefly arboreal. Most of them exhibited a beautiful contrivance for enabling them to cling to and run over smooth or flexible surfaces, such as leaves. Their tarsi or feet are broad, and furnished beneath with a brush of short stiff hairs; whilst their claws are toothed in the form of a comb, adapting them for clinging to the smooth edges of leaves, the joint of the foot which precedes the claw being cleft so as to allow free play to the claw in grasping. The common dung-beetles at Caripí, which flew about in the evening like the Geotrupes, the familiar “shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hum” of our English lanes, were of colossal size and beautiful colours. One kind had a long spear-shaped horn projecting from the crown of its head (Phanæus lancifer). A blow from this fellow, as he came heavily flying along, was never very pleasant. All the tribes of beetles which feed on vegetable substances, fresh or decayed, were very numerous. The most beautiful of these, but not the most common, were the Longicornes; very graceful insects, having slender bodies and long antennæ, often ornamented with fringes and tufts of hair. They were found on flowers, on trunks of trees, or flying about the new clearings. One small species (Coremia hirtipes) has a tuft of hairs on its hind legs, whilst many of its sister species have a similar ornament on the antennæ. It suggests curious reflections when we see an ornament like the feather of a grenadier’s cap situated on one part of the body in one species, and in a totally different part in nearly allied ones. I tried in vain to discover the use of these curious brush-like decorations. On the trunk of a living leguminous tree, Petzell found a number of a very rare and handsome species, the Platysternus hebræus, which is of a broad shape, coloured ochreous, but spotted and striped with black, so as to resemble a domino. On the felled trunks of trees, swarms of gilded-green Longicornes occurred, of small size (Chrysoprasis), which looked like miniature musk-beetles, and, indeed, are closely allied to those well-known European insects.

At length, on the 12th of February, I left Caripí, my Negro and Indian neighbours bidding me a warm “adios.” I had passed a delightful time, notwithstanding the many privations undergone in the way of food. The wet season had now set in; the lowlands and islands would soon become flooded daily at high water, and the difficulty of obtaining fresh provisions would increase. I intended, therefore, to spend the next three months at Pará, in the neighbourhood of which there was still much to be done in the intervals of fine weather, and then start off on another excursion into the interior.

Chapter VI.
THE LOWER AMAZONS—PARÁ TO OBYDOS

Modes of Travelling on the Amazons — Historical Sketch of the Early Explorations of the River — Preparations for Voyage — Life on Board a Large Trading Vessel — The narrow channels joining the Pará to the Amazons — First Sight of the Great River — Gurupa — The Great Shoal — Flat-topped Mountains — Santarem — Obydos

At the time of my first voyage up the Amazons—namely, in 1849—nearly all communication with the interior was by means of small sailing-vessels, owned by traders residing in the remote towns and villages, who seldom came to Pará themselves, but entrusted vessels and cargoes to the care of half-breeds or Portuguese cabos. Sometimes, indeed, they risked all in the hands of the Indian crew, making the pilot, who was also steersman, do duty as supercargo. Now and then, Portuguese and Brazilian merchants at Pará furnished young Portuguese with merchandise, and dispatched them to the interior to exchange the goods for produce amongst the scattered population. The means of communication, in fact, with the upper parts of the Amazons had been on the decline for some time, on account of the augmented difficulty of obtaining hands to navigate vessels. Formerly, when the Government wished to send any important functionary, such as a judge or a military commandant, into the interior, they equipped a swift-sailing galliota manned with ten or a dozen Indians. These could travel, on the average, in one day farther than the ordinary sailing craft could in three. Indian paddlers were now, however, almost impossible to be obtained, and Government officers were obliged to travel as passengers in trading-vessels. The voyage made in this way was tedious in the extreme. When the regular east-wind blew—the “vento geral,” or trade-wind of the Amazons—sailing-vessels could get along very well; but when this failed, they were obliged to remain, sometimes many days together, anchored near the shore, or progress laboriously by means of the “espia.” The latter mode of travelling was as follows. The montaria, with twenty or thirty fathoms of cable, one end of which was attached to the foremast, was sent ahead with a couple of hands, who secured the other end of the rope to some strong bough or tree-trunk; the crew then hauled the vessel up to the point, after which the men in the boat re-embarked the cable, and paddled forwards to repeat the process. In the dry season, from August to December, when the trade-wind is strong and the currents slack, a schooner could reach the mouth of the Rio Negro, a thousand miles from Pará, in about forty days; but in the wet season, from January to July, when the east-wind no longer blows and the Amazons pours forth its full volume of water, flooding the banks and producing a tearing current, it took three months to travel the same distance. It was a great blessing to the inhabitants when, in 1853, a line of steamers was established, and this same journey could be accomplished with ease and comfort, at all seasons, in eight days!

It is, perhaps, not generally known that the Portuguese, as early as 1710, had a fair knowledge of the Amazons; but the information gathered by their Government, from various expeditions undertaken on a grand scale, was long withheld from the rest of the world, through the jealous policy which ruled in their colonial affairs. From the foundation of Pará by Caldeira, in 1615, to the settlement of the boundary line between the Spanish and Portuguese possessions, Peru and Brazil, in 1781-91, numbers of these expeditions were undertaken in succession. The largest was the one commanded by Pedro Texeira in 1637-9, who ascended the river to Quito by way of the Napo, a distance of about 2800 miles, with 45 canoes and 900 men, and returned to Pará without any great misadventure by the same route. The success of this remarkable undertaking amply proved, at that early date, the facility of the river navigation, the practicability of the country, and the good disposition of the aboriginal inhabitants. The river, however, was first discovered by the Spaniards, the mouth having been visited by Pinzon in 1500, and nearly the whole course of the river navigated by Orellana in 1541-2. The voyage of the latter was one of the most remarkable on record. Orellana was a lieutenant of Gonzalo Pizarro, Governor of Quito, and accompanied the latter in an adventurous journey which he undertook across the easternmost chain of the Andes, down into the sweltering valley of the Napo, in search of the land of El Dorado, or the Gilded King. They started with 300 soldiers and 4000 Indian porters; but, arrived on the banks of one of the tributaries of the Napo, their followers were so greatly decreased in number by disease and hunger, and the remainder so much weakened, that Pizarro was obliged to despatch Orellana with fifty men, in a vessel they had built, to the Napo, in search of provisions. It can be imagined by those acquainted with the Amazons country how fruitless this errand would be in the wilderness of forest where Orellana and his followers found themselves when they reached the Napo, and how strong their disinclination would be to return against the currents and rapids which they had descended. The idea then seized them to commit themselves to the chances of the stream, although ignorant whither it would lead. So onward they went. From the Napo they emerged into the main Amazons, and, after many and various adventures with the Indians on its banks, reached the Atlantic— eight months from the date of their entering the great river.[^[1]]

[1] It was during this voyage that the nation of female warriors was said to have been met with; a report which gave rise to the Portuguese name of the river, Amazonas. It is now pretty well known that this is a mere fable, originating in the love of the marvellous which distinguished the early Spanish adventurers, and impaired the credibility of their narratives.

Another remarkable voyage was accomplished, in a similar manner, by a Spaniard named Lopez d’Aguirre, from Cusco, in Peru, down the Ucayali, a branch of the Amazons flowing from the south, and therefore, from an opposite direction to that of the Napo. An account of this journey was sent by D’Aguirre, in a letter to the King of Spain, from which Humboldt has given an extract in his narrative. As it is a good specimen of the quaintness of style and looseness of statement exhibited by these early narrators of adventures in South America, I will give a translation of it: “We constructed rafts, and, leaving behind our horses and baggage, sailed down the river (the Ucayali) with great risk, until we found ourselves in a gulf of fresh water. In this river Maranon we continued more than ten months and a half, down to its mouth, where it falls into the sea. We made one hundred days’ journey, and travelled 1500 leagues. It is a great and fearful stream, has 80 leagues of fresh water at its mouth, vast shoals, and 800 leagues of wilderness without any kind of inhabitants,[^[2]] as your Majesty will see from the true and correct narrative of the journey which we have made. It has more than 6000 islands. God knows how we came out of this fearful sea!” Many expeditions were undertaken in the course of the eighteenth century; in fact, the crossing of the continent from the Pacific to the Atlantic, by way of the Amazons, seems to have become by this time a common occurrence. The only voyage, however, which yielded much scientific information to the European public was that of the French astronomer, La Condamine, in 1743-4. The most complete account yet published of the river is that given by Von Martius in the third volume of Spix and Martius’ Travels. These most accomplished travellers were eleven months in the country—namely, from July, 1819, to June, 1820—and ascended the river to the frontiers of the Brazilian territory. The accounts they have given of the geography, ethnology, botany, history, and statistics of the Amazons region are the most complete that have ever been given to the world. Their narrative was not published until 1831, and was unfortunately inaccessible to me during the time I travelled in the same country.

[2] This account disagrees with that of Acunna, the historiographer of Texeira’s expedition, who accompanied him, in 1639, on his return voyage from Quito. Acunna speaks of a very numerous population on the banks of the Amazons.

Whilst preparing for my voyage it happened, fortunately, that the half-brother of Dr. Angelo Custodio, a young mestizo named Joao da Cunha Correia, was about to start for the Amazons on a trading expedition in his own vessel, a schooner of about forty tons’ burthen. A passage for me was soon arranged with him through the intervention of Dr. Angelo, and we started on the 5th of September, 1849. I intended to stop at some village on the northern shore of the Lower Amazons, where it would be interesting to make collections, in order to show the relations of the fauna to those of Pará and the coast region of Guiana. As I should have to hire a house or hut wherever I stayed, I took all the materials for housekeeping—cooking utensils, crockery, and so forth. To these were added a stock of such provisions as it would be difficult to obtain in the interior; also ammunition, chests, store-boxes, a small library of natural history books, and a hundredweight of copper money. I engaged, after some trouble, a Mameluco youth to accompany me as servant—a short, fat, yellow-faced boy named Luco, whom I had already employed at Pará in collecting. We weighed anchor at night, and on the following day found ourselves gliding along the dark-brown waters of the Mojú.

Joao da Cunha, like most of his fellow countrymen, took matters very easily. He was going to be absent in the interior several years, and therefore, intended to diverge from his route to visit his native place, Cametá, and spend a few days with his friends. It seemed not to matter to him that he had a cargo of merchandise, vessel, and crew of twelve persons, which required an economical use of time; “pleasure first and business afterwards” appeared to be his maxim. We stayed at Cametá twelve days. The chief motive for prolonging the stay to this extent was a festival at the Aldeia, two miles below Cametá, which was to commence on the 21st, and which my friend wished to take part in. On the day of the festival the schooner was sent down to anchor off the Aldeia, and master and men gave themselves up to revelry. In the evening a strong breeze sprang up, and orders were given to embark. We scrambled down in the dark through the thickets of cacao, orange, and coffee trees which clothed the high bank, and, after running great risk of being swamped by the heavy sea in the crowded montaria, got all aboard by nine o’clock. We made all sail amidst the “adios” shouted to us by Indian and mulatto sweethearts from the top of the bank, and, tide and wind being favourable, were soon miles away.

Our crew consisted, as already mentioned, of twelve persons. One was a young Portuguese from the province of Traz os Montes, a pretty sample of the kind of emigrants which Portugal sends to Brazil. He was two or three and twenty years of age, and had been about two years in the country, dressing and living like the Indians, to whom he was certainly inferior in manners. He could not read or write, whereas one at least of our Tapuyos had both accomplishments. He had a little wooden image of Nossa Senhora in his rough wooden clothes-chest, and to this he always had recourse when any squall arose, or when we ran aground on a shoal. Another of our sailors was a tawny white of Cametá; the rest were Indians, except the cook, who was a Cafuzo, or half-breed between the Indian and negro. It is often said that this class of mestizos is the most evilly-disposed of all the numerous crosses between the races inhabiting Brazil; but Luiz was a simple, good-hearted fellow, always ready to do one a service. The pilot was an old Tapuyo of Pará, with regular oval face and well-shaped features. I was astonished at his endurance. He never quitted the helm night or day, except for two or three hours in the morning. The other Indians used to bring him his coffee and meals, and after breakfast one of them relieved him for a time, when he used to lie down on the quarterdeck and get his two hours’ nap. The Indians forward had things pretty much their own way. No system of watches was followed; when any one was so disposed, he lay down on the deck and went to sleep; but a feeling of good fellowship seemed always to exist amongst them. One of them was a fine specimen of the Indian race—a man just short of six feet high, with remarkable breadth of shoulder and full muscular chest. His comrades called him the commandant, on account of his having been one of the rebel leaders when the Indians and others took Santarem in 1835. They related of him that, when the legal authorities arrived with an armed flotilla to recapture the town, he was one of the last to quit, remaining in the little fortress which commands the place to make a show of loading the guns, although the ammunition had given out long ago. Such were our travelling companions. We lived almost the same as on board ship. Our meals were cooked in the galley; but, where practicable, and during our numerous stoppages, the men went in the montaria to fish near the shore, so that our breakfasts and dinners of salt pirarucu were sometimes varied with fresh food.

September 24th.—We passed Entre-as-Ilhas with the morning tide yesterday, and then made across to the eastern shore—the starting-point for all canoes which have to traverse the broad mouth of the Tocantins going west. Early this morning we commenced the passage. The navigation is attended with danger on account of the extensive shoals in the middle of the river, which are covered only by a small depth of water at this season of the year. The wind was fresh, and the schooner rolled and pitched like a ship at sea. The distance was about fifteen miles. In the middle, the river-view was very imposing. Towards the northeast there was a long sweep of horizon clear of land, and on the southwest stretched a similar boundless expanse, but varied with islets clothed with fan-leaved palms, which, however, were visible only as isolated groups of columns, tufted at the top, rising here and there amidst the waste of waters. In the afternoon we rounded the westernmost point; the land, which is not terra firma, but simply a group of large islands forming a portion of the Tocantins delta, was then about three miles distant.

On the following day (25th) we sailed towards the west, along the upper portion of the Pará estuary, which extends seventy miles beyond the mouth of the Tocantins. It varies in width from three to five miles, but broadens rapidly near its termination, where it is eight or nine miles wide. The northern shore is formed by the island of Marajó, and is slightly elevated and rocky in some parts. A series of islands conceals the southern shore from view most of the way. The whole country, mainland and islands, is covered with forest. We had a good wind all day, and about 7 p.m. entered the narrow river of Breves, which commences abruptly the extensive labyrinth of channels that connects the Pará with the Amazons. The sudden termination of the Pará at a point where it expands to so great a breadth is remarkable; the water, however, is very shallow over the greater portion of the expanse. I noticed both on this and on the three subsequent occasions of passing this place in ascending and descending the river, that the flow of the tide from the east along the estuary, as well as up the Breves, was very strong. This seems sufficient to prove that no considerable volume of water passes by this medium from the Amazons to the Pará, and that the opinion of those geographers is an incorrect one, who believe the Pará to be one of the mouths of the great river. There is, however, another channel connecting the two rivers, which enters the Pará six miles to the south of the Breves. The lower part of its course for eighteen miles is formed by the Uanapú, a large and independent river flowing from the south. The tidal flow is said by the natives to produce little or no current up this river—a fact which seems to afford a little support to the view just stated.

We passed the village of Breves at 3 p.m. on the 26th. It consists of about forty houses, most of which are occupied by Portuguese shopkeepers. A few Indian families reside here, who occupy themselves with the manufacture of ornamental pottery and painted cuyas, which they sell to traders or passing travellers. The cuyas—drinking-cups made from gourds—are sometimes very tastefully painted. The rich black ground-colour is produced by a dye made from the bark of a tree called Comateu, the gummy nature of which imparts a fine polish. The yellow tints are made with the Tabatinga clay; the red with the seeds of the Urucu, or anatto plant; and the blue with indigo, which is planted round the huts. The art is indigenous with the Amazonian Indians, but it is only the settled agricultural tribes belonging to the Tupí stock who practise it.

September 27th-30th.—After passing Breves, we continued our way slowly along a channel, or series of channels, of variable width. On the morning of the 27th we had a fair wind, the breadth of the stream varying from about 150 to 400 yards. About midday we passed, on the western side, the mouth of the Aturiazal, through which, on account of its swifter current, vessels pass in descending from the Amazons to Pará. Shortly afterwards we entered the narrow channel of the Jaburú, which lies twenty miles above the mouth of the Breves. Here commences the peculiar scenery of this remarkable region. We found ourselves in a narrow and nearly straight canal, not more than eighty to a hundred yards in width, and hemmed in by two walls of forest, which rose quite perpendicularly from the water to a height of seventy or eighty feet. The water was of great and uniform depth, even close to the banks. We seemed to be in a deep gorge, and the strange impression the place produced was augmented by the dull echoes wakened by the voices of our Indians and the splash of their paddles. The forest was excessively varied. Some of the trees, the dome-topped giants of the Leguminous and Bombaceous orders, reared their heads far above the average height of the green walls. The fan-leaved Mirití palm was scattered in some numbers amidst the rest, a few solitary specimens shooting up their smooth columns above the other trees. The graceful Assai palm grew in little groups, forming feathery pictures set in the rounder foliage of the mass. The Ubussú, lower in height, showed only its shuttlecock shaped crowns of huge undivided fronds, which, being of a vivid pale-green, contrasted forcibly against the sombre hues of the surrounding foliage. The Ubussú grew here in great numbers; the equally remarkable Jupati palm (Rhaphia taedigera), which, like the Ubussú, is peculiar to this district, occurred more sparsely, throwing its long shaggy leaves, forty to fifty feet in length, in broad arches over the canal. An infinite diversity of smaller-sized palms decorated the water’s edge, such as the Marajá-i (Bactris, many species), the Ubim (Geonoma), and a few stately Bacábas (Œnocarpus Bacaba). The shape of this last is exceedingly elegant, the size of the crown being in proper proportion to the straight smooth stem. The leaves, down even to the bases of the glossy petioles, are of a rich dark-green colour, and free from spines. “The forest wall”—I am extracting from my journal—“under which we are now moving, consists, besides palms, of a great variety of ordinary forest trees. From the highest branches of these down to the water sweep ribbons of climbing plants of the most diverse and ornamental foliage possible. Creeping convolvuli and others have made use of the slender lianas and hanging air roots as ladders to climb by. Now and then appears a Mimosa or other tree having similar fine pinnate foliage, and thick masses of Ingá border the water, from whose branches hang long bean-pods, of different shape and size according to the species, some of them a yard in length. Flowers there are very few. I see, now and then, a gorgeous crimson blossom on long spikes ornamenting the sombre foliage towards the summits of the forest. I suppose it to belong to a climber of the Combretaceous order. There are also a few yellow and violet Trumpet-flowers (Bignoniæ). The blossoms of the Ingás, although not conspicuous, are delicately beautiful. The forest all along offers so dense a front that one never obtains a glimpse into the interior of the wilderness.”

The length of the Jaburú channel is about thirty-five miles, allowing for the numerous abrupt bends which occur between the middle and the northern end of its course. We were three days and a half accomplishing the passage. The banks on each side seemed to be composed of hard river-mud with a thick covering of vegetable mold, so that I should imagine this whole district originated in a gradual accumulation of alluvium, through which the endless labyrinths of channels have worked their deep and narrow beds. The flood-tide as we travelled northward became gradually of less assistance to us, as it caused only a feeble current upwards. The pressure of the waters from the Amazons here makes itself felt: as this is not the case lower down, I suppose the currents are diverted through some of the numerous channels which we passed on our right, and which traverse, in their course towards the sea, the north-western part of Maraj&o†. In the evening of the 29th we arrived at a point where another channel joins the Jaburú from the north-east. Up this the tide was flowing; we turned westward, and thus met the flood coming from the Amazons. This point is the object of a strange superstitious observance on the part of the canoemen. It is said to be haunted by a Pajé, or Indian wizard, whom it is necessary to propitiate by depositing some article on the spot, if the voyager wishes to secure a safe return from the “sertaô,” as the interior of the country is called. The trees were all hung with rags, shirts, straw hats, bunches of fruit, and so forth. Although the superstition doubtless originated with the aborigines, I observed in both my voyages, that it was only the Portuguese and uneducated Brazilians who deposited anything. The pure Indians gave nothing, and treated the whole affair as a humbug; but they were all civilised Tapuyos.

On the 30th, at 9 p.m., we reached a broad channel called Macaco, and now left the dark, echoing Jaburú. The Macaco sends off branches towards the north-west coast of Marajó. It is merely a passage amongst a cluster of islands, between which a glimpse is occasionally obtained of the broad waters of the main Amazons. A brisk wind carried us rapidly past its monotonous scenery, and early in the morning of the 1st of October we reached the entrance of the Uituquara, or the Wind-hole, which is fifteen miles distant from the end of the Jaburú. This is also a winding channel, thirty-five miles in length, threading a group of islands, but it is much narrower than the Macaco.

On emerging from the Uituquára on the 2nd, we all went ashore—the men to fish in a small creek; Joao da Cunha and I to shoot birds. We saw a flock of scarlet and blue macaws (Macrocercus Macao) feeding on the fruits of a Bacába palm, and looking like a cluster of flaunting banners beneath its dark-green crown. We landed about fifty yards from the place, and crept cautiously through the forest, but before we reached them they flew off with loud harsh screams. At a wild fruit tree we were more successful, as my companion shot an anacá (Derotypus coronatus), one of the most beautiful of the parrot family. It is of a green colour, and has a hood of feathers, red bordered with blue, at the back of its head, which it can elevate or depress at pleasure. The anacá is the only new-world parrot which nearly resembles the cockatoo of Australia. It is found in all the lowlands throughout the Amazons region, but is not a common bird anywhere. Few persons succeed in taming it, and I never saw one that had been taught to speak. The natives are very fond of the bird nevertheless, and keep it in their houses for the sake of seeing the irascible creature expand its beautiful frill of feathers, which it readily does when excited. The men returned with a large quantity of fish. I was surprised at the great variety of species; the prevailing kind was a species of Loricaria, a foot in length, and wholly encased in bony armour. It abounds at certain seasons in shallow water. The flesh is dry, but very palatable. They brought also a small alligator, which they called Jacare curua, and said it was a kind found only in shallow creeks. It was not more than two feet in length, although full-grown according to the statement of the Indians, who said it was a “mai d’ovos,” or mother of eggs, as they had pillaged the nest, which they had found near the edge of the water. The eggs were rather larger than a hen’s, and regularly oval in shape, presenting a rough hard surface of shell. Unfortunately, the alligator was cut up ready for cooking when we returned to the schooner, and I could not therefore make a note of its peculiarities. The pieces were skewered and roasted over the fire, each man being his own cook. I never saw this species of alligator afterwards.

October 3rd.—About midnight the wind, for which we had long been waiting, sprang up; the men weighed anchor, and we were soon fairly embarked on the Amazons. I rose long before sunrise to see the great river by moonlight. There was a spanking breeze, and the vessel was bounding gaily over the waters. The channel along which we were sailing was only a narrow arm of the river, about two miles in width: the total breadth at this point is more than twenty miles, but the stream is divided into three parts by a series of large islands. The river, notwithstanding this limitation of its breadth, had a most majestic appearance. It did not present that lake-like aspect which the waters of the Pará and Tocantins affect, but had all the swing, so to speak, of a vast flowing stream. The ochre-coloured turbid waters offered also a great contrast to the rivers belonging to the Pará system. The channel formed a splendid reach, sweeping from south-west to north-east, with a horizon of water and sky both upstream and down. At 11 a.m. we arrived at Gurupá, a small village situated on a rocky bank thirty or forty feet high. Here we landed, and I had an opportunity of rambling in the neighbouring woods, which are intersected by numerous pathways, and carpeted with Lycopodia growing to a height of eight or ten inches, and enlivened by numbers of glossy blue butterflies of the Theclidæ or hairstreak family. At 5 p.m. we were again under way. Soon after sunset, as we were crossing the mouth of the Xingú, the first of the great tributaries of the Amazons, 1200 miles in length, a black cloud arose suddenly in the northeast. Joao da Cunha ordered all sails to be taken in, and immediately afterwards a furious squall burst forth, tearing the waters into foam, and producing a frightful uproar in the neighbouring forests. A drenching rain followed, but in half an hour all was again calm and the full moon appeared sailing in a cloudless sky.

From the mouth of the Xingú the route followed by vessels leads straight across the river, here ten miles broad. Towards midnight the wind failed us, when we were close to a large shoal called the Baixo Grande. We lay here becalmed in the sickening heat for two days, and when the trade-wind recommenced with the rising moon at 10 p.m. on the 6th, we found ourselves on a lee-shore. Notwithstanding all the efforts of our pilot to avoid it, we ran aground. Fortunately the bottom consisted only of soft mud, so that by casting anchor to windward, and hauling in with the whole strength of crew and passengers, we got off after spending an uncomfortable night. We rounded the point of the shoal in two fathoms’ water; the head of the vessel was then put westward, and by sunrise we were bounding forward before a steady breeze, all sail set and everybody in good humour.

The weather was now delightful for several days in succession, the air transparently clear, and the breeze cool and invigorating. At daylight, on the 6th, a chain of blue hills, the Serra de Almeyrim, appeared in the distance on the north bank of the river. The sight was most exhilarating after so long a sojourn in a flat country. We kept to the southern shore, passing in the course of the day the mouths of the Urucuricáya and the Aquiquí, two channels which communicate with the Xingú. The whole of this southern coast hence to near Santarem, a distance of 130 miles, is lowland and quite uninhabited. It is intersected by short arms or back waters of the Amazons, which are called in the Tupi language Parána-mirims, or little rivers. By keeping to these, small canoes can travel a great part of the distance without being much exposed to the heavy seas of the main river. The coast throughout has a most desolate aspect; the forest is not so varied as on the higher land; and the water-frontage, which is destitute of the green mantle of climbing plants that form so rich a decoration in other parts, is encumbered at every step with piles of fallen trees; and peopled by white egrets, ghostly storks, and solitary herons. In the evening we passed Almeyrim. The hills, according to Von Martius, who landed here, are about 800 feet above the level of the river, and are thickly wooded to the summit. They commence on the east by a few low isolated and rounded elevations; but towards the west of the village, they assume the appearance of elongated ridges which seem as if they had been planed down to a uniform height by some external force. The next day we passed in succession a series of similar flat-topped hills, some isolated and of a truncated-pyramidal shape, others prolonged to a length of several miles. There is an interval of low country between these and the Almeyrim range, which has a total length of about twenty-five miles; then commences abruptly the Serra de Marauaqua, which is succeeded in a similar way by the Velha Pobre range, the Serras de Tapaiuna-quára, and Parauá-quára. All these form a striking contrast to the Serra de Almeyrim in being quite destitute of trees. They have steep rugged sides, apparently clothed with short herbage, but here and there exposing bare white patches. Their total length is about forty miles. In the rear, towards the interior, they are succeeded by other ranges of hills communicating with the central mountain-chain of Guiana, which divides Brazil from Cayenne.

As we sailed along the southern shore, during the 6th and two following days, the table-topped hills on the opposite side occupied most of our attention. The river is from four to five miles broad, and in some places long, low wooded islands intervene in mid-stream, whose light-green, vivid verdure formed a strangely beautiful foreground to the glorious landscape of broad stream and grey mountain. Ninety miles beyond Almeyrim stands the village of Monte Alegre, which is built near the summit of the last hill visible of this chain. At this point the river bends a little towards the south, and the hilly country recedes from its shores to re-appear at Obydos, greatly decreased in height, about a hundred miles further west.

We crossed the river three times between Monte Alegre and the next town, Santarem. In the middle the waves ran very high, and the vessel lurched fearfully, hurling everything that was not well secured from one side of the deck to the other. On the morning of the 9th of October, a gentle wind carried us along a “remanso,” or still water, under the southern shore. These tracts of quiet water are frequent on the irregular sides of the stream, and are the effect of counter movements caused by the rapid current of its central parts. At 9 a.m. we passed the mouth of a Paraná-mirim, called Mahicá, and then found a sudden change in the colour of the water and aspect of the banks. Instead of the low and swampy water-frontage which had prevailed from the mouth of the Xingú, we saw before us a broad sloping beach of white sand. The forest, instead of being an entangled mass of irregular and rank vegetation as hitherto, presented a rounded outline, and created an impresssion of repose that was very pleasing. We now approached, in fact, the mouth of the Tapajos, whose clear olive-green waters here replaced the muddy current against which we had so long been sailing. Although this is a river of great extent—1000 miles in length, and, for the last eighty miles of its course, four to ten in breadth—its contribution to the Amazons is not perceptible in the middle of the stream. The white turbid current of the main river flows disdainfully by, occupying nearly the whole breadth of the channel, whilst the darker water of its tributary seems to creep along the shore, and is no longer distinguishable four or five miles from its mouth.

We reached Santarem at 11 a.m. The town has a clean and cheerful appearance from the river. It consists of three long streets, with a few short ones crossing them at right angles, and contains about 2500 inhabitants. It lies just within the mouth of Tapajos, and is divided into two parts, the town and the aldeia or village. The houses of the white and trading classes are substantially built, many being of two and three stories, and all white-washed and tiled. The aldeia, which contains the Indian portion of the population, or did so formerly, consists mostly of mud huts, thatched with palm leaves. The situation of the town is very beautiful. The land, although but slightly elevated, does not form, strictly speaking, a portion of the alluvial river plains of the Amazons, but is rather a northern prolongation of the Brazilian continental land. It is scantily wooded, and towards the interior consists of undulating campos, which are connected with a series of hills extending southward as far as the eye can reach. I subsequently made this place my head-quarters for three years; an account of its neighbourhood is therefore, reserved for another chapter. At the first sight of Santarem, one cannot help being struck with the advantages of its situation. Although 400 miles from the sea, it is accessible to vessels of heavy tonnage coming straight from the Atlantic. The river has only two slight bends between this port and the sea, and for five or six months in the year the Amazonian trade wind blows with very little interruption, so that sailing ships coming from foreign countries could reach the place with little difficulty. We ourselves had accomplished 200 miles, or about half the distance from the sea, in an ill-rigged vessel, in three days and a half. Although the land in the immediate neighbourhood is perhaps ill adapted for agriculture, an immense tract of rich soil, with forest and meadowland, lies on the opposite banks of the river, and the Tapajos leads into the heart of the mining provinces of interior Brazil. But where is the population to come from to develop the resources of this fine country? At present, the district within a radius of twenty-five miles contains barely 6500 inhabitants; behind the town, towards the interior, the country is uninhabited, and jaguars roam nightly, at least in the rainy season, close up to the ends of the suburban streets.

From information obtained here, I fixed upon the next town, Obydos, as the best place to stay for a few weeks, in order to investigate the natural productions of the north side of the Lower Amazons. We started at sunrise on the 10th, and being still favoured by wind and weather, made a pleasant passage, reaching Obydos, which is nearly fifty miles distant from Santarem, by midnight. We sailed all day close to the southern shore, and found the banks here and there dotted with houses of settlers, each surrounded by its plantation of cacao, which is the staple product of the district. This coast has an evil reputation for storms and mosquitoes, but we fortunately escaped both. It was remarkable that we had been troubled by mosquitoes only on one night, and then to a small degree, during the whole of our voyage.

I landed at Obydos the next morning, and then bid adieu to my kind friend Joao da Cunha, who, after landing my baggage, got up his anchor and continued on his way. The town contains about 1200 inhabitants, and is airily situated on a high bluff, ninety or a hundred feet above the level of the river. The coast is precipitous for two or three miles hence to the west. The cliffs consist of the parti-coloured clay, or Tabatinga, which occurs so frequently throughout the Amazons region; the strong current of the river sets full against them in the season of high water, and annually carries away large portions. The clay in places is stratified alternately pink and yellow, the pink beds being the thickest and of much harder texture than the others. When I descended the river in 1859, a German Major of Engineers, in the employ of the Government, told me that he had found calcareous layers, thickly studded with marine shells interstratified with the clay. On the top of the Tabatinga lies a bed of sand, in some places several feet thick, and the whole formation rests on strata of sandstone, which are exposed only when the river reaches its lowest level. Behind the town rises a fine rounded hill, and a range of similar elevations extends six miles westward, terminating at the mouth of the Trombetas, a large river flowing through the interior of Guiana. Hills and lowlands alike are covered with a sombre rolling forest. The river here is contracted to a breadth of rather less than a mile (1738 yards), and the entire volume of its waters, the collective product of a score of mighty streams, is poured through the strait with tremendous velocity. It must be remarked, however, that the river valley itself is not contracted to this breadth, the opposite shore not being continental land, but a low alluvial tract, subject to inundation more or less in the rainy season. Behind it lies an extensive lake, called the Lago Grande da Villa Franca, which communicates with the Amazons, both above and below Obydos, and has therefore the appearance of a by-water or an old channel of the river. This lake is about thirty-five miles in length, and from four to ten in width; but its waters are of little depth, and in the dry season its dimensions are much lessened. It has no perceptible current, and does not therefore now divert any portion of the waters of the Amazons from their main course past Obydos.

I remained at Obydos from the 11th of October to the 19th of November. I spent three weeks here, also, in 1859, when the place was much changed through the influx of Portuguese immigrants and the building of a fortress on the top of the bluff. It is one of the pleasantest towns on the river. The houses are all roofed with tiles, and are mostly of substantial architecture. The inhabitants, at least at the time of my first visit, were naive in their ways, kind and sociable. Scarcely any palm-thatched huts are to be seen, for very few Indians now reside here. It was one of the early settlements of the Portuguese, and the better class of the population consists of old-established white families, who exhibit however, in some cases, traces of cross with the Indian and negro. Obydos and Santarem have received, during the last eighty years, considerable importations of negro slaves; before that time, a cruel traffic was carried on in Indians for the same purpose of forced servitude, but their numbers have gradually dwindled away, and Indians now form an insignificant element in the population of the district. Most of the Obydos townsfolk are owners of cacao plantations, which are situated on the low lands in the vicinity. Some are large cattle proprietors, and possess estates of many square leagues’ extent in the campo, or grass-land districts, which border the Lago Grande, and other similar inland lakes, near the villages of Faro and Alemquer. These campos bear a crop of nutritious grass; but in certain seasons, when the rising of the Amazons exceeds the average, they are apt to be flooded, and then the large herds of half wild cattle suffer great mortality from drowning, hunger, and alligators. Neither in cattle-keeping nor cacao-growing are any but the laziest and most primitive methods followed, and the consequence is that the proprietors are generally poor. A few, however, have become rich by applying a moderate amount of industry and skill to the management of their estates. People spoke of several heiresses in the neighbourhood whose wealth was reckoned in oxen and slaves; a dozen slaves and a few hundred head of cattle being considered a great fortune. Some of them I saw had already been appropriated by enterprising young men, who had come from Pará and Maranham to seek their fortunes in this quarter.

The few weeks I spent here passed away pleasantly. I generally spent the evenings in the society of the townspeople, who associated together (contrary to Brazilian custom) in European fashion; the different families meeting at one another’s houses for social amusement, bachelor friends not being excluded, and the whole company, married and single, joining in simple games. The meetings used to take place in the sitting-rooms, and not in the open verandahs—a fashion almost compulsory on account of the mosquitoes; but the evenings here are very cool, and the closeness of a room is not so much felt as it is in Pará. Sunday was strictly observed at Obydos—at least all the shops were closed, and almost the whole population went to church. The Vicar, Padre Raimundo do Sanchez Brito, was an excellent old man, and I fancy the friendly manners of the people, and the general purity of morals at Obydos, were owing in great part to the good example he set to his parishioners.

The forest at Obydos seemed to abound in monkeys, for I rarely passed a day without seeing several. I noticed four species: the Coaitá (Ateles paniscus), the Chrysothrix sciureus, the Callithrix torquatus, and our old Pará friend, Midas ursulus. The Coaitá is a large black monkey, covered with coarse hair, and having the prominent parts of the face of a tawny flesh-coloured hue. It is the largest of the Amazonian monkeys in stature, but is excelled in bulk by the “Barrigudo” (Lagothrix Humboldtii) of the Upper Amazons. It occurs throughout the lowlands of the Lower and Upper Amazons, but does not range to the south beyond the limits of the river plains. At that point an allied species, the White-whiskered Coaitá (Ateles marginatus) takes its place. The Coaitás are called by zoologists spider monkeys, on account of the length and slenderness of their body and limbs. In these apes the tail, as a prehensile organ, reaches its highest degree of perfection; and on this account it would, perhaps, be correct to consider the Coaitás as the extreme development of the American type of apes. As far as we know, from living and fossil species, the New World has progressed no farther than the Coaitá towards the production of a higher form of the Quadrumanous order. The tendency of Nature here has been, to all appearance, simply to perfect those organs which adapt the species more and more completely to a purely arboreal life; and no nearer approach has been made towards the more advanced forms of anthropoid apes, which are the products of the Old World solely. The flesh of this monkey is much esteemed by the natives in this part of the country, and the Military Commandant of Obydos, Major Gama, every week sent a negro hunter to shoot one for his table. One day I went on a Coaitá hunt, borrowing a negro slave of a friend to show me the way. When in the deepest part of a ravine we heard a rustling sound in the trees overhead, and Manoel soon pointed out a Coaitá to me. There was something human-like in its appearance, as the lean, dark, shaggy creature moved deliberately amongst the branches at a great height. I fired, but unfortunately only wounded it in the belly. It fell with a crash headlong about twenty or thirty feet, and then caught a bough with its tail, which grasped it instantaneously, and then the animal remained suspended in mid-air. Before I could reload, it recovered itself and mounted nimbly to the topmost branches out of the reach of a fowling-piece, where we could perceive the poor thing apparently probing the wound with its fingers. Coaitás are more frequently kept in a tame state than any other kind of monkey. The Indians are very fond of them as pets, and the women often suckle them when young at their breasts. They become attached to their masters, and will sometimes follow them on the ground to considerable distances. I once saw a most ridiculously tame Coaitá. It was an old female which accompanied its owner, a trader on the river, in all his voyages. By way of giving me a specimen of its intelligence and feeling, its master set to and rated it soundly, calling it scamp, heathen, thief, and so forth, all through the copious Portuguese vocabulary of vituperation. The poor monkey, quietly seated on the ground, seemed to be in sore trouble at this display of anger. It began by looking earnestly at him, then it whined, and lastly rocked its body to and fro with emotion, crying piteously, and passing its long gaunt arms continually over its forehead; for this was its habit when excited, and the front of the head was worn quite bald in consequence. At length its master altered his tone. “It’s all a lie, my old woman; you’re an angel, a flower, a good affectionate old creature,” and so forth. Immediately the poor monkey ceased its wailing, and soon after came over to where the man sat. The disposition of the Coaitá is mild in the extreme: it has none of the painful, restless vivacity of its kindred, the Cebi, and no trace of the surly, untameable temper of its still nearer relatives, the Mycetes, or howling monkeys. It is, however, an arrant thief, and shows considerable cunning in pilfering small articles of clothing, which it conceals in its sleeping place. The natives of the Upper Amazons procure the Coaitá, when full grown, by shooting it with the blowpipe and poisoned darts, and restoring life by putting a little salt (the antidote to the Urarí poison with which the darts are tipped) in its mouth. The animals thus caught become tame forthwith. Two females were once kept at the Jardin des Plantes of Paris, and Geoffroy St. Hilaire relates of them that they rarely quitted each other, remaining most of the time in close embrace, folding their tails around one another’s bodies. They took their meals together; and it was remarked on such occasions, when the friendship of animals is put to a hard test, that they never quarrelled or disputed the possession of a favourite fruit with each other.

The neighbourhood of Obydos was rich also in insects. In the broad alleys of the forest a magnificent butterfly of the genus Morpho, six to eight inches in expanse, the Morpho Hecuba, was seen daily gliding along at a height of twenty feet or more from the ground. Amongst the lower trees and bushes numerous kinds of Heliconii, a group of butterflies peculiar to tropical America, having long narrow wings, were very abundant. The prevailing ground colour of the wings of these insects is a deep black, and on this are depicted spots and streaks of crimson, white, and bright yellow, in different patterns according to the species. Their elegant shape, showy colours, and slow, sailing mode of flight, make them very attractive objects, and their numbers are so great that they form quite a feature in the physiognomy of the forest, compensating for the scarcity of flowers. Next to the Heliconii, the Catagrammas (C. astarte and C. peristera) were the most conspicuous. These have a very rapid and short flight, settling frequently and remaining stationary for a long time on the trunks of trees. The colours of their wings are vermilion and black, the surface having a rich velvety appearance. The genus owes its Greek name Catagramma (signifying “a letter beneath”) to the curious markings of the underside of the wings, resembling Arabic numerals. The species and varieties are of almost endless diversity, but the majority inhabit the hot valleys of the eastern parts of the Andes. Another butterfly nearly allied to these, Callithea Leprieurii, was also very abundant here at the marshy head of the pool before mentioned. The wings are of a rich dark-blue colour, with a broad border of silvery green. These two groups of Callithea and Catagramma are found only in tropical America, chiefly near the equator, and are certainly amongst the most beautiful productions of a region where the animals and plants seem to have been fashioned in nature’s choicest moulds. A great variety of other beautiful and curious insects adorned these pleasant woods. Others were seen only in the sunshine in open places. As the waters retreated from the beach, vast numbers of sulphur-yellow and orange coloured butterflies congregated on the moist sand. The greater portion of them belonged to the genus Callidryas. They assembled in densely-packed masses, sometimes two or three yards in circumference, their wings all held in an upright position, so that the beach looked as though variegated with beds of crocuses. These Callidryades seem to be migratory insects, and have large powers of dissemination. During the last two days of our voyage, the great numbers constantly passing over the river attracted the attention of every one on board. They all crossed in one direction, namely, from north to south, and the processions were uninterrupted from an early hour in the morning until sunset. All the individuals which resort to the margins of sandy beaches are of the male sex. The females are much more rare, and are seen only on the borders of the forest, wandering from tree to tree, and depositing their eggs on low mimosas which grow in the shade. The migrating hordes, as far as I could ascertain, are composed only of males, and on this account I believe their wanderings do not extend very far.

A strange kind of wood-cricket is found in this neighbourhood, the males of which produce a very loud and not unmusical noise by rubbing together the overlapping edges of their wing-cases. The notes are certainly the loudest and most extraordinary that I ever heard produced by an orthopterous insect. The natives call it the Tananá, in allusion to its music, which is a sharp, resonant stridulation resembling the syllables ta-na-ná, ta-na-ná, succeeding each other with little intermission. It seems to be rare in the neighbourhood. When the natives capture one, they keep it in a wicker-work cage for the sake of hearing it sing. A friend of mine kept one six days. It was lively only for two or three, and then its loud note could be heard from one end of the village to the other. When it died he gave me the specimen, the only one I was able to procure. It is a member of the family Locustidæ, a group intermediate between the Cricket (Achetidæ) and the Grasshoppers (Acridiidæ). The total length of the body is two inches and a quarter; when the wings are closed the insect has an inflated vesicular or bladder-like shape, owing to the great convexity of the thin but firm parchmenty wing-cases, and the colour is wholly pale-green. The instrument by which the Tanana produces its music is curiously contrived out of the ordinary nervures of the wing-cases. In each wing-case the inner edge, near its origin, has a horny expansion or lobe; on one wing (b) this lobe has sharp raised margins; on the other (a), the strong nervure which traverses the lobe on the under side is crossed by a number of fine sharp furrows like those of a file. When the insect rapidly moves its wings, the file of the one lobe is scraped sharply across the horny margin of the other, thus producing the sounds; the parchmenty wing-cases and the hollow drum-like space which they enclose assist in giving resonance to the tones. The projecting portions of both wing-cases are traversed by a similar strong nervure, but this is scored like a file only in one of them, in the other remaining perfectly smooth. Other species of the family to which the Tananá belongs have similar stridulating organs, but in none are these so highly developed as in this insect; they exist always in the males only, the other sex having the edges of the wing-cases quite straight and simple. The mode of producing the sounds and their object have been investigated by several authors with regard to certain European species. They are the call-notes of the males. In the common field-cricket of Europe the male has been observed to place itself, in the evening, at the entrance of its burrow, and stridulate until a female approaches, when the louder notes are succeeded by a more subdued tone, whilst the successful musician caresses with his antennæ the mate he has won. Anyone who will take the trouble may observe a similar proceeding in the common house-cricket. The nature and object of this insect music are more uniform than the structure and situation of the instrument by which it is produced. This differs in each of the three allied families above mentioned. In the crickets the wing-cases are symmetrical; both have straight edges and sharply-scored nervures adapted to produce the stridulation. A distinct portion of their edges is not, therefore, set apart for the elaboration of a sound-producing instrument. In this family the wing-cases lie flat on the back of the insect, and overlap each other for a considerable portion of their extent. In the Locustidæ the same members have a sloping position on each side of the body, and do not overlap, except to a small extent near their bases; it is out of this small portion that the stridulating organ is contrived. Greater resonance is given in most species by a thin transparent plate, covered by a membrane, in the centre of the overlapping lobes. In the Grasshoppers (Acridiidæ) the wing-cases meet in a straight suture, and the friction of portions of their edges is no longer possible. But Nature exhibits the same fertility of resource here as elsewhere; and in contriving other methods of supplying the males with an instrument for the production of call-notes indicates the great importance which she attaches to this function. The music in the males of the Acridiidæ is produced by the scraping of the long hind thighs against the horny nervures of the outer edges of the wing-cases; a drum-shaped organ placed in a cavity near the insertion of the thighs being adapted to give resonance to the tones.

I obtained very few birds at Obydos. There was no scarcity of birds, but they were mostly common Cayenne species. In early morning, the woods near my house were quite animated with their songs—an unusual thing in this country. I heard here for the first time the pleasing wild notes of the Carashue, a species of thrush, probably the Mimus lividus of ornithologists. I found it afterwards to be a common bird in the scattered woods of the campo district near Santarem. It is a much smaller and plainer-coloured bird than our thrush, and its song is not so loud, varied, or so long sustained; but the tone is of a sweet and plaintive quality, which harmonises well with the wild and silent woodlands, where alone it is heard in the mornings and evenings of sultry tropical days. In course of time the song of this humble thrush stirred up pleasing associations in my mind, in the same way as those of its more highly endowed sisters formerly did at home. There are several allied species in Brazil; in the southern provinces they are called Sabiahs. The Brazilians are not insensible to the charms of this their best songster, for I often heard some pretty verses in praise of the Sabiah sung by young people to the accompaniment of the guitar. I found several times the nest of the Carashué, which is built of dried grass and slender twigs, and lined with mud; the eggs are coloured and spotted like those of our blackbird, but they are considerably smaller. I was much pleased with a brilliant little red-headed mannikin, which I shot here (Pipra cornuta). There were three males seated on a low branch, and hopping slowly backwards and forwards, near to one another, as though engaged in a kind of dance. In the pleasant airy woods surrounding the sandy shores of the pool behind the town, the yellow-bellied Trogon (T. viridis) was very common. Its back is of a brilliant metallic-green colour, and the breast steel blue. The natives call it the Suruquá do Ygapó, or Trogon of the flooded lands, in contradistinction to the red-breasted species, which are named Surtiquás da terra firma. I often saw small companies of half a dozen individuals quietly seated on the lower branches of trees. They remained almost motionless for an hour or two at a time, simply moving their heads, on the watch for passing insects; or, as seemed more generally to be the case, scanning the neighbouring trees for fruit, which they darted off now and then, at long intervals, to secure, returning always to the same perch.

Chapter VII.
THE LOWER AMAZONS—OBYDOS TO MANAOS, OR THE BARRA OF THE RIO NEGRO

Departure from Obydos — River Banks and By-channels — Cacao Planters — Daily Life on Board Our Vessel — Great Storm — Sand-island and its Birds — Hill of Parentins — Negro Trader and Mauhés Indians — Villa Nova, its Inhabitants, Forest, and Animal Productions — Cararaucú — A rustic Festival — Lake of Cararaucú — Motúca Flies — Serpa — Christmas Holidays — River Madeira — A Mameluco Farmer — Múra Indians — Rio Negro — Description of Barra — Descent to Pará — Yellow Fever.

A trader of Obydos, named Penna, was proceeding about in a cuberta laden with merchandise to the Rio Negro, intending to stop frequently on the road, so I bargained with him for a passage. He gave up a part of the toldo, or fore-cabin as it may be called, and here I slung my hammock and arranged my boxes so as to be able to work as we went along. The stoppages I thought would be an advantage, as I could collect in the woods whilst he traded, and thus acquire a knowledge of the productions of many places on the river which on a direct voyage would be impossible to do. I provided a stock of groceries for two months’ consumption; and, after the usual amount of unnecessary fuss and delay on the part of the owner, we started on the 19th of November. Penna took his family with him: this comprised a smart, lively mameluco woman, named Catarina, whom we called Senhora Katita, and two children. The crew consisted of three men: one a sturdy Indian, another a Cafuzo, godson of Penna, and the third, our best hand, a steady, good-natured mulatto, named Joaquim. My boy Luco was to assist in rowing and so forth. Penna was a timid middle-aged man, a white with a slight cross of Indian; when he was surly and obstinate, he used to ask me to excuse him on account of the Tapuyo blood in his veins. He tried to make me as comfortable as the circumstances admitted, and provided a large stock of eatables and drinkables; so that altogether the voyage promised to be a pleasant one.

On leaving the port of Obydos, we crossed over to the right bank and sailed with a light wind all day, passing numerous houses, each surrounded by its grove of cacao trees. On the 20th we made slow progress. After passing the high land at the mouth of the Trombetas, the banks were low, clayey, or earthy on both sides. The breadth of the river varies hereabout from two and a half to three miles, but neither coast is the true terra firma. On the northern side a by-channel runs for a long distance inland, communicating with the extensive lake of Faro; on the south, three channels lead to the similar fresh-water sea of Villa Franca; these are in part arms of the river, so that the land they surround consists, properly speaking, of islands. When this description of land is not formed wholly of river deposit, as sometimes happens, or is raised above the level of the highest floods, it is called Ygapó alto, and is distinguished by the natives from the true islands of mid-river, as well as from the terra firma. We landed at one of the cacao plantations. The house was substantially built; the walls formed of strong upright posts, lathed across, plastered with mud and whitewashed, and the roof tiled. The family were mamelucos, and seemed to be an average sample of the poorer class of cacao growers. All were loosely dressed and bare-footed. A broad verandah extended along one side of the house, the floor of which was simply the well-trodden earth; and here hammocks were slung between the bare upright supports, a large rush mat being spread on the ground, upon which the stout matron-like mistress, with a tame parrot perched upon her shoulder, sat sewing with two pretty little mulatto girls. The master, coolly clad in shirt and drawers, the former loose about the neck, lay in his hammock smoking a long gaudily-painted wooden pipe. The household utensils, earthenware jars, water-pots and saucepans lay at one end, near which was a wood fire, with the ever-ready coffee-pot simmering on the top of a clay tripod. A large shed stood a short distance off, embowered in a grove of banana, papaw, and mango trees; and under it were the ovens, troughs, sieves, and all other apparatus for the preparation of mandioca. The cleared space around the house was only a few yards in extent; beyond it lay the cacao plantations, which stretched on each side parallel to the banks of the river. There was a path through the forest which led to the mandioca fields, and several miles beyond to other houses on the banks of an interior channel. We were kindly received, as is always the case when a stranger visits these out-of-the-way habitations; the people being invariably civil and hospitable. We had a long chat, took coffee, and upon departing, one of the daughters sent a basket full of oranges for our use down to the canoe.

The cost of a cacao plantation in the Obydos district is after the rate of 240 reis or sixpence per tree, which is much higher than at Cametá, where I believe the yield is not so great. The forest here is cleared before planting, and the trees are grown in rows. The smaller cultivators are all very poor. Labour is scarce; one family generally manages its own small plantation of 10,000 to 15,000 trees, but at the harvest time neighbours assist each other. It appeared to me to be an easy, pleasant life; the work is all done under shade, and occupies only a few weeks in the year. The incorrigible nonchalance and laziness of the people alone prevent them from surrounding themselves with all the luxuries of a tropical country. They might plant orchards of the choicest fruit trees around their houses, grow Indian corn, and rear cattle and hogs, as intelligent settlers from Europe would certainly do, instead of indolently relying solely on the produce of their small plantations, and living on a meagre diet of fish and farinha. In preparing the cacao they have not devised any means of separating the seeds well from the pulp, or drying it in a systematic way; the consequence is that, although naturally of good quality, it molds before reaching the merchants’ stores, and does not fetch more than half the price of the same article grown in other parts of tropical America. The Amazons region is the original home of the principal species of chocolate tree, the Theobroma cacao; and it grows in abundance in the forests of the upper river. The cultivated crop appears to be a precarious one; little or no care, however, is bestowed on the trees, and even weeding is done very inefficiently. The plantations are generally old, and have been made on the low ground near the river, which renders them liable to inundation when this rises a few inches more than the average. There is plenty of higher land quite suitable to the tree, but it is uncleared, and the want of labour and enterprise prevents the establishment of new plantations.

We passed the last houses in the Obydos district on the 20th, and the river scenery then resumed its usual wild and solitary character, which the scattered human habitations relieved, although in a small degree. We soon fell into a regular mode of life on board our little ark. Penna would not travel by night; indeed, our small crew, wearied by the day’s labour, required rest, and we very rarely had wind in the night. We used to moor the vessel to a tree, giving out plenty of cable, so as to sleep at a distance from the banks and free of mosquitoes, which although swarming in the forest, rarely came many yards out into the river at this season of the year. The strong current at a distance of thirty or forty yards from the coast steadied the cuberta head to stream, and kept us from drifting ashore. We all slept in the open air, as the heat of the cabins was stifling in the early part of the night. Penna, Senhora Katita, and I slung our hammocks in triangle between the mainmast and two stout poles fixed in the raised deck. A sheet was the only covering required, besides our regular clothing, for the decrease of temperature at night on the Amazons is never so great as to be felt otherwise than as a delightful coolness after the sweltering heat of the afternoons. We used to rise when the first gleam of dawn showed itself above the long, dark line of forest. Our clothes and hammocks were then generally soaked with dew, but this was not felt to be an inconvenience. The Indian Manoel used to revive himself by a plunge in the river, under the bows of the vessel. It is the habit of all Indians, male and female, to bathe early in the morning; they do it sometimes for warmth’s sake, the temperature of the water being often considerably higher than that of the air. Penna and I lolled in our hammocks, whilst Katita prepared the indispensable cup of strong coffee, which she did with wonderful celerity, smoking meanwhile her early morning pipe of tobacco. Liberal owners of river craft allow a cup of coffee sweetened with molasses, or a ration of cashaca, to each man of their crews; Penna gave them coffee. When all were served, the day’s work began. There was seldom any wind at this early hour, so if there was still water along the shore, the men rowed, if not, there was no way of progressing but by espia. In some places the currents ran with great force close to the banks, especially where these receded to form long bays or enseadas, as they are called, and then we made very little headway. In such places the banks consist of loose earth, a rich crumbly vegetable mold supporting a growth of most luxuriant forest, of which the currents almost daily carry away large portions, so that the stream for several yards out is encumbered with fallen trees whose branches quiver in the current. When projecting points of land were encountered, it was impossible, with our weak crew, to pull the cuberta against the whirling torrents which set round them; and in such cases we had to cross the river, drifting often with the current, a mile or two lower down on the opposite shore. There generally sprung a light wind as the day advanced, and then we took down our hammocks, hoisted all sail, and bowled away merrily. Penna generally preferred to cook the dinner ashore, when there was little or no wind. About midday on these calm days, we used to look out for a nice shady nook in the forest with cleared space sufficient to make a fire upon. I then had an hour’s hunting in the neighbouring wilderness, and was always rewarded by the discovery of some new species. During the greater part of our voyage, however, we stopped at the house of some settler, and made our fire in the port. Just before dinner it was our habit to take a bath in the river, and then, according to the universal custom on the Amazons, where it seems to be suitable on account of the weak fish diet, we each took half a tea-cup full of neat cashaça, the “abre” or “opening,” as it is called, and set to on our mess of stewed pirarucú, beans, and bacon. Once or twice a week we had fowls and rice; at supper, after sunset, we often had fresh fish caught by our men in the evening. The mornings were cool and pleasant until towards midday; but in the afternoons, the heat became almost intolerable, especially in gleamy, squally weather, such as generally prevailed. We then crouched in the shade of the sails, or went down to our hammocks in the cabin, choosing to be half stifled rather than expose ourselves on deck to the sickening heat of the sun. We generally ceased travelling about nine o’clock, fixing upon a safe spot wherein to secure the vessel for the night. The cool evening hours were delicious; flocks of whistling ducks (Anas autumnalis), parrots, and hoarsely-screaming macaws, pair by pair, flew over from their feeding to their resting places, as the glowing sun plunged abruptly beneath the horizon. The brief evening chorus of animals then began, the chief performers being the howling monkeys, whose frightful unearthly roar deepened the feeling of solitude which crept up as darkness closed around us. Soon after, the fireflies in great diversity of species came forth and flitted about the trees. As night advanced, all became silent in the forest, save the occasional hooting of tree-frogs, or the monotonous chirping of wood-crickets and grasshoppers.

We made but little progress on the 20th and two following days, on account of the unsteadiness of the wind. The dry season had been of very brief duration this year; it generally lasts in this part of the Amazons from July to January, with a short interval of showery weather in November. The river ought to sink thirty or thirty-five feet below its highest point; this year it had declined only about twenty-five feet, and the November rains threatened to be continuous. The drier the weather the stronger blows the east wind; it now failed us altogether, or blew gently for a few hours merely in the afternoons. I had hitherto seen the great river only in its sunniest aspect; I was now about to witness what it could furnish in the way of storms.

On the night of the 22nd the moon appeared with a misty halo. As we went to rest, a fresh watery wind was blowing, and a dark pile of clouds gathered up river in a direction opposite to that of the wind. I thought this betokened nothing more than a heavy rain which would send us all in a hurry to our cabins. The men moored the vessel to a tree alongside a hard clayey bank, and after supper, all were soon fast asleep, scattered about the raised deck. About eleven o’clock I was awakened by a horrible uproar, as a hurricane of wind suddenly swept over from the opposite shore. The cuberta was hurled with force against the clayey bank; Penna shouted out, as he started to his legs, that a trovoada de cima, or a squall from up-river, was upon us. We took down our hammocks, and then all hands were required to save the vessel from being dashed to pieces. The moon set, and a black pall of clouds spread itself over the dark forests and river; a frightful crack of thunder now burst over our heads, and down fell the drenching rain. Joaquim leapt ashore through the drowning spray with a strong pole, and tried to pass the cuberta round a small projecting point, whilst we on deck aided in keeping her off and lengthened the cable. We succeeded in getting free, and the stout-built boat fell off into the strong current farther away from the shore, Joaquim swinging himself dexterously aboard by the bowsprit as it passed the point. It was fortunate for us that he happened to be on a sloping clayey bank where there was no fear of falling trees; a few yards farther on, where the shore was perpendicular and formed of crumbly earth, large portions of loose soil, with all their superincumbent mass of forest, were being washed away; the uproar thus occasioned adding to the horrors of the storm.

The violence of the wind abated in the course of an hour, but the deluge of rain continued until about three o’clock in the morning; the sky was lighted up by almost incessant flashes of pallid lightning, and the thunder pealing from side to side without interruption. Our clothing, hammocks, and goods were thoroughly soaked by the streams of water which trickled through between the planks. In the morning all was quiet, but an opaque, leaden mass of clouds overspread the sky, throwing a gloom over the wild landscape that had a most dispiriting effect. These squalls from the west are always expected about the time of the breaking up of the dry season in these central parts of the Lower Amazons. They generally take place about the beginning of February, so that this year they had commenced much earlier than usual. The soil and climate are much drier in this part of the country than in the region lying farther to the west, where the denser forests and more clayey, humid soil produce a considerably cooler atmosphere. The storms may be, therefore, attributed to the rush of cold moist air from up river, when the regular trade-wind coming from the sea has slackened or ceased to blow.

On the 26th we arrived at a large sand bank connected with an island in mid-river, in front of an inlet called Maracá-uassú. Here we anchored and spent half a day ashore. Penna’s object in stopping was simply to enjoy a ramble on the sands with the children, and give Senhora Katita an opportunity to wash the linen. The sandbank was now fast going under water with the rise of the river; in the middle of the dry season it is about a mile long and half a mile in width. The canoe-men delight in these open spaces, which are a great relief to the monotony of the forest that clothes the land in every other part of the river. Farther westward they are much more frequent, and of larger extent. They lie generally at the upper end of islands; in fact, the latter originate in accretions of vegetable matter formed by plants and trees growing on a shoal. The island was wooded chiefly with the trumpet tree (Cecropia peltata), which has a hollow stem and smooth pale bark. The leaves are similar in shape to those of the horse-chestnut, but immensely larger; beneath they are white, and when the welcome trade-wind blows they show their silvery undersides,—a pleasant signal to the weary canoe traveller. The mode of growth of this tree is curious: the branches are emitted at nearly right angles with the stem, the branchlets in minor whorls around these, and so forth, the leaves growing at their extremities, so that the total appearance is that of a huge candelabrum. Cecropiæ of different species are characteristic of Brazilian forest scenery; the kind of which I am speaking grows in great numbers everywhere on the banks of the Amazons where the land is low. In the same places the curious Monguba tree (Bombax ceiba) is also plentiful; the dark green bark of its huge tapering trunk, scored with grey, forming a conspicuous object. The principal palm tree on the lowlands is the Jauarí (Astryocaryum Jauarí), whose stem, surrounded by whorls of spines, shoots up to a great height. On the borders of the island were large tracts of arrow-grass (Gynerium saccharoides), which bears elegant plumes of flowers, like those of the reed, and grows to a height of twenty feet, the leaves arranged in a fan-shaped figure near the middle of the stem. I was surprised to find on the higher parts of the sandbank the familiar foliage of a willow (Salix Humboldtiana). It is a dwarf species, and grows in patches resembling beds of osiers; as in the English willows, the leaves were peopled by small chrysomelideous beetles. In wandering about, many features reminded me of the seashore. Flocks of white gulls were flying overhead, uttering their well-known cry, and sandpipers coursed along the edge of the water. Here and there lonely wading-birds were stalking about; one of these, the Curicáca (Ibis melanopis), flew up with a low cackling noise, and was soon joined by a unicorn bird (Palamedea cornuta), which I startled up from amidst the bushes, whose harsh screams, resembling the bray of a jackass, but shriller, disturbed unpleasantly the solitude of the place. Amongst the willow bushes were flocks of a handsome bird belonging to the Icteridæ or troupial family, adorned with a rich plumage of black and saffron-yellow. I spent some time watching an assemblage of a species of bird called by the natives Tumburí-pará, on the Cecropia trees. It is the Monasa nigrifrons of ornithologists, and has a plain slate-coloured plumage with the beak of an orange hue. It belongs to the family of Barbets, most of whose members are remarkable for their dull, inactive temperament. Those species which are arranged by ornithologists under the genus Bucco are called by the Indians, in the Tupí language, Tai-assú uirá, or pig-birds. They remain seated sometimes for hours together on low branches in the shade, and are stimulated to exertion only when attracted by passing insects. This flock of Tamburí-pará were the reverse of dull; they were gambolling and chasing each other amongst the branches. As they sported about, each emitted a few short tuneful notes, which altogether produced a ringing, musical chorus that quite surprised me.