JAVITA.
Leave Guía—Marabitánas—Serra de Cocoí—Enter Venezuela—São
Carlos—Pass the Cassiquiare—Antonio Dias—Indian
shipbuilders—Feather-work—Maróa and Pimichín—A black
Jaguar—Poisonous serpents—Fishing—Walk to Javíta—Residence
there—Indian road-makers—Language and customs—A description of
Javíta—Runaway Indians—Collections at Javíta—Return to Tómo—A
domestic broil—Marabitánas, and its inhabitants—Reach Guía.
When at length our visitors were gone, I commenced arrangements for my
voyage further up the country.
Senhor L. lent me a canoe, and I had four Indians to go with me, only
one of whom, an old man named Augustinho, could speak a little broken
Portuguese. I took with me my watch, sextant, and compass, insect-
and bird-boxes, gun and ammunition, with salt, beads, fish-hooks,
calico, and coarse cotton cloth for the Indians. My men all had
their gravatánas and quivers of poisoned arrows, a pair of trowsers,
shirt, paddle, knife, tinder-box, and rede, which comprise the whole
assortment of an Indian’s baggage.
On the 27th of January, 1851, we left Guía, paddling up against the
stream. The canoe had been fresh caulked, but still I found it leaking
so much, as to keep me constantly baling; and in the afternoon, when
we staid for dinner, I made an examination, and found out the cause of
the leakage. The cargo was heavy and was supported on a little stage,
or floor, resting upon cross-bearers in the bottom of the canoe; the
ends of these bearers had been carelessly placed just on a seam, so
that the whole weight of the cargo tended to force out the plank, and
thus produce the leak. I was accordingly obliged to unload the boat
entirely, and replace the bearers in a better position; after which, I
was glad to find the leak much diminished.
On the 28th, in the afternoon, we arrived at the little village of
Mabé, which we reached in very good time, for the inhabitants had just
returned from a fishing expedition: they had procured a great quantity
of fish by poisoning an igaripé near, and I purchased enough for our
supper and breakfast. I found several which I had not seen before;
among them, a most curious little species allied to _Centrarcus_,
called the butterfly fish, from the extraordinary development of its
fins, and pretty banded markings.
On the 29th, about noon, we passed the mouth of the river Xié, a
black-water stream of moderate size and no great length. There is
little trade up it, and the Indians inhabiting it are uncivilized and
almost unknown.
On the 30th, we came in sight of the serras of the Cababurís, and the
long row of hills called Pirapucó (the long fish): they consist of
lofty and isolated granite peaks, like those generally found in this
district. The next day we reached Marabitánas, the frontier fort of
Brazil: there is now only the remnant of a mud entrenchment, and a
small detachment of soldiers. As the Commandante was not there, we did
not stay, except to purchase a few plantains.
On the 1st of February we reached the Serra of Cocoí, which marks the
boundary between Brazil and Venezuela. This is a granite rock, very
precipitous and forming nearly a square frustum of a prism, about a
thousand feet high. It rises at once out of the forest plain, and is
itself, on the summit and the less precipitous portions, covered with
thick wood. Here the pium̃s, or little biting flies, swarm, and made
us very uncomfortable for the rest of the day. We had now beautiful
weather, and in the evening slept on a fine granite beach very
comfortably. The next night we staid at a rock on which we found some
curious figures engraven below high-water mark. Here having a clear
horizon up the river to the north, I saw my old friend the pole-star,
though I was only in 1° 20´ north latitude. We had now every day fine
rocky beaches, along which I often walked, while young Luiz would shoot
fish for us with his bow and arrow. He was very skilful, and always had
his bow by his side, and as we approached a rock or shallow would fit
his arrow and send it into some glittering acarrá or bright-coloured
tucunaré.
At length, on the afternoon of the 4th of February, we arrived at São
Carlos, the principal Venezuelan village on the Rio Negro. This was the
furthest point reached by Humboldt from an opposite direction, and I
was therefore now entering upon ground gone over fifty years before
by that illustrious traveller. At the landing-place I was agreeably
surprised to see a young Portuguese I had met at Guía, and as he was
going up the river to Tómo in a day or two, I agreed to wait and take
him with me. I went with him to the house of the Commissario, got
introduced, and commenced my acquaintance with the Spanish language.
I was civilly received, and found myself in the midst of a party
of loosely-dressed gentlemen, holding a conversation on things in
general. I found some difficulty in making out anything, both from
the peculiarity of accent and the number of new words constantly
occurring; for though Spanish is very similar to Portuguese in the
verbs, pronouns, and adjectives, the nouns are mostly different, and
the accent and pronunciation peculiar.
We took our meals at the Commissario’s table, and with every meal had
coffee, which custom I rather liked. The next day I walked into the
forest along the road to Soláno, a village on the Cassiquiare. I found
a dry, sandy soil, but with very few insects. The village of São Carlos
is laid out with a large square, and parallel streets. The principal
house, called the Convento, where the priests used to reside, is now
occupied by the Commissario. The square is kept clean, the houses
whitewashed, and altogether the village is much neater than those of
Brazil. Every morning the bell rings for matins, and the young girls
and boys assemble in the church and sing a few hymns; the same takes
place in the evening; and on Sundays the church is always opened, and
service performed by the Commissario and the Indians.
Soon after leaving the village we passed the mouth of the Cassiquiare,
that singular stream which connects the Rio Negro with the Orinooko
near the sources of both. It is a mixture of white and black water,
and swarms with pium̃s, which are abundant down to São Carlos; but on
passing the mouth of the Cassiquiare they cease immediately, and up
to the sources of the Rio Negro there is a freedom at least from this
pest. In the evening we staid at an Indian cottage, and bought a fine
cabeçudo, or big-headed turtle, for a basin of salt: it furnished us
with an excellent supper for eight persons, and even the next day we
did not finish it all. The weather was now hot, and brilliantly fine,
contrasting much with the constant rains of Guía; and, marvellous to
relate, the people here told us they had not had any rain for three
months past. The effects were seen in the river, which was very low
and still falling, and so full of rocks and shallows as to render it
sometimes difficult for us to find a passage for our canoes.
After passing the village of São Miguel these difficulties increased,
till we came to a place where the whole channel, a mile wide, appeared
but one bed of rocks, with nowhere water enough for our canoe to
pass, though eighteen inches would have sufficed. We went wandering
about over this rocky plain in search of some opening, and after
much difficulty succeeded in pushing and dragging our boat over the
rocks. We passed by two or three “Caños,” or channels leading to the
Cassiquiare, up which many of the inhabitants were now going, to lay in
a stock of fish and cabeçudos against the “tiempo del faminto” (time of
famine), as the wet season is called, when but little fish and game
are to be obtained.
On the 10th of February we reached Tómo, a village at the mouth of a
stream of the same name. The inhabitants are all Indians, except one
white man, a Portuguese, named Antonio Dias, of whom I had heard much
at Barra. I found him in his shirt and trowsers, covered with dust and
perspiration, having just been assisting his men at their work at some
canoes he was building. He received me kindly, with a strange mixture
of Portuguese and Spanish, and got the “casa de nação,” or stranger’s
house, a mere dirty shed, swept out for my accommodation for a few
days. Like most of the white men in this neighbourhood, he is occupied
entirely in building large canoes and schooners for the Rio Negro and
Amazon trade. When finished, the hulls alone are taken down to Barra or
to Pará, generally with a cargo of piassába or farinha, and there sold.
He had now one on the stocks, of near two hundred tons burden; but most
of them are from thirty to a hundred tons. These large vessels have to
be taken down the cataracts of the Rio Negro, which can only be done in
the wet season, when the water is deep.
It seems astonishing how such large vessels can be at all constructed
by persons entirely ignorant of the principles of naval architecture.
They are altogether made by the Indians without drawing or design.
During the time when Brazil and Venezuela were under the Portuguese and
Spanish governments, building-yards were established in several places
where good timber was to be found, and the Indians were employed, under
naval architects from Spain and Portugal, in the construction of
vessels for the coast and inland trade. When the independence of these
countries took place, all such establishments were broken up, and a
long succession of revolutions and disturbances occurred. The Indians
employed had however learnt an art they did not forget, but taught
it to their children and countrymen. By eye and hand alone they will
form the framework and fit on the planks of fine little vessels of a
hundred tons or more, with no other tools than axe, adze, and hammer.
Many a Portuguese, who has scarcely ever seen a boat except during his
passage to Brazil, gets together half-a-dozen Indians with some old
Indian carpenter at their head, buys a dozen axes and a few thousands
of nails, and sets up as a shipbuilder. The products of the Upper Rio
Negro, principally piassába, pitch, and farinha, are bulky, and require
large vessels to take them down, but their value in iron and cotton
goods can be brought up again in a very small canoe. Large vessels,
too, cannot possibly return up the cataracts. Those made on the Upper
Rio Negro, therefore, never return there, and the small traders require
a new one annually. They are used below in the navigation of the
Amazon, and of all its branches not obstructed by falls or rapids.
The vessels are made very cheaply and roughly, and seldom of the best
timbers, which are difficult to obtain in sufficient quantity. On an
average these canoes do not last more than six or eight years,—many not
more than two or three, though there are woods which will stand for
thirty years perfectly sound. Owing to these peculiar circumstances,
there is a constant demand for these Spanish vessels, as they are
called; and the villages of São Carlos, Tiriquím, São Miguel, Tómo, and
Maróa are entirely inhabited by builders of canoes.
While I was at Tómoe the village was being cleaned, by scraping off the
turf and weeds wherever they appeared within the limits of the houses.
The people show an instance of their peculiar delicacy in this work:
they will not touch any spot on which there lies a piece of dung of a
dog or any animal, or the body of any dead bird or reptile, but hoe
carefully around it, and leave a little circular tuft of grass marking
the spot where all such impurities exist. This is partly owing to a
kind of superstition; but in many other ways they show a dislike to
touch, however remotely, any offensive animal substance. This idea is
carried so far as to lead them sometimes to neglect the sick in any
offensive disease. It seems to be a kind of feeling very similar to
that which exists in many animals, with regard to the sick and the
dying.
Senhor Antonio Dias was rather notorious, even in this country of loose
morals, for his patriarchal propensities, his harem consisting of a
mother and daughter and two Indian girls, all of whom he keeps employed
at feather-work, which they do with great skill,—Senhor Antonio
himself, who has some taste in design, making out the patterns. The
cocks of the rock, white herons, roseate spoonbills, golden jacamars,
metallic trogons, and exquisite little seven-coloured tanagers, with
many gay parrots, and other beautiful birds, offer an assortment of
colours capable of producing the most exquisite effects. The work
is principally applied to the borders or fringes of hammocks. The
hammocks themselves are of finely netted palm-fibre string, dyed of
red, yellow, green, and other brilliant colours. The fringes are about
a foot deep, also finely netted, of the same material, and on these are
stuck, with the milk of the cow-tree, sprays and stars and flowers of
feather-work. In the best he puts in the centre the arms of Portugal or
Brazil beautifully executed; and the whole, on a ground of the snowy
white heron’s feathers, has a very pleasing effect.
Senhor Antonio informed me, that, owing to the lowness of the water,
I could not go on any further in my canoe, and must therefore get an
Indian _obá_, of one piece of wood, to stand the scraping over the
rocks up to Pimichín; so, on the 13th, I left Tómo with Senhor Antonio
in his canoe, for Maróa, a village a few miles above, where I hoped to
get an obá suited for the remainder of the journey. This was a large
village, entirely inhabited by Indians, and with an Indian Commissario,
who could read and write, and was quite fashionably dressed in
patent-leather boots, trowsers, and straps. I here got an obá, lent me
by a Gallician trader, and took two Indians with me from the place to
bring it back. Senhor Antonio returned to Tómo, and about three P.M. I
started, with my little tottering canoe, on my journey.
About a mile above Maróa, we reached the entrance of the little river
Pimichín, up which we were to ascend. At the very mouth was a rock
filling up the channel, and we had great difficulty in passing. We then
had deep water for some distance, but came again to rocks and reedy
shallows, where our heavily-laden canoe was only got over by great
exertions. At night we reached a fine sandy beach, where we staid,
but had not been fortunate enough to get any fish, so had nothing
for supper but farinha mingau and a cup of coffee; and I then hung
my hammock under a little palm-leaf shed, that had been made by some
former traveller.
Our breakfast was a repetition of our supper, and we again started
onwards, but every half-hour had to stop and partly unload our boat,
and drag it over some impediment. In many places there was a smooth
ledge of rock with only a little water trickling over it, or a series
of steps forming miniature cascades. The stream was now sunk in a
little channel or ravine fifteen or twenty feet deep, and with an
interminable succession of turnings and windings towards every point
of the compass. At length, late in the evening, we reached the port of
Pimichín, formerly a village, but now containing only two houses. We
found an old shed without doors and with a leaky roof—the traveller’s
house—of which we took possession.
Our canoe being unloaded, I went to one of the cottages to forage, and
found a Portuguese deserter, a very civil fellow, who gave me the only
eatable thing he had in the house, which was a piece of smoke-dried
fish, as hard as a board and as tough as leather. This I gave to the
Indians, and got him to come and take a cup of coffee with me, which,
though he had some coffee-trees around his house, was still quite a
treat, as he had no sugar or molasses. From this place a road leads
overland about ten miles through the forest to Javíta, a village on
the Témi, a branch of the Atabapo, which flows into the Orinooko.
Finding that here I could get nothing to eat, I could not remain, as
I had at first intended, but was obliged to get my things all carried
by road to Javíta, and determined to walk over the next day to see
about getting men to do it. In the evening I took my gun, and strolled
along the road a little way into the forest, at the place I had so long
looked forward to reaching, and was rewarded by falling in with one of
the lords of the soil, which I had long wished to encounter.
As I was walking quietly along I saw a large jet-black animal come out
of the forest about twenty yards before me, and which took me so much
by surprise that I did not at all imagine what it was. As it moved
slowly on, and its whole body and long curving tail came into full view
in the middle of the road, I saw that it was a fine black jaguar. I
involuntarily raised my gun to my shoulder, but remembering that both
barrels were loaded with small shot, and that to fire would exasperate
without killing him, I stood silently gazing. In the middle of the
road he turned his head, and for an instant paused and gazed on me,
but having, I suppose, other business of his own to attend to, walked
steadily on, and disappeared in the thicket. As he advanced, I heard
the scampering of small animals, and the whizzing flight of ground
birds, clearing the path for their dreaded enemy.
This encounter pleased me much. I was too much surprised, and occupied
too much with admiration, to feel fear. I had at length had a full
view, in his native wilds, of the rarest variety of the most powerful
and dangerous animal inhabiting the American continent. I was however
by no means desirous of a second meeting, and, as it was near sunset,
thought it most prudent to turn back towards the village.
The next morning I sent my Indians all out to fish, and walked myself
along the road over to Javíta, and thus crossed the division between
the basins of the Amazon and the Orinooko. The road is, generally
speaking, level, consisting of a series of slight ascents and descents,
nowhere probably varying more than fifty feet in elevation, and a great
part of it being over swamps and marshes, where numerous small streams
intersect it. At those places roughly squared trunks of trees are
laid down longitudinally, forming narrow paths or bridges, over which
passengers have to walk.
The road is about twenty or thirty feet wide, running nearly straight
through a lofty forest. On the sides grow numbers of the Inajá palm
(_Maximiliana regia_), the prickly Mauritia (_M. aculeata_) in the
marshes, and that curious palm the Piassába, which produces the fibrous
substance now used for making brooms and brushes in this country for
street-sweeping and domestic purposes. This is the first and almost the
only point where this curious tree can be seen, while following any
regular road or navigation. From the mouth of the Padauarí (a branch
of the Rio Negro about five hundred miles above Barra), it is found
on several rivers, but never on the banks of the main stream itself.
A great part of the population of the Upper Rio Negro is employed in
obtaining the fibre for exportation; and I thus became acquainted
with all the localities in which it is found. These are the rivers
Padauarí, Jahá, and Darahá on the north bank of the Rio Negro, and the
Marié and Xié on the south. The other two rivers, the Maravihá and
Cababurís, on the north, have not a tree; neither have the Curicuriarí,
Uaupés, and Isánna, on the south, though they flow between the Marié
and the Xié, where it abounds. In the whole of the district about
the Upper Rio Negro above São Carlos, and about the Atabapo and its
branches, it is abundant, and just behind the village of Tómo was
where I first saw it. It grows in moist places, and is about twenty or
thirty feet high, with the leaves large, pinnate, shining, and very
smooth and regular. The whole stem is covered with a thick coating of
the fibres, hanging down like coarse hair, and growing from the bases
of the leaves, which remain attached to the stem. Large parties of
men, women, and children go into the forests to cut this fibre. It is
extensively used in its native country for cables and small ropes for
all the canoes and larger vessels on the Amazon. Humboldt alludes to
this plant by the native Venezuelan name of Chíquichíqui, but does not
appear to have seen it, though he passed along this road. I believe it
to be a species of _Leopoldinia_, of which two other kinds occur in the
Rio Negro, and, like this tree, are found there only. I could not find
it in flower or fruit, but took a sketch of its general appearance, and
have called it _Leopoldinia Piassaba_, from its native name, in the
greater part of the district which it inhabits.
On approaching the end of the road, I came to a “rhossa,” or cleared
field, where I found a tall, stout Indian, planting cassáva. He
addressed me with “Buenos dias,” and asked me where I was going, and
if I wanted anything at the village, for that the Commissario was away,
and he was the Capitão. I replied in the best Spanish I could muster
up for the occasion, and we managed to understand each other pretty
well. He was rather astonished when I told him I was going to stay at
the village, and seemed very doubtful of my intentions. I informed him
however that I was a “Naturalista,” and wanted birds, insects, and
other animals; and then he began to comprehend, and at last promised to
send me some men the day after the next, to carry over my luggage. I
accordingly turned back without going to the village, which was still
nearly a mile off.
On my return to Pimichin I found that my Indians had had but little
success in fishing, three or four small perch being all we could muster
for supper. As we had the next day to spare, I sent them early to get
some “timbo” to poison the water, and thus obtain some more fish. While
they were gone, I amused myself with walking about the village, and
taking notes of its peculiarities. Hanging up under the eaves of our
shed was a dried head of a snake, which had been killed a short time
before. It was a jararáca, a species of _Craspedocephalus_, and must
have been of a formidable size, for its poison-fangs, four in number,
were nearly an inch long. My friend the deserter informed me that there
were plenty like it in the mass of weeds close to the house, and that
at night they came out, so that it was necessary to keep a sharp watch
in and about the house. The bite of such a one as this would be certain
death.
At Tómo I had observed signs of stratified upheaved rocks close to the
village. Here the flat granite pavement presented a curious appearance:
it contained, imbedded in it, fragments of rock, of an angular shape,
of sandstone crystallized and stratified, and of quartz. Up to São
Carlos I had constantly registered the boiling-point of water with an
accurate thermometer, made for the purpose, in order to ascertain the
height above the level of the sea. There I had unfortunately broken it,
before arriving at this most interesting point, the watershed between
the Amazon and the Orinooko. I am however inclined to think that the
height given by Humboldt for São Carlos is too great. He himself says
it is doubtful, as his barometer had got an air-bubble in it, and was
emptied and refilled by him, and before returning to the coast was
broken, so as to render a comparison of its indications impossible.
Under these circumstances, I think little weight can be attached to the
observations. He gives, however, 812 feet as the height of São Carlos
above the sea. My observations made a difference of 0·5° of Fahrenheit
in the temperature of boiling water between Barra and São Carlos, which
would give a height of 250 feet, to which may be added fifty feet
for the height of the station at which the observations were made at
Barra, making 300 feet. Now the height of Barra above the sea I cannot
consider to be more than a hundred feet, for both my own observations
and those of Mr. Spruce with the aneroid would make Barra lower than
Pará, if the difference of pressure of the atmosphere was solely owing
to height, the barometer appearing to stand regularly higher at Barra
than at Pará,—a circumstance which shows the total inapplicability of
that instrument to determine small heights at very great distances, I
cannot therefore think that São Carlos is more than four hundred, or at
the outside five hundred feet, above the level of the sea. Should, as I
suspect, the mean pressure of the atmosphere in the interior and on the
coasts of South America differ from other causes than the elevation,
it will be a difficult point ever accurately to ascertain the levels
of the interior of this great continent, for the distances are too
vast and the forests too impenetrable to allow a line of levels to be
carried across it.
When my Indians returned with the roots of timbo, we all set to work
beating it on the rocks with hard pieces of wood, till we had reduced
it to fibres. It was then placed in a small canoe, filled with water
and clay, and well mixed and squeezed, till all the juice had come out
of it. This being done, it was carried a little way up the stream,
and gradually tilted in, and mixed with the water. It soon began to
produce its effects: small fish jumped up out of the water, turned and
twisted about on the surface, or even lay on their backs and sides.
The Indians were in the stream with baskets, hooking out all that came
in the way, and diving and swimming after any larger one that appeared
at all affected. In this way, we got in an hour or two a basketful of
fish, mostly small ones, but containing many curious species I had not
before met with. Numbers escaped, as we had no weir across the stream;
and the next day several were found entangled at the sides, and already
putrefying. I now had plenty to do. I selected about half-a-dozen of
the most novel and interesting species to describe and figure, and
gave the rest to be cleaned and put in the pot, to provide us a rather
better supper than we had had for some days past.
The next morning early our porters appeared, consisting of one man and
eight or ten women and girls. We accordingly made up loads for each of
them. There was a basket of salt, about a hundred pounds weight, four
baskets of farinha, besides boxes, baskets, a jar of oil, a demijohn of
molasses, a portable cupboard, and numerous other articles. The greater
part of these were taken, in loads proportioned to the strength of the
bearers, and two of my Indians accompanied them, and were to return in
the evening, and then go with me the next day. Night came however, and
they did not appear; but near midnight they came in, telling me that
they could not keep up with the Javíta Indians, and night coming on
while they were in the middle of the road, they had hid their burdens
in the forest and returned. So the next morning they had to go off
again to finish their journey, and I was obliged to wait till they came
back, and was delayed another day before I could get all my things
taken.
I occupied myself in the forest, catching a few insects, which however
were not very numerous. The following morning we had nothing for
breakfast, so I sent the Indians off early to fish, with positive
instructions to return by ten o’clock, in order that we might get
to Javíta before night. They chose however to stay till past noon,
and then came with two or three small fish, which did not give us a
mouthful apiece. It was thus two o’clock before we started. I was
pretty well loaded, with gun, ammunition, insect-boxes, etc., but soon
got on ahead, with one Indian boy, who could not understand a single
word of Portuguese. About half-way I saw a fine mutun, a little way
off the road, and went after it; but I had only small shot in my gun,
and wounded it, but did not bring it down. I still followed, and fired
several times but without effect, and as it had suddenly got dark I
was obliged to leave it. We had still some miles to go. The sun had
set, so we pushed on quickly, my attendant keeping close at my heels.
In the marshes and over the little streams we had now some difficulty
in finding our way along the narrow trunks laid for bridges. I was
barefoot, and every minute stepped on some projecting root or stone,
or trod sideways upon something which almost dislocated my ankle. It
was now pitch-dark: dull clouds could just be distinguished through
the openings in the high arch of overhanging trees, but the road we
were walking on was totally invisible. Jaguars I knew abounded here,
deadly serpents were plentiful, and at every step I almost expected to
feel a cold, gliding body under my feet, or deadly fangs in my leg.
Through the darkness I gazed, expecting momentarily to encounter the
glaring eyes of a jaguar, or to hear his low growl in the thicket. But
to turn back or to stop were alike useless: I knew that we could not be
very far from the village, and so pressed on, with a vague confidence
that after all nothing disagreeable would happen, and that the next
day I should only laugh at my fears overnight. Still the sharp fangs
of the dried snake’s head at Pimichín would come across my memory,
and many a tale of the fierceness and cunning of the jaguar were not
to be forgotten. At length we came to the clearing I had reached two
days before, and I now knew that we had but a short distance to go.
There were however several small streams to cross. Suddenly we would
step into water, which we felt but could not see, and then had to find
the narrow bridge crossing it. Of the length of the bridge, its height
above the water, or the depth of the stream, we were entirely ignorant;
and to walk along a trunk four inches wide under such circumstances,
was rather a nervous matter. We proceeded, placing one foot before the
other, and balancing steadily, till we again felt ourselves on firm
ground. On one or two occasions I lost my balance, but it was luckily
only a foot or two to the ground and water below, though if it had been
twenty it would have been all the same. Some half-dozen of brooks and
bridges like this had to be passed, and several little ups and downs in
the road, till at length, emerging from the pitchy shade upon an open
space, we saw twinkling lights, which told us the village was before us.
In about a quarter of an hour more we reached it, and, knocking at a
door, asked where the Commissario lived. We were directed to a house
on the other side of the square, where an old man conducted us to the
“Casa de nação” (a shed with a door), in which were all my goods. On
asking him if he could furnish me something for supper, he gave us some
smoked turtle’s eggs and a piece of salt fish, and then left us. We
soon made a fire with some sticks we found, roasted our fish, and made
a supper with the eggs and some farinha; I then hung up my hammock, and
my companion lay on the ground by the side of the fire; and I slept
well, undisturbed by dreams of snakes or jaguars.
The next morning I called on the Commissario, for the old man I had
seen the evening before was only a capitão. I found him in his house:
he was an Indian who could read and write, but not differing in any
other respect from the Indians of the place. He had on a shirt and
a pair of short-legged trowsers, but neither shoes nor stockings. I
informed him why I had come there, showed him my Brazilian passport,
and requested the use of the Convento (a house formerly occupied by
the priests, but now kept for travellers) to live in. After a little
demur, he gave me the key of the house, and so I said good-morning, and
proceeded to take possession.
About the middle of the day, the Indians who had started with me the
day before arrived; they had been afraid to come on in the dark, so
had encamped in the road. I now got the house swept out, and my things
taken into it. It consisted of two small rooms, and a little verandah
at the back; the larger room contained a table, chair, and bench, and
in the smaller I hung up my hammock. My porters then came to be paid
for bringing over my goods. All wanted salt, and I gave them a basinful
each and a few fish-hooks, for carrying a heavy load ten miles: this is
about their regular payment.
I had now reached the furthest point in this direction that I had
wished to attain. I had passed the boundary of the mighty Amazon
valley, and was among the streams that go to swell another of the
world’s great waters—the Orinooko. A deficiency in all other parts of
the Upper Amazon district was here supplied,—a road through the virgin
forest, by which I could readily reach its recesses, and where I was
more sure of obtaining the curious insects of so distant a region, as
well as the birds and other animals which inhabit it; so I determined
to remain here at least a month, steadily at work. Every day I went
myself along the road, and sent my Indians, some to fish in the little
black river Témi, others with their gravatanas to seek for the splendid
trogons, monkeys, and other curious birds and animals in the forest.
Unfortunately however for me, on the very night I reached the village
it began to rain, and day after day cloudy and showery weather
continued. For three months Javíta had enjoyed the most splendid summer
weather, with a clear sky and hardly a shower. I had been wasting all
this time in the rainy district of the cataracts of the Rio Negro. No
one there could tell me that the seasons, at such a short distance,
differed so completely, and the consequence was that I arrived at
Javíta on the very last day of summer.
The winter or rainy season commenced early this year. The river kept
rapidly rising. The Indians constantly assured me that it was too soon
for the regular rains to commence,—that we should have fine weather
again,—the river would fall, and the winter not set in for two or
three weeks. However, such was not the case. Day after day the rain
poured down; every afternoon or night was wet, and a little sunshine in
the morning was the most we were favoured with. Insects consequently
were much more scarce than they otherwise would have been, and the
dampness of the atmosphere rendered it extremely difficult to dry and
preserve those that I obtained. However, by perseverance I amassed
a considerable number of specimens; and what gave me the greatest
pleasure was, that I almost daily obtained some new species which the
Lower Amazon and Rio Negro had not furnished me with. During the time
I remained here (forty days), I procured at least forty species of
butterflies quite new to me, besides a considerable collection of other
orders; and I am sure that during the dry season Javíta would be a
most productive station for any persevering entomologist. I never saw
the great blue butterflies, _Morpho Menelaus_, _M. Helenor_, etc., so
abundant as here. In certain places in the road, I found them by dozens
sitting on the ground or on twigs by the roadside, and could easily
have captured a dozen or twenty a day if I had wanted them. In birds
and mammalia I did not do much, for my Indians wanted to get back, and
were lazy and would not hunt after them. During my walks in the forest,
I myself saw wild-pigs, agoutis, coatis, monkeys, numerous beautiful
trogons, and many other fine birds, as well as many kinds of serpents.
One day I had brought to me a curious little alligator of a rare
species, with numerous ridges and conical tubercles (_Caiman gibbus_),
which I skinned and stuffed, much to the amusement of the Indians,
half-a-dozen of whom gazed intently at the operation.
Of fish too I obtained many new species, as my Indians were out
fishing every day to provide our supper, and I generally had some
to figure and describe in the afternoon. I formed a good collection
of the smaller kinds in spirits. My drawings here were made under
great difficulties. I generally returned from the forest about three
or four in the afternoon, and if I found a new fish, had to sit down
immediately to figure it before dark. I was thus exposed to the pest
of the sand-flies, which, every afternoon, from four to six, swarm in
millions, causing by their bites on the face, ears, and hands, the
most painful irritation. Often have I been obliged to start up from my
seat, dash down my pencil, and wave my hands about in the cool air to
get a little relief. But the sun was getting low, and I must return
to my task, till, before I had finished, my hands would be as rough
and as red as a boiled lobster, and violently inflamed. Bathing them
in cold water however, and half an hour’s rest, would bring them to
their natural state; in which respect the bite of this little insect is
far preferable to that of the mosquito, the pium̃, or the mutúca, the
effects of whose bites are felt for days.
The village of Javíta is rather a large one, regularly laid out,
and contains about two hundred inhabitants: they are all Indians of
pure blood; I did not see a white man, a mulatto, or a half-breed
among them. Their principal occupation is in cutting piassába in the
neighbouring forests, and making cables and cordage of it. They are
also the carriers of all goods across the “Estrada de Javíta,” and,
being used to this service from childhood, they will often take two
loads a day ten miles each way, with less fatigue than a man not
accustomed to the work can carry one. When my Indians accompanied the
Javitanos the first time from Pimichin, they could not at all keep up
with them, but were, as I have related, obliged to stop half-way.
They go along the road at a sort of run, stopping to rest twice only
for a few minutes each time. They go over the narrow bridges with the
greatest certainty, often two together, carrying heavy loads suspended
from a pole between them. Besides this, once or twice a year they all
go in a body to clean the road as far as the middle, where there is
a cross erected. The inhabitants of Maroa, Tomo, and other villages
of the Rio Negro assemble to clean the other half. One of these
cleanings occurred while I was there. The whole village, men, women,
and children, turned out, the former carrying axes and cutlasses, the
latter bundles of switches to serve as brooms. They divided themselves
into parties, going on to different parts of the road, and then
worked to meet each other. The men cut down all overhanging or fallen
trees which obstructed the way, and cleared off all the brushwood and
weeds which were growing up on the sides. The women and girls and
boys carried these away, and swept clean with their switch brooms
all the dead leaves and twigs, till the whole looked quite neat and
respectable. To clear up a road five miles in length in this manner was
no trifle, but they accomplished it easily and very thoroughly in two
days.
A little while after, the men again turned out, to make new bridges
in several places where they had become decayed. This was rather a
laborious task. Large trees had to be cut down, often some distance
from the spot; they were then roughly squared or flattened on top and
bottom, and with cords of withes and creepers, and with numerous round
sticks and logs placed beneath for rollers, were dragged by twenty
or thirty men to the spot, placed in a proper position over the marsh
or stream, propped and wedged securely, and the upper surface roughed
with the axe to make the footing more sure. In this way eight or ten
of these bridges were made in a few days, and the whole road put in
complete order. This work is done by order of the Commissario Geral at
São Fernando, without any kind of payment, or even rations, and with
the greatest cheerfulness and good humour.
The men of Javíta when at work wear only the “tanga,” in other respects
being entirely naked. The women wear usually a large wrapping dress
passing over the left shoulder but leaving the right arm perfectly
free, and hanging loosely over their whole person. On Sundays and
festivals they have well-made cotton gowns, and the men a shirt and
trowsers. Here exists the same custom as at São Carlos, of the girls
and boys assembling morning and evening at the church to sing a hymn
or psalm. The village is kept remarkably clean and free from weeds by
regular weekly hoeings and weedings, to which the people are called by
the Capitãos, who are the executive officers under the Commissario.
My evenings were very dull, having few to converse with, and no books.
Now and then I would talk a little with the Commissario, but our stock
of topics was soon exhausted. One or two evenings I went to their
festas, when they had made a quantity of “xirac”—the caxirí of the
Brazilian Indians—and were very merry. They had a number of peculiar
monotonous dances, accompanied by strange figures and contortions.
The young girls generally came neatly dressed, their glossy hair
beautifully plaited, and with gay ribbons or flowers to set it off. The
moment the xirac is finished the party breaks up, as they do not seem
to think it possible to dance without it: sometimes they make enough to
last two or three days. Their dances appear quite national, but they
have apparently left off paint, as I saw very little used.
The language spoken by these people is called the Maniva or Baniwa, but
it differs considerably from the Baniwa of the Rio Negro, and is not so
harsh and guttural. At Tomo and Maroa another language is spoken, quite
distinct from this, but still called the Baniwa; a little further down,
at São Carlos, the Barré is used; so that almost every village has
its language. Here the men and old women all speak Spanish tolerably,
there having formerly been priests living at the Convento, who
instructed them. The younger women and the boys and girls, not having
had this advantage, speak only the native tongue; but many of them can
understand a little Spanish. I found considerable difficulty in making
myself intelligible here. The white men, who are called “rationáles”
(rationals), could understand my mixed Portuguese and Spanish very
well, but the Indians, knowing but little Spanish themselves, cannot of
course comprehend any deviations from the ordinary method of speaking.
I found it necessary therefore to keep my Spanish by itself, as they
could better understand a little and good, than a great deal of
explanation in the mixed tongue.
Some of my dull and dreary evenings I occupied in writing a
description of the village and its inhabitants, in what may probably be
very dreary blank verse; but as it shows my ideas and thoughts at the
time, I may as well give it the reader in place of the more sober and
matter-of-fact view of the matter I should probably take now. I give it
as I wrote it, in a state of excited indignation against civilized life
in general, got up to relieve the monotony of my situation, and not
altogether as my views when writing in London in 1853.
A DESCRIPTION OF JAVITA.
’Tis where the streams divide, to swell the floods
Of the two mighty rivers of our globe;
Where gushing brooklets in their narrow beds
Lie hid, o’ershadow’d by th’ eternal woods,
And trickle onwards,—these to increase the wave
Of turbid Orinooko; those, by a longer course
In the Black River’s isle-strewn bed, flow down
To mighty Amazon, the river-king,
And, mingled with his all-engulfing stream,
Go to do battle with proud Ocean’s self,
And drive him back even from his own domain.
There is an Indian village; all around,
The dark, eternal, boundless forest spreads
Its varied foliage. Stately palm-trees rise
On every side, and numerous trees unknown
Save by strange names uncouth to English ears.
Here I dwelt awhile, the one white man
Among perhaps two hundred living souls.
They pass a peaceful and contented life,
These black-hair’d, red-skinn’d, handsome, half-wild men.
Directed by the sons of Old Castile,
They keep their village and their houses clean;
And on the eve before the Sabbath-day
Assemble all at summons of a bell,
To sweep within and all around their church,
In which next morn they meet, all neatly dress’d,
To pray as they’ve been taught unto their God.
It was a pleasing sight, that Sabbath morn,
Reminding me of distant, dear-loved home.
On one side knelt the men, their simple dress
A shirt and trowsers of coarse cotton cloth:
On the other side were women and young girls,
Their glossy tresses braided with much taste,
And on their necks all wore a kerchief gay,
And some a knot of riband in their hair.
How like they look’d, save in their dusky skin,
To a fair group of English village maids!
Yet far superior in their graceful forms;
For their free growth no straps or bands impede,
But simple food, free air, and daily baths
And exercise, give all that Nature asks
To mould a beautiful and healthy frame.
Each day some labour calls them. Now they go
To fell the forest’s pride, or in canoe,
With hook, and spear, and arrow, to catch fish;
Or seek the various products of the wood,
To make their baskets or their hanging beds.
The women dig the mandiocca root,
And with much labour make of it their bread.
These plant the young shoots in the fertile earth-
Earth all untill’d, to which the plough, or spade,
Or rake, or harrow, are alike unknown.
The young girls carry water on their heads
In well-formed pitchers, just like Cambrian maids;
And all each morn and eve wash in the stream,
And sport like mermaids in the sparkling wave.
The village is laid out with taste and skill:
In the midst a spacious square, where stands the church,
And narrow streets diverging all around.
Between the houses, filling up each space,
The broad, green-leaved, luxuriant plantain grows,
Bearing huge bunches of most wholesome fruit;
The orange too is there, and grateful lime;
The Inga pendent hangs its yard-long pods
(Whose flowers attract the fairy humming-birds);
The guava, and the juicy, sweet cashew,
And a most graceful palm, which bears a fruit
In bright red clusters, much esteem’d, for food;
And there are many more which Indians
Esteem, and which have only Indian names.
The houses are of posts fill’d up with mud,
Smooth’d, and wash’d over with a pure white clay;
A palm-tree’s spreading leaves supply a thatch
Impervious to the winter’s storms and rain.
No nail secures the beams or rafters, all
Is from the forest, whose lithe, pendent cords
Binds them into a firm enduring mass.
From the tough fibre of a fan-palm’s leaf
They twist a cord to make their hammock-bed,
Their bow-string, line, and net for catching fish.
Their food is simple—fish and cassava-bread,
With various fruits, and sometimes forest game,
All season’d with hot, pungent, fiery peppers.
Sauces and seasonings too, and drinks they have,
Made from the mandiocca’s poisonous juice;
And but one foreign luxury, which is salt.
Salt here is money: daily they bring to me
Cassava cakes, or fish, or ripe bananas,
Or birds or insects, fowls or turtles’ eggs,
And still they ask for salt. Two teacups-full
Buy a large basket of cassava cakes,
A great bunch of bananas, or a fowl.
One day they made a festa, and, just like
Our villagers at home, they drank much beer,
(Beer made from roasted mandiocca cakes,)
Call’d here “shirac,” by others “caxirí,”
But just like beer in flavour and effect;
And then they talked much, shouted and sang,
And men and maids all danced in a ring
With much delight, like children at their play.
For music they’ve small drums and reed-made fifes,
And vocal chants, monotonous and shrill,
To which they’ll dance for hours without fatigue.
The children of small growth are naked, and
The boys and men wear but a narrow cloth.
How I delight to see those naked boys!
Their well-form’d limbs, their bright, smooth, red-brown skin,
And every motion full of grace and health;
And as they run, and race, and shout, and leap,
Or swim and dive beneath the rapid stream,
Or, all bareheaded in the noonday sun,
Creep stealthily, with blowpipe or with bow,
To shoot small birds or swiftly gliding fish,
I pity English boys; their active limbs
Cramp’d and confined in tightly-fitting clothes;
Their toes distorted by the shoemaker,
Their foreheads aching under heavy hats,
And all their frame by luxury enervate.
But how much more I pity English maids,
Their waist, and chest, and bosom all confined
By that vile torturing instrument called stays!
And thus these people pass their simple lives.
They are a peaceful race; few serious crimes
Are known amongst them; they nor rob nor murder,
And all the complicated villanies
Of man called civilized are here unknown.
Yet think not I would place, as some would do,
The civilized below the savage man;
Or wish that we could retrograde, and live
As did our forefathers ere Cæsar came.
’Tis true the miseries, the wants and woes,
The poverty, the crimes, the broken hearts,
The intense mental agonies that lead
Some men to self-destruction, some
To end their days within a madhouse cell,
The thousand curses that gold brings upon us,
The long death-struggle for the means to live,—
All these the savage knows and suffers not.
But then the joys, the pleasures and delights,
That the well-cultivated mind enjoys;
The appreciation of the beautiful
In nature and in art; the boundless range
Of pleasure and of knowledge books afford;
The constant change of incident and scene
That makes us live a life in every year;—
All these the savage knows not and enjoys not.
Still we may ask, “Does stern necessity
Compel that this great good must co-exist
For ever with that monstrous mass of ill?
Must millions suffer these dread miseries,
While but a few enjoy the grateful fruits?”
For are there not, confined in our dense towns,
And scattered over our most fertile fields,
Millions of men who live a lower life—
Lower in physical and moral health—
Than the Red Indian of these trackless wilds?
Have we not thousands too who live a life
More low, through eager longing after gold,—
Whose thoughts, from morn to night, from night to morn,
Are—how to get more gold?
What know such men of intellectual joys?
They’ve but one joy—the joy of getting gold.
In nature’s wondrous charms they’ve no delight,
The one thing beautiful for them is—gold.
Thoughts of the great of old which books contain,
The poet’s and the historian’s fervid page,
Or all the wonders science brings to light,
For them exist not. They’ve no time to spend
In such amusements; “Time,” say they, “is gold.”
And if they hear of some immortal deed,
Some noble sacrifice of power or fortune
To save a friend or spotless reputation,—
A deed that moistens sympathetic eyes,
And makes us proud we have such fellow-men,—
They say, “Who make such sacrifice are fools,
For what is life without one’s hard-earn’d gold?”
Rather than live a man like one of these,
I’d be an Indian here, and live content
To fish, and hunt, and paddle my canoe,
And see my children grow, like young wild fawns,
In health of body and in peace of mind,
Rich without wealth, and happy without gold!
_Javita, March, 1851._ A. W.
I had gone on here in my regular routine some time, when one morning,
on getting up, I found none of the Indians, and no fire in the
verandah. Thinking they had gone out early to hunt or fish, as they
sometimes did, I lit the fire and got my breakfast, but still no sign
of any of them. Looking about, I found that their hammocks, knives, an
earthen pan, and a few other articles, were all gone, and that nothing
was left in the house but what was my own. I was now convinced that
they had run away in the night, and left me to get on as I could. They
had been rather uneasy for some days past, asking me when I meant to
go back. They did not like being among people whose language they
could not speak, and had been lately using up an enormous quantity of
farinha, hoping when they had finished the last basket that I should
be unable to purchase any more in the village, and should therefore be
obliged to return. The day before I had just bought a fresh basket, and
the sight of that appears to have supplied the last stimulus necessary
to decide the question, and make them fly from the strange land and
still stranger white man, who spent all his time in catching insects,
and wasting good caxaça by putting fish and snakes into it. However
there was now nothing to be done, so I took my insect-net, locked up
my house, put the key (an Indian-made wooden one) in my pocket, and
started off for the forest.
I had luckily, a short time before, bought a fine Venezuelan cheese and
some dried beef, so that, with plenty of cassava-bread and plantains, I
could get on very well. In the evening some of my usual visitors among
the Indians dropped in, and were rather surprised to see me lighting my
fire and preparing my dinner; and on my explaining the circumstances to
them, they exclaimed that my Indians were “mala gente” (bad fellows),
and intimated that they had always thought them no better than they
should be. I got some of the boys to fetch me water from the river,
and to bring me in a stock of fuel, and then, with coffee and cheese,
roasted plantains and cassava-bread, I lived luxuriously. My coffee
however was just finished, and in a day or two I had none. This I could
hardly put up with without a struggle, so I went down to the cottage of
an old Indian who could speak a little Spanish, and begged him, “por
amor de Dios,” to get me some coffee from a small plantation he had.
There were some ripe berries on the trees, the sun was shining out, and
he promised to set his little girl to work immediately. This was about
ten in the morning. I went into the forest, and by four returned, and
found that my coffee was ready. It had been gathered, the pulp washed
off, dried in the sun (the longest part of the business), husked,
roasted, and pounded in a mortar; and in half an hour more I enjoyed
one of the most delicious cups of coffee I have ever tasted.
As I wanted to remain a fortnight longer, I tried to persuade one of
the brown damsels of the village to come and make my fire and cook for
me; but, strange to say, not one would venture, though in the other
villages of the Rio Negro I might at any moment have had my choice of
half-a-dozen; and I was forced to be my own cook and housemaid for the
rest of my stay in Javíta.
There was now in the village an old Indian trader who had come from
Medina, a town at the foot of the Andes, near Bogotá, and from him and
some other Indians I obtained much information relative to that part
of the country, and the character of the streams that flow from the
mountains down to the Orinooko. He informed me that he had ascended by
the river Muco, which enters the Orinooko above the Falls of Maypures,
and by which he had reached a point within twenty miles of the upper
waters of the Meta, opposite Medina. The river Muco had no falls or
obstructions to navigation, and all the upper part of its course flowed
through an open country, and had fine sandy beaches; so that between
this river and the Guaviare is the termination of the great forest of
the Amazon valley.
The weather was now terribly wet. For successive days and nights rain
was incessant, and a few hours of sunshine was a rarity. Insects were
few, and those I procured it was almost impossible to dry. In the
drying box they got destroyed by mould, and if placed in the open air
and exposed to the sun minute flies laid eggs upon them, and they were
soon eaten up by maggots. The only way I could preserve them was to
hang them up some time every evening and morning over my fire. I now
began to regret more than ever my loss of the fine season, as I was
convinced that I could have reaped a splendid harvest. I had, too, just
began to initiate the Indian boys into catching beetles for me, and was
accumulating a very nice collection. Every evening three or four would
come in with their treasures in pieces of bamboo, or carefully tied
up in leaves. I purchased all they brought, giving a fish-hook each;
and among many common I generally found some curious and rare species.
_Coleoptera_, generally so scarce in the forest districts of the Amazon
and Rio Negro, seemed here to become more abundant, owing perhaps to
our approach to the margins of the great forest, and the plains of the
Orinooko.
I prepared to leave Javíta with much regret. Although, considering
the season, I had done well, I knew that had I been earlier I might
have done much better. In April I had arranged to go up the unexplored
Uaupés with Senhor L., and even the prospect of his conversation was
agreeable after the weary solitude I was exposed to here.
I would however strongly recommend Javíta to any naturalist wishing for
a good unexplored locality in South America. It is easily reached from
the West Indies to Angostura, and thence up the Orinooko and Atabápo. A
pound’s worth of fish-hooks, and five pounds laid out in salt, beads,
and calico, will pay all expenses there for six months. The traveller
should arrive in September, and can then stay till March, and will have
the full benefit of the whole of the dry season. The insects alone
would well repay any one; the fishes are also abundant, and very new
and interesting; and, as my collections were lost on the voyage home,
they would have all the advantage of novelty.
On the 31st of March I left Javíta, the Commissario having sent five or
six Indians to carry my luggage, four of whom were to proceed with me
to Tomo. The Indians of São Carlos, Tomo, and Maroa had been repairing
their part of the road, and were returning home, so some of them agreed
to go with me in the place of the Javitanos. They had found in the
forest a number of the harlequin beetles (_Acrocinus longimanus_),
which they offered me, carefully wrapped up in leaves; I bought five
for a few fish-hooks each. On arriving at Pimichin the little river
presented a very different appearance from what it had when I last saw
it. It was now brim-full, and the water almost reached up to our shed,
which had before been forty yards off, up a steep rocky bank. Before
my men ran away I had sent two of them to Tomo to bring my canoe to
Pimichin, the river having risen enough to allow it to come up, and I
now found it here. They had taken a canoe belonging to Antonio Dias,
who had passed Javíta a few days before on his way to São Fernando, so
that when he returned he had to borrow another to go home in.
We descended the little river rapidly, and now saw the extraordinary
number of bends in it. I took the bearings of thirty with the compass,
but then there came on a tremendous storm of wind and rain right in
our faces, which rendered it quite impossible to see ahead. Before
this had cleared off night came on, so that the remainder of the bends
and doubles of the Pimichin river must still remain in obscurity. The
country it flows through appears to be a flat sandy tract, covered with
a low scrubby vegetation, very like that of the river Cobáti, up which
I ascended to the Serra to obtain the cocks of the rock.
It was night when we reached Maróa, and we were nearly passing the
village without seeing it. We went to the “casa de nação,” rather
a better kind of shed than usual, and, making a good fire, passed a
comfortable night. The next morning I called on Senhor Carlos Bueno
(Charles Good), the dandy Indian Commissario, and did a little business
with him. I bought a lot of Indian baskets, gravatánas, quivers, and
ururí or curarí poison, and in return gave him some fish-hooks and
calico, and, having breakfasted with him, went on to Tomo.
Senhor Antonio Dias was not there, having gone to São Carlos, so I
determined to wait a few days for his return, as he had promised to
send men with me to Guia. I took up my abode with Senhor Domingos,
who was busy superintending the completion of the large vessel before
mentioned, in order to get it launched with the high water, which was
now within a foot or two of its bottom. I amused myself walking about
the campo with my gun, and succeeded in shooting one of the beautiful
little black-headed parrots, which have the most brilliant green
plumage, crimson under-wings, and yellow cheeks; they are only found in
these districts, and are rather difficult to obtain. I also got some
curious fish to figure,—in particular two large species of _Gymnotus_,
of the group which are not electric.
The Indians had a festa while I was here. They made abundance of
“shirac,” and kept up their dancing for thirty hours. The principal
peculiarity of it was that they mixed up their civilized dress and
their Indian decorations in a most extraordinary manner. They all
wore clean trousers and white or striped shirts; but they had also
feather-plumes, bead necklaces, and painted faces, which made
altogether a rather queer mixture. They also carried their hammocks
like scarfs over their shoulders, and had generally hollow cylinders
in their hands, used to beat upon the ground in time to the dancing.
Others had lances, bows, and wands, ornamented with feathers, producing
as they danced in the moonlight a singular and wild appearance.
Senhor Antonio Dias delayed his return, and rather a scene in his
domestic circle took place in consequence. As might be expected, the
ladies did not agree very well together. The elder one in particular
was very jealous of the Indian girls, and took every opportunity of
ill-treating them, and now that the master was absent went, I suppose,
to greater lengths than usual; and the consequence was, one of the
girls ran away. This was an unexpected _dénouement_, and they were in a
great state of alarm, for the girl was a particular favourite of Senhor
Antonio’s, and if he returned before she came back he was not likely
to be very delicate in showing his displeasure. The girl had gone off
in a canoe with a child about a year old; the night had been stormy
and wet, but that sort of thing will not stop an Indian. Messengers
were sent after her, but she was not to be found; and then the old lady
and her daughter went off themselves in a tremendous rain, but with no
better success. One resource more however remained, and they resolved
to apply to the Saints. Senhor Domingos was sent to bring the image of
St. Antonio from the church. This saint is supposed to have especial
power over things lost, but the manner of securing his influence is
rather singular:—the poor saint is tied round tightly with a cord and
laid on his back on the floor, and it is believed that in order to
obtain deliverance from such durance vile he will cause the lost sheep
to return. Thus was the unfortunate St. Antony of Tomo now treated, and
laid ignominiously on the earthen floor all night, but without effect;
he was obstinate, and nothing was heard of the wanderer. More inquiries
were made, but with no result, till two days afterwards Senhor Antonio
himself returned accompanied by the girl. She had hid herself in a
sitio a short distance from the village, waited for Senhor Antonio’s
passing, and then joined him, and told her own story first; and so the
remainder of the harem got some hard words, and I am inclined to think
some hard blows too.
Before leaving Tomo, I purchased a pair of the beautiful feather-work
borders, before alluded to, for which I paid £3 in silver dollars. Five
Indians were procured to go with me, and at the same time take another
small canoe, in which to bring back several articles that Senhor
Antonio was much in want of. We paid the men between us, before going,
with calicoes and cotton cloth, worth in England about twopence a yard,
but here valued at 2_s._ 6_d._, and soap, beads, knives, and axes, in
the same proportion. On the way, I got these Tomo Indians to give me a
vocabulary of their language, which differs from that of the villages
above and below them. We paddled by day, and floated down by night; and
as the current was now tremendous, we got on so quickly, that in three
days we reached Marabitanas, a distance which had taken us nine in
going up.
Here I stayed a week with the Commandante, who had invited me when at
Guia. I however did little in the collecting way: there were no paths
in the forest, and no insects, and very few birds worth shooting. I
obtained some very curious half-spiny rodent animals, and a pretty
white-marked bird, allied to the starlings, which appears here only
once a year in flocks, and is called “Ciucí uera” (the star-bird).
The inhabitants of Marabitanas are celebrated for their festas: their
lives are spent, half at their festas, and the other half in preparing
for them. They consume immense quantities of raw spirit, distilled from
cane-juice and from the mandiocca: at a festa which took place while
I was here, there was about a hogshead of strong spirit consumed, all
drunk raw. In every house, where the dancing takes place, there are
three or four persons constantly going round with a bottle and glass,
and no one is expected ever to refuse; they keep on the whole night,
and the moment you have tasted one glass, another succeeds, and you
must at least take a sip of it. The Indians empty the glass every time;
and this continues for two or three days. When all is finished, the
inhabitants return to their sitios, and commence the preparation of a
fresh lot of spirit for the next occasion.
About a fortnight before each festa—which is always on a Saint’s day of
the Roman Catholic Church—a party of ten or a dozen of the inhabitants
go round, in a canoe, to all the sitios and Indian villages within
fifty or a hundred miles, carrying the image of the saint, flags, and
music. They are entertained at every house, the saint is kissed, and
presents are made for the feast: one gives a fowl, another some eggs
or a bunch of plantains, another a few coppers. The live animals are
frequently promised beforehand for a particular saint; and often, when
I have wanted to buy some provisions, I have been assured that “that is
St. John’s pig,” or that “those fowls belong to the Holy Ghost.”
Bidding adieu to the Commandante, Senhor Tenente Antonio Filisberto
Correio de Araujo, who had treated me with the greatest kindness and
hospitality, I proceeded on to Guia, where I arrived about the end of
April, hoping to find Senhor L. ready, soon to start for the river
Uaupés; but I was again doomed to delay, for a canoe which had been
sent to Barra had not yet returned, and we could not start till it
came. It was now due, but as there were Indians only with it, who had
no particular interest in hurrying back, it might very well be a month
longer. And so it proved, for it did not arrive till the end of May.
All that time I could do but little; the season was very wet, and Guia
was a poor locality. Fishes were my principal resource, as Senhor L.
had a fisherman out every day, to procure us our suppers, and I always
had the day’s sport brought to me first, to select any species I had
not yet seen. In this way I constantly got new kinds, and became more
than ever impressed with the extraordinary variety and abundance of
the inhabitants of these rivers. I had now figured and described a
hundred and sixty species from the Rio Negro alone; I had besides seen
many others; and fresh varieties still occurred as abundantly as ever
in every new locality. I am convinced that the number of species in
the Rio Negro and its tributaries alone would be found to amount to
five or six hundred. But the Amazon has most of its fishes peculiar to
itself, and so have all its numerous tributaries, especially in their
upper waters; so that the number of distinct kinds inhabiting the whole
basin of the Amazon must be immense.