THE AMAZONS, THE GIANT RIVER OF THE TORRID ZONE.
The Course of the Amazons and its Tributaries--The Strait of Obydos--
Tide Waves on the Amazons--The Black-water rivers--The Rio Negro--
The Bay of the Thousand Isles--The Pororocca--Rise of the River--
The Gapo--Magnificent Scenery--Different Character of the Forests
beyond and within the verge of Inundation--General Character of the
Banks--A Sail on the Amazons--A Night’s Encampment--The ‘Mother of
the Waters’--The Piranga--Dangers of Navigating on the Amazons--
Terrific Storms--Rapids and Whirlpools--The Stream of the Future--
Travels of Orellana--Madame Godin.
The Amazons, the giant stream of the tropical world, is of no less
magnificent proportions than the Andes, where it takes its source.
From the small Peruvian mountain-lake of Lauricocha, 12,500 feet above
the sea, the Tunguragua, which is generally considered as the chief
branch, rushes down the valleys. At Tomependa, in the province of
Juan de Bracamoros, rafts first begin to burden its free waters; but,
as if impatient of the yoke, it still throws many an obstacle in the
navigator’s way; for twenty-seven rapids and cataracts follow each
other as far as the Pongo de Manseriche, where, at the height of 1,164
feet above the level of the sea, it for ever bids adieu to the romance
of mountain scenery.
Its width, which at Tomependa exceeds that of the Thames at Westminster
Bridge, narrows to 150 feet in the defile of the Pongo, which in some
places is obscured by overhanging rocks and trees, and where huge
masses of drift-wood, torn from the slopes by the mountain torrents,
are crushed and disappear in the vertex.
From the Pongo to the ocean, a distance of more than 2,000 miles, no
rocky barrier impedes the further course of the monarch of streams;
and according to Herndon (Exploration of the Valley of the Amazons,
1851–1853), its depth constantly remains above eighteen feet, so that
it is navigable for large ships all the way from Para to the foot
of the Andes! No other river runs in so deep a channel at so great
a distance from its mouth, and the tropical rains, spreading over a
territory nearly equal in extent to one-half of Europe, are alone able
to feed a stream of such colossal dimensions!
The first considerable tributary of the Amazons is the Huallaga, which
rises near the famous silver-mines of Cerro de Pasco, 8,600 feet above
the level of the sea, and is 2,500 paces broad at the point where the
rivers meet. Lower down at Nauta, the Ucayale, descending from the
distant mountains of Cuzco, adds his waters to the growing stream,
after a course nearly 400 miles longer than that of the Tunguragua
itself. Where these mighty rivers meet, Lieutenant Lister Maw found a
depth of thirty-five fathoms.
From the Brazilian frontier, where it still flows at an elevation of
630 feet above the sea, to the influx of the Rio Negro, the Amazons
is called the Solimoens, as if one name were not sufficient for its
grandeur. During its progress between these two points it receives on
the left, the Iça and the Yapura, on the right, the Xavari, the Jutay,
the Jurua, the Teffe, the Coary, and the Purus, streams which, in
Europe, would only be equalled by the Danube, but are here merely the
obscure branches of a giant trunk.
The Rio Negro is the most considerable northern vassal of the Amazons.
It rises in the Sierra Tunuhy, an isolated mountain-group in the
Llanos, and conveys part of the waters of the Orinoco to the Amazons,
as if the latter were not already sufficiently great. After a course
of 1,500 miles it flows into the vast stream, 3,600 paces broad and 19
fathoms deep. Brigs of war have already ascended the Amazons as far as
the Rio Negro, and frigates would find no obstacle in their way.
The Madeira, the next great tributary of the regal stream, has thus
been named from the vast quantities of drift-wood floating on its
waters.
Farther on, after having with a side-arm embraced the island of
Tupinambaranas, which almost equals Yorkshire in extent, the Amazons
now reaches the strait of Obydos, where it narrows to 2,126 paces, and
rolls along between low banks in a bed whose depth as yet no plummet
hath sounded. The mass of waters which, during the rainy season,
rushes in one second through the strait, is estimated by Von Martius at
500,000 cubic feet,--enough to fill all the streams of Europe with an
exuberant current.
The tides extend as far as Obydos, though still 400 miles from the sea;
and according to La Condamine, they are even perceptible as far as the
confluence of the Madeira. But so slow is their progress upwards, that
seven floods, with their intervening ebbs, roll simultaneously along
upon the giant stream; and thus, four days after the tide-wave was
first raised in the wide deserts of the South Sea, its last undulations
expire in the solitudes of Brazil.[6]
The next considerable vassal of the Amazons is the shallow Tapajos.
Fancy six streams, like the Thames, strung successively together,
and you have the length of this river; take the Rhine twice from its
source in the glacier of Mount Adula to the sands of Katwyck, and you
have the measure of the Xingu. Before the confluence of this last of
its great tributaries,--for the Tocantines, though considered by
some geographers as a vassal, is in reality an independent stream,--
the breadth of the Amazons appeared to Von Martius equal to that of
the Lake of Constance; but soon even this enormous bed becomes too
narrow for the vast volume of its waters, for below Gurupa it widens
to an enormous gulf, which might justly be called the ‘Bay of the
Thousand Isles.’ Nobody has ever counted their numbers; no map gives
us an idea of this labyrinth. If we reckon the island of Marajo, which
equals Sicily in size, to the delta of the Amazons, its extreme width
on reaching the ocean is not inferior to that of the Baltic in its
greatest breadth.
Dangerous sand-banks guard the giant’s threshold; and no less perilous
to the navigator is the famous Pororocca, or the rapid rising of the
spring-tide at the shallow mouths of the chief stream and of some
of its embranchments,--a phenomenon which, though taking place at
the mouth of many other rivers, such as the Hooghly, the Indus, the
Dordogne, and the Seine,[7] nowhere assumes such dimensions as here,
where the colossal wave frequently rises suddenly along the whole
width of the stream to a height of twelve or fifteen feet, and then
collapses with a roar so dreadful that it is heard at the distance
of more than six miles. Then the advancing flood-wave glides almost
imperceptibly over the deeper parts of the river-bed, but again rises
angrily as soon as a more shallow bottom arrests its triumphant career.
Our knowledge of the courses of most of the tributaries of the Amazons
is very imperfect, and science knows next to nothing of the natural
history of their banks. Even a correct map of the main stream is still
wanting, for though its general course and the most important bends are
tolerably well laid down, the numerous islands and parallel channels,
the great lakes and offsets, the deep bays and the varying widths of
the stream are quite unknown.
The numerous tributary streams of the Amazons differ remarkably in
the colour of their waters and may be divided into three groups--the
white or pale yellowish-water rivers, the blue-water rivers and the
black-water rivers.
The difference of colour between the white-water and blue-water rivers
is evidently owing to the nature of the country they flow through;
a rocky and sandy district will always have clear-water rivers; an
alluvial or clayey one will have troubled streams.
The Rio Negro is the largest and most celebrated of the black-water
rivers. All its upper tributaries, the smaller ones especially, are
very dark, and, when they run over white sand, give it the appearance
of gold, from the rich colour of the water, which, when deep, appears
inky black. In the rainy season, when the dark clouds above cause the
water to appear of a yet more funereal blackness and the rising waves
break in white foam over the vast expanse, the scene, as may well be
imagined, is gloomy in the extreme.
The peculiar colour of the black-water rivers appears to be produced
by the solution of decaying leaves, roots and other vegetable matter.
In the virgin forests in which most of these streams have their source
the little brooks and rivulets are half choked up with dead leaves and
rotten branches giving various brown tinges to the water. When these
rivulets meet together and accumulate into a river, they of course have
a deep brown hue very similar to that of our bog or peat water, if
there are no other circumstances to modify it. But if the stream flows
through a district of soft alluvial clay, the colour will of course be
modified and the brown completely overpowered.
A peculiarity of the black waters is the absence of mosquitos along
their banks, which thus afford agreeable places of refuge to the
persecuted traveller. No inducement will make an Indian boatman paddle
so hard as the probability of reaching one of these privileged spots
before midnight and being enabled to enjoy the comforts of sleep till
morning.
The basin of the Amazons extending over an area of 2,330,000 English
square miles surpasses in dimensions that of any other river in the
world. All western Europe could be placed in it without touching its
boundaries and it would even contain our whole Indian empire. It is
entirely situated in the Tropics, on both sides of the Equator, and
receives over its whole extent the most abundant rains. The body of
fresh water which it empties into the ocean is therefore far greater
than that of any other river; not only absolutely but probably also
relatively to its area, for as it is almost entirely covered by dense
virgin forests, the heavy rains which penetrate them do not suffer
so much evaporation as when they fall on the scorched Llanos of the
Orinoco or the treeless Pampas of La Plata.
Some idea may be formed of the vastness of the territory drained by the
Amazons from the fact that at the sources of its northern and southern
tributaries, the rainy season takes place at opposite times of the
year. So wonderful is the length of the stream that, while at the foot
of the Andes it begins to rise early in January, the Solimoens swells
only in February: and below the Rio Negro the Amazons does not attain
its full height before the end of March.
The swelling of the river is colossal as itself. In the Solimoens and
farther westwards the water rises above forty feet; and Von Martius
even saw trees whose trunks bore marks of the previous inundation fifty
feet above the height of the stream during the dry season.
Then for miles and miles the swelling giant inundates his low banks,
and, majestic at all times, becomes terrible in his grandeur when
rolling his angry torrents through the wilderness. The largest
forest-trees tremble under the pressure of the waters, and trunks,
uprooted and carried away by the stream, bear witness to its power.
Fishes and alligators now swim where a short while ago the jaguar lay
in wait for the tapir, and only a few birds, perching on the highest
tree-tops, remain to witness the tumult which disturbs the silence of
the woods.
When at length the river retires within its usual limits, new islands
have been formed in its bed, while others have been swept away; and in
many places the banks, undermined by the floods, threaten to crush the
passing boat by their fall,--a misfortune which not seldom happens,
particularly when high trees come falling headlong down with the banks
into the river.
The lands flooded to a great depth at every time of high water are
called in the language of the country ‘Gapo,’ and are one of the most
singular features of the Amazons. They extend hundreds of miles along
the river’s course, and vary in width on each side from one to ten
or twenty miles. Through the Gapo a person may go by canoe in the
wet season, without once entering into the main river. He will pass
through small streams, lakes, and swamps, and everywhere around him
will stretch out an illimitable waste of waters, but all covered with
a lofty virgin forest. For days he will travel through this forest
scraping against the trunks of trees, and stooping to pass beneath
the leaves of prickly palms now level with the water though raised on
stems forty feet high. In this trackless maze the Indian finds his way
with unerring certainty, and by slight indications of broken twigs or
scraped bark goes on day by day as if travelling on a beaten road.
The magical beauty of tropical vegetation reveals itself in all its
glory to the traveller who steers his boat through the solitudes of
these aquatic mazes. Here the forest forms a canopy over his head;
there it opens, allowing the sunshine to disclose the secrets of the
wilderness; while on either side the eye penetrates through beautiful
vistas into the depths of the woods. Sometimes, on a higher spot of
ground, a clump of trees forms an island worthy of Eden. A chaos of
bushropes and creepers flings its garlands of gay flowers over the
forest, and fills the air with the sweetest odours. Numerous birds,
rivalling in beauty of colour the passifloras and bignonias of these
hanging gardens, animate the banks of the lagune, while gaudy macaws
perch on the loftiest trees; and as if to remind one that death is not
banished from this scene of paradise, a dark-robed vulture screeches
through the woods, or an alligator rests, like a black log of wood or a
sombre rock, on the dormant waters.
[Illustration: BLUE MACAW.]
The inundations of the Amazons essentially modify the character of the
bordering forest; for it is only beyond their verge that the enormous
fig and laurel trees, the Lecythas and the Bertholletias, appear in all
their grandeur. As here the underwood is less dense and more dwarfish,
it is easy to measure the colossal trunks, and to admire their
proportions, often towering to a height of 120 feet, and measuring
fifteen feet in diameter above the projecting roots. Enormous mushrooms
spring from the decayed leaves, and numberless parasites rest upon the
trunks and branches. The littoral forest, on the contrary, is of more
humble growth. The trunks, branchless in their lower part, clothed with
a thinner and a smoother bark, and covered with a coat of mud according
to the height of the previous inundation, stand close together, and
form above a mass of interlacing branches. These are the sites of
the cacao-tree and of the prickly sarsaparilla, which is gathered
in large quantities for the druggists of Europe. Leafless bushropes
wind in grotesque festoons among the trees, between whose trunks a
dense underwood shoots up, to perish by the next overflowing of the
stream. Instead of the larger parasites, mosses and jungermannias weave
their carpets over the drooping branches. But few animals besides the
numerous water-birds inhabit this damp forest zone, in which, as it is
almost superfluous to add, no plantation has been formed by man.
The many islands of the delta of the Amazons are everywhere encircled
by mangroves; but sailing stream upwards, the monotonous green of these
monarchs of the shore is gradually replaced by flowers and foliage,
which, in every variety of form and colour, for hundreds and hundreds
of miles characterise the banks of the river.
During the dry season prickly astricarias, large musaceæ, enormous
bamboo-like grasses, white plumed ingas, and scarlet poivreas, are most
frequently seen among the numberless plants growing along the margin
of the stream. Above the shrubbery of the littoral forest numberless
palms tower, like stately columns, to the height of a hundred feet;
while others of a lower stature are remarkable for the size of their
trunks, on which the foot-stalks of the fallen leaves serve as supports
for ferns and other parasites.
It stands to reason that in a length of more than 3,000 miles the
species of plants must frequently change; yet the low banks of the
Amazons, and of its vassals, as soon as they have emerged from the
mountains where they rise, have everywhere a similar character. On
sailing down the river for hundreds of miles, the eye may at length
grow weary of the uniformity of a landscape, which remains constantly
the same; but the interest increases as the mind becomes more and
more impressed by the grandeur of its dimensions. A broad stream, now
dividing into numerous arms, and now swelling into a lake; a dark
forest-border, which on so flat a ground seems at a distance like an
artificial but colossal hedge: these are the only elements of which
the landscape is composed. No busy towns rise upon the banks, and it
is only at vast intervals that one finds a few wretched huts, which
are soon again lost in the forest; but a sky so brilliant spreads over
the whole scene, and the rays of the sun beam upon a nature of such
luxuriance, that the traveller, far from feeling the voyage monotonous,
proceeds on his journey with increasing interest, and every morn
salutes with new joy the majestic wilderness.
The boat floats along, borne by the current of the river, which, in
the dry season, generally flows at the rate of four English miles
in an hour. Even during the night the journey is usually continued,
when no special danger claims a greater caution, and a landing only
takes place when the desire becomes general to enjoy a perfectly quiet
night’s rest, or when a broad sand bank happens to be invitingly near.
Generally an island is selected, as affording both greater security
from beasts of prey and a clearer ground. The Indians are not obliged
to fetch fire-wood from a distance, for trees, drifted by the floods,
are constantly found at the upper end of the river-islands, where they
remain until the next inundation once more raises them; and thus many
of them are ultimately drifted by the ocean currents to distant lands.
The Indians sometimes set fire to the whole pile, and then the flames,
taking an unexpected direction, may force the company to flee as fast
as possible to the raft, and to settle in a safer place, while they
continue to blaze over the forest, or to cast a lurid light over the
waters.
Fires are frequently lighted for a more useful purpose on the banks of
the stream, as they never fail to attract a number of large fishes,
which the dexterous Indians know how to strike with their harpoons.
While some are thus engaged, others are lurking for the tortoises
that pay their nightly visits to the bank, anxious to bury their
numerous eggs in the sand. Thus almost every landing on one of these
river-islands furnishes fresh provisions for the continuance of the
journey; for the captured tortoises are bound to the raft, where, in
the enjoyment of water and shade, they continue to live for a long time.
As soon as the supper is finished, the Indians, after throwing an
additional log upon the watch-fire, all stretch themselves on the
ground, under their dark-coloured toldos, or mosquito covers, which on
the white sand have the appearance of as many coffins. Their tranquil
breathing soon tells that they are enjoying the deep repose peculiar
to their race; but sleep forsakes the European amid scenes so novel
and so grand. The soul is struck with impressions which compel it to
reflection. The ripple breaks lightly on the bank; no noise, save the
crackling of the fire, breaks the stillness of the night. Only from
time to time the splashing of a fish is heard in the distant centre
of the stream. The same stillness reigns in the skies; for not the
slightest cloud dims the brightness of the stars. But suddenly the
waters begin to rustle at a distance, as if wave were rolling after
wave, and as the strange sound draws nigh, an unusual agitation becomes
apparent in the water. The awakening Indians whisper anxiously, for
they imagine an enormous reptile to be the cause of the phenomenon.
They also believe the lagunes of the great stream to be the seat of a
prodigious serpent, equal in size and power to the fabulous sea-snake;
for the yacu-mama, or ‘mother of the waters,’ as this imaginary monster
is called, attracts by a single inspiration every living creature--
man, quadruped, or bird--that passes within a hundred feet of its
jaws. As the maelstrom sucks down the helpless boat that comes within
its vortex, thus the mighty air-current forces its prey into the wide
mouth of the monster lurking in the thicket. For this reason an Indian
will never venture to enter an unknown lagune without blowing his horn,
as the yacu-mama is said to answer, and thus to give him time for a
speedy flight. The ‘mother of the waters’ is said to be at least fifty
paces long, and to measure ten or twelve yards in circumference. Thus
fancy is as busy in creating imaginary terrors in the lagunes of the
Marañon as on the rocky shores of Scandinavia.
Infinitely more dangerous than this fabulous serpent, more dreadful
even than the cayman or the anaconda, are the pirangas, a small species
of salmon, which in many places attack the unfortunate swimmer with
their sharp teeth, and taint the waters with his blood. Castelnau saw
how a stag, which threw itself in the river to avoid the hunter’s
pursuit, was soon killed by the pirangas. The Roman knight that cast
his slaves to the murænas,[8] would, no doubt, have been rejoiced to
people his ponds with fish like these; and Tiberius would have been
delighted to have possessed them at Capræa!
A night encampment in the Amazons is, however, not always so pleasant
as the foregoing description might lead one to suppose; for many
islands are so infested with mosquitos that they are quite intolerable,
and the growl of a jaguar or the sight of a crocodile (for this animal
is by no means afraid of fire) not unfrequently disturbs the company.
Complete security from these persecutions and visits is only to be
found in the centre of the stream; for here a cayman is seldom seen,
and the wings of the insects are too weak to carry them to such a
distance from the shore.
The most striking features of the Amazons, besides its vast expanse of
smooth water, generally from three to six miles wide, are the great
beds of aquatic grass which line its shores, large masses of which are
often detached and form floating islands; the quantity of fruits and
leaves and great trunks of trees which it carries down, and its level
banks clad with high unbroken masses of verdure. In places the white
stems and leaves of the Cecropias give a peculiar aspect, and in others
the straight dark trunks of lofty forest trees form a living wall
along the water’s edge. There is much animation, too, on this great
stream. Numerous flocks of parrots and the great red and yellow macaws
fly across every morning and evening, uttering their hoarse cries. Many
kinds of herons and rails frequent the marshes on its banks, and a
great handsome duck (_Chenalobex jubata_) is often seen swimming about
the bays and inlets. But perhaps the most characteristic birds of the
Amazons are the gulls and terns which are in great abundance. All night
long their cries are heard over the sand banks where they deposit their
eggs, and during the day they may constantly be seen, sitting in a row
on a floating log, sometimes a dozen or twenty side by side, and going
for miles down the stream as grave and motionless as if they were on
some very important business. These birds deposit their eggs in little
hollows in the sand, and the Indians say that during the heat of the
day they carry water in their beaks to moisten them, and prevent them
being roasted by the scorching sun. Besides these there are divers
and darters in abundance, porpoises are constantly blowing in every
direction, and alligators are often seen slowly swimming across the
river. An amazing number of fishes peoples the waters of the Amazons
and its tributaries. They supply the Indians with the greater part of
their animal food, and are at all times more plentiful and easier to
be obtained than birds or game from the forest. Mr. Wallace found 205
species in the Rio Negro alone, and as most of those which inhabit the
upper part of the river are not found near its mouth, where there are
many other kinds equally unknown in the clearer, darker, and probably
colder waters of its higher branches, he estimates that at least 500
species exist in the Rio Negro and its tributary streams. In fact, in
every small river and in different parts of the same river distinct
kinds are found, so that it is impossible to estimate the number in the
whole valley of the Amazons with any approach to accuracy.
To describe the countless tribes of insects that swarm in the dense
forests of that vast basin would be equally vain. In no country in
the world is there more variety and beauty, nowhere are there species
of larger size and of more brilliant colours. The great mass of the
beetles are indeed inferior to those of tropical Africa, India, and
Australia, but it is in the lovely butterflies that the Amazonian
forests are unrivalled, whether we consider the endless variety of the
species, their large size, or their gorgeous colour. South America is
the richest part of the world in this group of insects, and the Amazons
seems the richest part of South America.
In more than one respect the Amazons reminds one of the ocean, from
whose bosom its waters originally arose. Like the sea, it forms a
barrier between various species of animals; for the monkeys on its
northern bank are different from those of the forests on its southern
side, and many an insect--nay, even many a bird--finds an impassable
barrier in the enormous width of the river. Like the sea, it has a
peculiar species of dolphin, and hundreds of miles up the stream,
sea-mews and petrels, deceived by its grandeur, screech or shoot in
arrowy flight over its fish-teeming waters. As over the ocean, or in
the desert, the illusions of the mirage are also produced over the
surface of the Marañon. The distant banks, not always clearly defined
even in the morning, disappear wholly at noon, and the rays of the sun
are then so refracted that the long rows of palms appear in an inverted
position.
The dreadful storms which burst suddenly over the Amazons, likewise
recall to memory the tornados of the ocean. The howlings of the
monkeys, the shrill tones of the mews, and the visible terror of all
animals, first announce the approaching conflict of the elements.
The crowns of the palms rustle and bend, while as yet no breeze is
perceptible on the surface of the stream; but, like a warning voice,
a hollow murmur in the air precedes the black clouds ascending from
the horizon, like grim warriors ready for battle. And now the old
forest groans under the shock of the hurricane; a night-like darkness
veils the face of nature; and, while torrents of rain descend amid
uninterrupted sheets of lightning and terrific peals of thunder, the
river rises and falls in waves of a dangerous height. Then it requires
a skilful hand to preserve the boat from sinking; but the Indian
pilots steer with so masterly a hand, and understand so well the first
symptoms of the storm, that it seldom takes them by surprise, or
renders them victims of its fury.
Among the dangers of the Amazons, the rapids must not be forgotten that
frequently arise where large tracts of the bank, undermined by the
floods, have been cast into the river. The boat is almost unavoidably
lost when carried by the current among the branches of the trees,
which, though submerged, still remain attached to the ground, and sweep
furiously through the eddy, overturning or smashing all that comes
within their reach.
Perhaps no country in the world contains such an amount of vegetable
matter on its surface as the valley of the Amazons. Its entire extent,
with the exception of some very small portions, is covered with one
dense and lofty primeval forest, the most extensive and unbroken which
exists upon the earth. It is the great feature of the country, that
which at once stamps it as a unique and peculiar region. It is not
here, as on the coasts of southern Brazil, or on the shores of the
Pacific, where a few days’ journey suffices to carry us beyond the
forest district, and into the parched plains and rocky sierras of
the interior. Here one may travel for weeks and months inland in any
direction, and find scarcely an acre of ground unoccupied by trees.
It is far up in the interior where the great mass of this mighty forest
is found; not on the lower part of the river, near the coast as is
generally supposed. Bounded on one side by the Andes, on the other by
the Atlantic, it extends from east to west for a distance of 2,600
miles; and from 7 N. latitude on the banks of the Orinoco, to 18 S.
latitude on the northern slope of the great mountain chain of Bolivia,
a distance of more than 1,700 miles. From a point about sixty miles
south-east of Tabatinga, on the Upper Amazons, a circle may be drawn of
1,100 miles in diameter, the whole area of which will be virgin forest.
Such are the magnificent proportions of these wonderful woods, which
speak to the imagination as forcibly as the ocean or the Great Sahara.
The forests of no other part of the world, not even the immense
fir-woods of Siberia or of North America, are so extensive and unbroken
as this. Those of Central Europe are trifling in comparison, nor in
India are they very continuous or extensive. Africa contains some large
forests situated on the east and west coasts, and in the interior south
of the Equator, but the whole of them would bear but a small proportion
to that of the Amazons. In a general survey of the tropical world, we
may, therefore, look upon South America as pre-eminently the land of
forests, contrasting strongly with Asia or Africa, where deserts are
the most characteristic features.
If the Nile--so remarkable for its historical recollections, which
carry us far back into the by-gone ages--and the Thames, unparalleled
by the greatness of a commerce which far eclipses that of ancient
Carthage or Tyre--may justly be called _the_ rivers of the _past_ and
the _present_, the Amazons has equal claims to be called the stream
of the _future_; for a more splendid field nowhere lies open to the
enterprise of man.
All the gifts of Nature are scattered in profusion over the vast
territory drained by the river. The mountains, where it rises, teem
with mineral treasures, and the very ideal of fertility is realised
in those well-watered plains, where the equatorial sun developes life
in boundless luxuriance. The most useful and costly productions of
the tropical world,--sugar, cotton, coffee, indigo, tobacco, maize,
rice; quinquina in the higher regions of the Marañon, where wheat and
the vine find a congenial climate; cacao and vanille, sarsaparilla and
caoutchouc, various palms of the most manifold uses; trees and shrubs,
some rivalling our oaks in the solidity of their timber, others fit
by the beauty of their grain to adorn palaces; dyes, resins, gums,
spices, drugs,--all, in one word, that is capable of satisfying the
wants of the frugal or the fancies of the rich, might there be raised
in profusion over a space surpassing England at least forty times in
extent. The whole actual population of the globe could easily live in
content and plenty in the almost uninhabited valleys of the Marañon and
its tributary streams.
With these magnificent prospects the present forms a melancholy
contrast. Here and there some small town or wretched village rises
on the banks of the mighty stream; and a few Indians roam over the
forests, through which it rolls along, or enjoy the produce of its
prolific waters. The vast province of Para, the garden of Brazil,
the paradise of unborn millions, has scarcely four inhabitants on
a geographical square mile; while even the northern province of
Archangel, the land of the stunted fir and the mossy tundra, has
a population four times as large. But since the last few years,
steamboats regularly ascend the giant stream and some of its
tributaries almost to the foot of the Andes; railroads are being made
where navigation is impeded by rapids, and ere long civilization and
industry will have dawned over the vast woodlands of the Amazon.
Eight years after Columbus had revealed the existence of a new world,
Vincent Yañez Pinson, the companion of his first voyage, sailed with
four ships from the port of Palos (13th January, 1500), steered boldly
towards the south, crossed the line, and discovered the mouth of the
Amazons. Forty years later Gonsalo Pizarro, governor of Quito, left his
capital with 340 Spaniards and 4,000 Indian carriers to conquer the
unknown countries to the east of the Andes. The march over the Puna
and the high mountain ridges proved fatal to the greater part of their
wretched attendants; and even the Spaniards--accustomed to brave every
climate and hardship wherever gold held forth its glittering promise--
had much to suffer from the excess of cold and fatigue. But when they
descended into the low country their distress increased. During two
months it rained incessantly, without any interval of fair weather long
enough to enable them to dry their clothes. They could not advance a
step, unless they cut a road through woods, or made it through marshes.
The land, either altogether without inhabitants, or occupied by the
rudest and least industrious tribes in the New World, yielded little
food. Such incessant toil and continual scarcity were enough to shake
the most stedfast hearts; but the heroism and perseverance of the
Spaniards of the sixteenth century surmounted obstacles which to all
others would have seemed insuperable. Allured by false accounts of
rich countries before them, they struggled on, until they reached the
banks of the Napo, one of the rivers whose waters add to the greatness
of the Marañon. There, with infinite labour, they built a bark, which
they expected would prove of great use in conveying them over rivers,
in procuring provisions, and in exploring the country. This was manned
with fifty soldiers, under the command of Francis Orellana, the officer
next in rank to Pizarro.
The stream carried them down so quickly that they were soon far ahead
of their countrymen, who followed slowly and with difficulty by land.
At first Orellana may have had no intention to betray the trust
bestowed upon him by his commander; but on reaching the Marañon,
the aspect of the stream rolling majestically to the east proved a
temptation too strong for his ambition; and, forgetting his duty to
his fellow-soldiers, he resolved to follow the course of the river,
which seemed to beckon him onwards to riches and renown. But one
among his followers, _Sanchez de Vargas_, whose name well deserves a
record, had the courage to remonstrate against this breach of faith,
for which he was landed as a criminal, without food or help of any
kind. After a dangerous and romantic navigation of seven months, whose
real adventures he afterwards embellished with fabulous tales of El
Dorados and warlike Amazons, Orellana at length reached the mouth of
the stream. Drifted by the current, he thence safely steered for the
Spanish settlement in the island of Cubagua, and soon after embarked
for Spain. The magnificence of his discovery threw a veil over his
guilt; and having been appointed governor of the territory whose
grandeur he had been the first to reveal, he once more crossed the
ocean. But he was not destined to reach the scene where his ambition
dreamt of exploits worthy to eclipse the fame of Cortes or Pizarro; a
mortal disease befell him on the passage, and in the sea he found a
nameless grave.
But what had meanwhile become of the leader whom he had so basely
abandoned in the wilderness? The consternation of Pizarro on not
finding the bark at the confluence of the Napo and the Marañon, where
he had ordered Orellana to wait for him, may well be imagined. But,
imputing his absence to some unknown accident, he advanced above fifty
leagues along the banks of the river, expecting every moment to see
the bark appear with abundant provisions and joyful tidings. At length
he met with the faithful Vargas, and now no doubt remained about the
treachery of his lieutenant and his own desperate situation. The spirit
of his stoutest-hearted veterans sank within them; all demanded to
be led back instantly, and Pizarro, though he assumed an appearance
of tranquillity, did not oppose their inclination. But they were now
1,200 miles from Quito, and a march of many months had to be made
without the hopes which had soothed their previous sufferings. Hunger
compelled them to sacrifice all their dogs and horses, to devour the
most loathsome reptiles, to gnaw the leather of their saddles and
sword-belts. All the Indians and 210 Spaniards perished in this wild
expedition, which lasted nearly two years. When at length the survivors
arrived at Quito, they were naked like savages, and so worn out with
famine and fatigue that they looked more like spectres than men.
Two hundred years after the adventures of Pizarro and Orellana, the
French naturalist, La Condamine, performed his celebrated voyage from
Bracamoros to Para. He was accompanied by the learned M. Godin des
Odonnais, who, leaving his wife on the eastern slope of the Andes,
returned alone to Europe in the year 1479. After a separation of
several years Madame Godin undertook to descend the Amazons to Para,
where her husband was waiting for her. She embarked with her two
brothers, a doctor, three female servants, and some Indians, in a large
open boat. At the very first opportunity the doctor abandoned the
party, and was soon followed by the Indians.
The unskilled travellers vainly attempted to steer their boat; it
foundered on a sand bank, and Madame Godin with difficulty saved her
life. They then made a raft, which met with the same misfortune.
Undaunted by these repeated disasters, but completely inexperienced,
they now resolved to proceed on foot through the forest; but hunger
and fatigue soon drove them to despair, and they all perished, except
Madame Godin, who, though physically the weakest, was morally the
strongest of the party. Tattered, emaciated, exhausted, she at length
met some Indians who treated her with the greatest kindness. The long
struggle for her life, amid dangers and hardships without number, had
bleached her hair, and stamped her with the marks of extreme old age.
The good-natured savages guided her to the next European settlement,
whence she continued her journey to Para without any further
adventures. But the dreadful scenes she had witnessed, and the loss of
the dear relations and faithful companions who one after the other had
dropped from her side, had too severely shocked her nerves; and, though
she escaped death in the wilderness, it was only to fall a prey to
hopeless insanity.