Exaltacion—Cayavabo Indians—Descending the Mamoré
river—Indians shooting fish—Houbarayos savages and birds
at midnight—Ascend the Itenez river—Forte do Principe
da Beira in Brazil—Negro soldiers—Kind attention of the
commandante—Favorable notice of the expedition by the
President of Matto Grosso—The wilderness—Friendship of Don
Antonio, his boat and a crew of negro soldiers—Departure for
the Madeira river—Birds and fishes congregated at the mouth of
the Itenez—On the Mamoré river again—A negro soldier's account
of the Emperor's service—Roar of "Guajará-merim" falls.
_August 24._—Arrived at the port of Exaltacion. The Indians
manufacturing sugar at the mill on the bank. The largest Indian we
met on the route was superintending the workmen; he measured five feet
eleven inches. This is the Cayavabos tribe. These Indians are said to be
the most courageous in the Beni. They are certainly a superior looking
set of men.
The town of Exaltacion is situated in the elbow of the river, one mile
inland, near a beautiful lake. The place was nearly deserted for the
sugar patches and chacras which line the banks up and down the river, to
which the Indians repair in the morning early, men, women, and children,
and after the day's work is over, return to town for the night. All
the towns in Mojos are laid out and built after the same fashion, and
the costume of the Indians is the same, except here the women have a
fancy for black, and dye their cotton camecitas of that color, which
is anything but an improvement in a country where plenty of water may
be had. Exaltacion stands on a dry, parched, uninteresting flat. The
cathedral and government houses are superior to those of Trinidad,
though this town is small and more like Loreto. The tamarind trees and
orange groves planted here by the Jesuits flourish better.
As there were some cases of small pox in town, we declined the kind
invitation of the correjidor to take up our quarters with him. This
gentleman was exceedingly polite, and promised to give us a canoe and
fourteen men to carry us to Brazil as soon as possible; Don Antonio
being obliged to leave his large boats in the Mamoré river, and load
his small canoe with that part of his cargo intended for Matto Grosso.
Boats drawing three feet water could not ascend the Itenez river to
that town at the dry season of the year. The correjidor gave orders to a
commissario to detain a crew in the morning, before the Indians started
for the chacras, so they might prepare their "farinha" for the voyage.
Yuca turns green, and rots in a few days in its natural state; we will
be detained some days, while the women manufacture it into farinha; it
is washed, pealed, and grated into a wooden trough; after which it is
ground, or mashed by hand between two stones. Maize is often mixed with
it, by which it is much improved. After it is dried hard, the flour
lasts long enough for a voyage of a month. Cattle are scarce on these
prairies; a beef costs four dollars; the crew require one for a start,
but as the meat keeps so short a time, they are dependent upon farinha,
and what they may pick up on the way.
Don Antonio lost two of his animals on the passage, and from the dry
appearance of the pasture, he will lose the others. The correjidor
was unwilling to permit him to let them loose on the plain among other
cattle and horses; suffering with the worst stages of the disease, he
was fearful that they would affect those which had escaped.
In the evening we met the Indians returning from the chacras, all armed
with bows and arrows. The tribes to the north are savages, and very
unfriendly towards the Cayavabos, who often whip their neighbors when
they misbehave themselves. They were loaded with yucas, plantains,
oranges, sugar-cane, alligator's eggs, and with the only farming tool
they use, a small iron shovel, attached to a long straight handle.
The sugar mill is going all night long; several pairs of oxen are kept
ready, and as soon as one becomes tired, a fresh pair is hitched in; the
boy that thrusts the cane between three perpendicular cogged cylinders,
and the driver of the team, often fall asleep at work, but are kept at
it by those put over them to keep the mill going. The mill and oxen all
belong to the State, as well as the chacra, from which this cane came.
After the Indians have manufactured the government's sugar and rum,
then the mill is loaned to them, and their own oxen are hitched to. The
fixed stipend of the Church and State officers of the Beni are paid by
the income from these government sugar patches, worked gratis by the
Indians under orders from the authorities.
The market price of sugar, in the town of Exaltacion, is one real
per pound. A quantity of fresh juice is drank like new cider; it is
called guarapo; the Indians are very fond of it. They make wry faces at
aguadiente, but naturally take to chicha. An Indian always "acknowledges
the _corn_." There are three kinds of sugar-cane here. The largest
sized white cane is considered the least valuable; the sweetest and
best quality is the small white stalk. The third kind has a dark bluish
color, which is said to produce the best aguadiente. It is seldom
manufactured into sugar, being inferior to either of the two whites. I
collected cuttings of each kind.
[Illustration: DON ANTONIO'S AMAZONIAN BOATS, EXALTACION, Bolivia.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The Cayavabo Indians are good horsemen. When they require cattle, a
party mount horses and ride into the pampa, where they encounter the
wild cattle. They ride round them in the most skilful manner, run them
into an enclosure; from the outside of the fence they lasso a beef,
and haul him to a bull-ring fixed in a post. Tame oxen are kept and fed
near the place where the beef is butchered. The horns of a wild bull are
sometimes secured to those of a tame ox, when they are let loose on the
plain. The ox knows the road, and naturally runs to the place where he
is fed at the market, and holds his wild brother, while the Indian puts
him to death.
The boat's crew were mustered by the commissario, and in the presence
of the correjidor, I paid them our passage money from Exaltacion to
Forte do Principe da Beira, in Brazil, with the express understanding,
that in case there were no men there for Don Antonio's boat to take me
to the Amazon, they would continue with me to the town of Matto Grosso.
It appeared very evident that the Indians disliked leaving the chacras,
preferring much more to remain and gather their harvest than go on this
voyage, which is seldom made by the Bolivians. They were fine, stout
built men, and reported to be the very best crew belonging to the tribe.
The correjidor gave them instructions to do whatever I desired of them,
and to take good care of us, as we came down the mountains from where
the President lived. He was also kind enough to give me the choice of
all the canoes in port; the largest and best one measured thirty-nine
feet long, by four feet three inches beam, and would carry, besides the
crew, one thousand pounds weight; the paddles were five feet long.
The correjidor presented a raw-hide box filled with jerked beef—charque,
as it is called—some corn bread, and farinha. The superintendent of the
mill sent a jug of molasses and some of his best white sugar. We had
appointed the 30th of August as our day of sailing, when the crew came
down, headed by their captain, to beg we would allow them to celebrate
the Fiesta de Santa Rosa, when mañana—next day—they would be ready to
start. As there was dancing and an unusual encouragement of the chicha
manufacturers in town, I saw there was no chance of getting off, and
very unwillingly gave consent.
While we observed the northern stars for latitude, several Indians came
to look on. Being shown the image of a star in the basin of mercury,
they appeared astonished, and inquired of Don Antonio what we were
doing. He told them we lived in the north, and were inquiring of the
stars how far from home we were in their country. The fellows ran off
immediately and called others to come and see the North Americans' home
under the stars. One of them looked intently for some time at the little
twinkling image in the quicksilver, and gravely told the others "it was
far off."
_August 31._—The crew came down to the canoe, bringing with them their
farinha and women; this was a favorable sign for our getting off; the
captain, however, came to me and said he was very drunk, and thought it
best to put off our start until to-morrow; but the men were generally
sober after their saint's day; stowed our baggage neatly in the canoe,
kissed their children, and shook hands with their wives; one having been
married lately to a good-looking Indian, cried; but the older ones took
the departure more easy. The captain had a pretty little daughter of
twelve years of age, with whom he seemed very loth to part, though he
promised her to me as a wife when we returned. The "cacique" of the town
came down with the men, and superintended the loading of the canoe. When
we were all ready he made a speech, telling the men what their duties
were, and wished them a safe return to their families. Each man stuck
his bow and arrows, feathered-ends up, near by him, between the baggage
and the side of the canoe, as they took their seats. We presented quite
a "man-of-war" exterior. We pushed on down stream at rapid rate, leaving
Don Antonio to follow to-morrow. Our canoe had a washboard all round her
of six inches breadth. We found our load, with crew, brought her down
so deep we took in water. The captain ran alongside of a perpendicular
clay bank, with which we caulked ship. We passed several canoes loaded
with sugar-cane, from the chacras on the way to the mill.
The river holds about the same width—four hundred yards, fifty-four
feet deep, one mile and a half current per hour. We remained all night
at the port of San Martin—the lower port of Exaltacion. The bank is
thirty feet high, and steep. The distance from the town is not quite a
mile, but the conveniences for landing at Trapiche are the best. The
men asked permission to go to town and spend the night, promising to
return by daylight in the morning. The captain's wife appeared with a
jar of chicha; and after the fire was made, supper over, and beds made
upon the bank, they went to town, and we slept upon the shore near the
boat. There was a house on the bank, but it was filled with chickens
and dogs, who were scratching themselves all night. The fire on the
shore disturbed an ant's nest, and they gave the party some trouble;
they stung Mamoré most unmercifully. We received another present of
fruit from the correjidor, sent to meet us here, with his farewell
compliments.
_September 1, 1852._—The men came down strictly to their promise, and
we at last got off, but it is dreadful slow work wading through this
country; a man only worries himself who pretends to hurry—poco-poco is
the word in Spanish. A few miles below San Martin we came to a stony
point, the first rock we have seen since leaving Vinchuta. We take
specimens of rocks, metals, minerals, and earths, as we go along. By
the river we find chocolate, coffee, sugar-cane, papaya, plantains, pine
apples, yuca, large straggling forest trees, thick undergrowth, but no
inhabitants. The Indians all sleep in the towns, and work by day in the
chacras. The largest cacao leaf I could find measured one foot six and a
half inches in length, with five inches and three-quarters in breadth.
The cacao tree grows wild in the woods; when planted in an orchard by
themselves, even close together, the yield is much greater than where
they grow in the shade of the larger forest trees. The soil here is of
the richest kind.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 88°; water, 79°. The turns in the river are
becoming much longer; we find sixty-three feet water. With a gun, we
landed on the west bank, and paid a visit to the pampa of Santiago,
where the State has a large drove of cattle, attended by Indians. There
are numbers of deer, and flocks of birds. The territory to the north,
through which the Mamoré river flows, is inhabited by a warlike tribe
of Indians, called Chacobos, who are constantly fighting with the
Cayavabos, our crew. The men caught a number of fish from a pond on the
pampa. My bottle, unfortunately, was too small at the mouth to admit
more than one species. The banks of the river sometimes break down on
both sides perpendicular, like those of the Mississippi. Where this
is the case, the river is narrower—350 yards wide—though the soundings
are over one hundred feet. We lost one lead and part of the line, but
fortunately had duplicates.
_September 2._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 78°; light southeast
winds; thunder and lightning during the night, with rain. The crew
caught a number of young birds; and gathered eggs from the sand-beach,
while the old birds—a species of gull—flew over them, cried, and darted
down at the Indians' head as they made way with the young. Mamoré was
let out among them. As he put his paw playfully on a young bird, the old
ones were in swarms close over him, showing desperate fight in defence
of their young. The sand is gray and black, like the rocks we saw
yesterday. There are a few snags and sawyers in the channel. We observe
they stick fast in the sandy bottom more securely than in the mud.
While we breakfasted on young birds and eggs, wild cattle were seen on
the opposite bank of the river. These cattle have roamed down to the
territory of the savages. A number of palm-trees stand on the banks, and
the country appears to be getting more thickly wooded. An alligator had
driven a school of fish close to the bank, and, in the most comfortable
way possible, was making his breakfast. The fish were crowded together;
they could not clear themselves from one another so as to swim away.
The alligator took full advantage of the difficulty. Our crew saw what
was going on some time before we rapidly neared the school. The captain
steered the canoe in about three feet of the bank, cutting between
the alligator and his mess. In an instant a broadside of arrows were
fired by the crew; nearly every man struck his fish. The fish were so
frightened that numbers jumped out on dry land, and several leaped into
the bottom of the canoe. The Indians laughed; became excited; kept on
shooting. Some jumped on shore and secured the game; others ran up the
bank, firing their arrows through the crowded school. One man stripped
himself, jumped into the stream, and gathered in the quivering arrows
as they floated down, the feathered ends up, and struggling fish on the
points. The crew were most active and perfectly delighted at the number
of fine fish they had to help down their farinha. While the men broiled
fish on sticks and over hot coals of fire, or made a chowder with yuca,
the alligator indignantly rested on the opposite shore, now and then
slowly wagging his tail as he cleared the fish-bones from his teeth, but
constantly eyeing the long, low, black canoe and the happy crew as they
seated themselves laughingly about the boiling iron pot. The fish were
the size of a small shad, shaped like them, except in mouth, and quite
as good eating. Our fears of starving in the wilderness are overcome.
We can travel a long way on fish, fowls, and eggs.
These Indians talk very little. They silently pull along as though
they were sleeping, but their eyes are wandering all the time in every
direction. Nothing moves above the water's surface or among the forest
trees but they see it at once. They understand the habits and customs
of the animals perfectly. Knowing that the alligator keeps accounts
with the fish, when they see him, they are at once on the look-out for
sport. They know at what time in the evening the wild turkey will appear
on the bank of the river to drink before he goes to roost, and when
to look for him in the morning, as he feeds by early light. The wild
ducks sleep on the beach in the noonday sun; then it is the Indian calls
our attention to them. They understand the manners of the savages too.
Sometimes we all sleep on the beach; at other times in the canoe. When
we keep afloat, they secure the bow of the canoe to a stake run into the
sandy bottom. When night overtakes us, we pull silently along, until it
becomes so dark that no one can see us come to for a rest. Our paddles
are in motion again before the break of day, to avoid being caught
asleep by others. In this way the chances of being fired into by the
arrows of the wild men are pretty certainly reduced to broad daylight,
when we take mid channel.
Our crew know tolerably well what parts of the country are populated,
and when there is a probability of meeting their enemy. We find the
party depending entirely upon the judgment of this aboriginal race,
who are a generous set of fellows, constantly offering to share their
game with us. We return the compliment when we can, but there are more
fish than turkeys. The men tell me that the Chacobo savages inhabit
the west bank of the river, and a tribe called "Houbarayos," the most
unmerciful, live on the east bank; therefore, we are between two fires.
The soundings taken the second day from Exaltacion were one hundred and
two feet deep—the very bottom of the Madeira Plate. We have reached
a rocky formation passing through it, and beyond it the soundings
decrease. Rocks stand up in mid-channel where we find forty-five feet
water; while it requires more careful navigation, the river is 400 yards
wide, with plenty of room for a steamer to pass.
_September 3_, at 8 a. m., thermometer, 72°; water, 78°; wind,
southeast. The night was foggy. As the day promises to be clear, we
break out our cargo, wash out the canoe, and restow. The internal
arrangements are the same we had on board the Canichanas. We passed
the mouth of a small stream emptying into the Mamoré from the eastward.
During the rainy season this stream is navigable for _canoes_.
_September 4._—We find small creeks running in on both sides of the
river. After passing about five miles of rocky banks, the country
becomes more and more thickly wooded. We breakfast on young gulls and
old green parrots, the latter very poor living, even when made into
soup. The men dip their fingers into the pot; the captain carries along
with him a spoon made of horn, which he carefully wipes on the tail of
his camecita before taking his seat at breakfast. He reclines on the
bank while the others prepare the meals, after he has waited upon the
"patron," one of the men appears before him with a cup of water, or
light for his cigar. The crew never sing or whistle on a voyage like
this; it is generally understood such noises _disturb_ the savages. They
quietly laugh at monkeys at midday, and joke the old geese as they trot
along the beach with a brood of little ones. When the wind blows from
the southeast, the men shiver and shake for the want of proper clothing,
and work much the best when it blows from the northwest, under a clear
hot sun.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 77°; wind southeast. At 3 p. m.,
thermometer, 80°; water, 78°; wind northwest; lightning to the north.
The Indians decorate their hats with the green and scarlet feathers of
the parrots shot. Current of the river one mile and a half per hour. We
came to a shoal in the middle of the river where the channel was only
fifteen feet deep; parties of small seals barked at us, and the men
saw a "Gran Bestia" looking out from among the foliage. The woods are
cut up in paths made by these heavy animals, who come down the banks
to drink in the river. The alligators make use of the ends of the paths
to bask in the sun. Tigers are not particular about keeping in the old
beaten track, but roam through the grass and bushes after the scent. The
Indians shot a number of fish to-day. The Mamoré is well supplied with
animal life—though the alligators are small, there are great numbers of
them.
After dark, a pole was stuck in the sand on the east side of the river,
near a flat beach, which extended some distance back from the water,
perfectly clear of vegetable growth. The bow of the canoe was fastened
to the pole, and she swung to the current of the stream. We were trying
to sleep, but the musquitoes disputed the question with us all. At
midnight, some birds roosting on the flat began to fly up and cry out;
in an instant every Indian silently raised his head, and while looking
intently towards the beach, they all laid their hands on their paddles.
The screaming of the disturbed birds became more general, and those
nearest us began to take up the cry of alarm. Mamoré, who was lying on
the baggage, uttered a sleepy growl, when the old captain whispered to
me, that the savage Houbarayos were approaching us. The stake was pulled
quietly in, each man inserted his paddle deep into the water, and with a
powerful pull together, the canoe silently glided into mid channel. As
the current carried us rapidly down through the darkness, the men were
ready with bows and arrows, and we with fire arms. No noise was heard
above that of the screaming of the birds; we could not see any enemy,
but the captain and crew said they saw several men. These fellows are
not easily entrapped; we were struck with the admirable order with which
they handled their canoe, and were ready to return a shower of arrows.
They watch closely the movements of all animals; could tell by the alarm
cry of the birds that some one approached, as they knew the difference
between the notes of a bird disturbed by man, and those sounds produced
from other sources—wild animals, or one of their own feather. They tell
me that some of their tribe were robbed and murdered by these savages
during the night while encamped on the bank in this neighborhood, and
that it is best to remain in the boat all night. We drifted down the
Mamoré, and before the break of day, under a bright moon, turned up
into the Itenez river, which divides the territory of Bolivia from
the empire of Brazil. The crew hug the Brazil shore where there are no
inhabitants, and paddle with a will against an half mile current. Here
we are forced to turn away from the direct road towards home, for the
purpose of procuring the means of getting there. The boat we are in is
unfit for the navigation of the Madeira, between us and the Amazon. This
valuable crew of civil men are inexperienced beyond their own country.
We must now grope our way among the Brazils.
I had thought, while detained in Trinidad, we should have had a few good
North American carpenters and seamen along, to build a boat and launch
her on our way to the Atlantic, but last night's experience taught me
to believe I was mistaken; unless sailors understand the cries of birds
better than I do, we might have all been cut off in the darkness of
night, before the rising of the moon. These Cayavabos Indians are good
fellows; they say very little, and keep thinking as well by night as by
day. I asked the captain if he was certain we were in the Itenez river?
"I don't know, patron, but," said he, "that is the land of Brazil,"
pointing to the east bank, "and this is the way to Matto Grosso."
The Itenez river varies in width from four to six hundred yards, with
white sandy bottom and shoals. The color of the water is clear dark
green; half a mile current, with a winding channel, through sand flats,
decreasing from thirty-three feet depth to six feet. Seals and river
porpoises are in great numbers, while the shores are lined with water
fowl.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; water, 82°. The difference between the
temperature of the Mamoré and Itenez is 4° Fahrenheit. The Brazil water
is clear and green, with white sand bottom, while that of Bolivia is
muddy, and of a milky color, with grey sand and clay bottom. The muddy
water is the best; we are all complaining of pains after drinking Itenez
water; it bears a bad character among the canoe-men.
The country is low and well wooded; the banks overflow in the rainy
season; the foliage on the Brazil side of the river is the richest
green; the dew at night is quite heavy, and during the calm days the sun
is oppressively warm. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 86°; water, 81°. After
night we secured the canoe to a stake on a flat in mid channel. Soon
after we fell asleep, a tiger came to the bank, and while smelling the
party, growled fiercely for some time; we were then kept awake by the
musquitoes which swarmed about us.
_September 6, 1852._—Our paddles were dipped in the river at 4 in the
morning watch. The men get out of the channel, and often run the canoe
on the shoals. The thermometer dipped into the water near these sand
flats gives 88°, showing the difference of 7° between the slack water
of the river, and that in the middle of the current, which varies in
its speed from half to one and eight-tenths of a mile per hour. The bed
of this river is very uneven, few snags, but in some places we find
rocks along the bank, and standing up in mid channel. At 8.30 a. m.,
thermometer, 85°; water, 81°; clear and calm. The foliage and grasses
extend down the sloping Brazil bank into the water, and the palm trees
loom up above the tops of other trees, while on the Bolivia shore the
bank breaks down perpendicularly, with a large growth of forest trees.
Before sundown, we came in sight of high land to the southeast. We are
now approaching the eastern side of the Madeira Plate; the hills appear
beyond the flat country like islands at sea.
_September 7._—We are disturbed all night by musquitoes. The heavy dew
falls upon the crew as they are sleeping in mid-channel. Fifteen of
us pass the night in a space thirty-nine feet by four, which is rather
close stowage, with a dog in the middle. At 9 a. m. breakfasted on the
rocks, by the Brazil banks, upon turtle and alligator eggs, with chicken
gull stew. Two small creeks empty into the Itenez from the Brazils.
We came to rapids where the bed of the river was very rocky. There are
fewer fish in this stream than in the Mamoré; some of those caught are
very curious in appearance.
As the men forced the canoe through the narrow rapid channel, they
shouted the news that _Forté do Principe da Beira_ was in sight. We
could see the flag-pole and the upper bastions. Its situation was
commanding. A steamer of less than six feet draught could ascend to
these rocks, which are four miles from the fort, but no farther at
this season of the year. The rocks are so low that many of them are
overflowed during the rainy season. The crew had some difficulty in
forcing the canoe up among the rocks; the current rushed through narrow
channels with great force.
[Illustration: BRAZIL SHORE OF THE ITENEZ RIVER.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
As we neared the fort our small American ensign was supported by a
Cayavabo arrow in the stern. We see soldier people rushing about as
though they had been suddenly awakened from sleep or surprised. A
canoe came down to meet us with two armed _negro_ soldiers; one of them
politely gave his commander's compliments to me, with the request that
we would keep off. As this appeared warlike, I sent my compliments
to the commander that we would remain by the rocky island in the
middle of the river until he read a letter from the Brazilian minister
plenipotentiary in Bolivia, which I sent him by the negro sergeant. Two
old bald-headed negroes came, by order of the commander, to inquire if
we had any cases of smallpox on board, saying, if not, the commander
invited us to land at the fort. One of these negroes, fully supplied
with smiles and white teeth, was the surgeon of the post; the other,
with broken spectacles, was the armorer, who, together, seemed to be the
health officers of the post. We had never seen people quite so black.
As we landed, a young negro lieutenant in the emperor's army came
to meet me, and offered, in the most polite manner, to escort me to
a house in town. There was a shed in sight on the bank, which was
the guard-house. As we passed, there was so much pulling at white
trousers and blue jackets, it was evident the negro soldiers had been
hurriedly dressed; the officers had their hair curled extra. While they
respectfully saluted Uncle Sam's uniform, we noticed, for the first
time, how very awkwardly the negro handles the musket. As we rose upon
the forty-feet bank there stood the fort, pierced for fifty-six heavy
guns, pointing in all directions towards a perfect wilderness. The
view down the river as well as up is very impressive. The soldiers wear
leather slippers, and a hat manufactured wedge-shape, probably that the
rays of the vertical sun may be split as they fall upon the negro head.
Some paces north of the fort were a few wretched little negro huts, in
which the wives of the soldiers lived, and where a part of the force
was permitted to sleep, by turns, during the night. One of these huts
was offered to us; it contained one table and two chairs; was built of
cane, plastered with adobe, tile roof, with rat-holes in the corners of
the floor. The chairs were set out at the door, and Señor Commandante
Don Pedro Luis Pais de Carvalho came to pay us a visit. He was a thin,
middle-sized, dark-complexioned Brazilian, above fifty years of age,
exceedingly mild and gentlemanly in manners; at once apologized for the
general order throughout the empire, prohibiting the commanders of all
fortifications from inviting a foreigner inside the walls; he said that
the president of the province of Matto Grosso, under whose jurisdiction
the Forte do Principe da Beira was, had instructed him to be careful
the smallpox was not introduced among the soldiers from the department
of the Beni, which was the cause of our being requested not to land.
I told him we were anxious to go from the fort down the Madeira river,
and asked his opinion of the practicability of making the journey. He
said the president of the province at Cuyaba, the capital, who was a
French naval officer, with the rank of captain of frigate, had ordered
him to do everything in his power to assist me; the only boat fit for
the service in the port was a small one belonging to a citizen, whom he
daily expected from Bolivia—my friend, Don Antonio—and it was possible
we could get that, and he might supply a crew from his small force of
forty negro soldiers.
The commandante assured me there were no boats at the town of Matto
Grosso, such as are used for descending the Madeira river, and the
chance of getting men there was very uncertain. The voyage up the
Itenez, from the fort to that town, would occupy over a month. I
found our only hope was now vested in the kindness of this Brazilian
officer, and of Don Antonio, who had not yet overtaken us; but as he
had already promised me the boat, the commandante politely offered to
have her at once put in order for me. As we could swing our hamacs under
the guard-shed, near the river, and better attend to our preparations
there, the Cuyavabos moved our baggage up, and we took our quarters with
the negro-guard, instead of among the twenty huts inhabited by black
families of the station.
The walls of the fort are built of stone, in the shape of a hollow
square, with diamond corners, thirty-five feet high. There are two
entrances on the northwest front; one a large door-way, at which is a
constant sentinel, and a subterraneous passage from the inside, leading
to the bank, just above the annual rise of the river in the rainy
season, or thirty feet above its present level. The third entrance is
through the southwest wall, fastened by large iron-bound and double
wooden doors. The trenches round the walls are twenty feet deep. In
walking round the ramparts, I only saw two heavy iron guns mounted,
which pointed down the river towards the territory of Bolivia. The
date over the main entrance of the fort was nearly erased by the
weather. We could with difficulty make out "Joseph I, June 20, 1776."
The commandante was unable to give us much of its past history. The
Portuguese engineers who built it came up the Madeira river from the
Amazon, bringing with them a small colony, who settled here by order of
the King of Portugal, and, after building the fort, moved away, leaving
none but the garrison within its immense walls, which enclose over
an acre of land. The stone of which it is built was quarried near by.
The magazine on the southeast side, half a mile distant, also built of
stone, has gone to ruin and is not used. A subterraneous passage leads
from the fort to it.
[Illustration: VIEW DOWN THE RIVER ITENEZ FROM FORTE DO PRINCEPE DA
BEIRA, Brazil.
By Lieut. L. Gibbon U. S. N.
Lith. of P.S. Duval & Co. Phil.]
The country around is low and overflowed in the wet season, with the
exception of three small hills in sight, to the northeast. These are
situated to the southwest of that ridge of mountains marked on the
common atlas—"Geral mountains." The situation of this fort is usually
called "Lamego," and the river "Guaporé." There are a few wild Indians
roaming about the country on both sides of the river, of which very
little is known. They never make their appearance at the fort, and the
commandante never troubles himself about them. He sits in his castle
for months without seeing a stranger, grumbling at the cold southeast
winds. His rheumatic pains are better when the warm northwest winds
clear away the clouds. The negro soldiers plant sugar cane, pine apples,
and produce a few oranges. The government rations are farinha, sent from
Matto Grosso, and beef when they can get it from the "Baure" Indians,
in Bolivia, whence this portion of the inhabitants of Brazil receive
their _coffee_, _chocolate_, and _sugar_, by the rivers Machupos and
Magdelina.
This side of the Madeira Plate presents a very different appearance
from the Andes side. The commandante tells me he has navigated the low
lands between this fort and the town of Matto Grosso, formerly called
Villa Bella. The negro cook of the commandante prepared us a supper of
chicken and rice. We slept comfortably and soundly in the guard-house
after our harassing voyage. The Cuyavabos crew wanted to return to
Exaltacion at once. I told them they must wait until we decided whether
it was necessary to go on to Matto Grosso. The captain shook his head
and said, no, Señor. Every man of the crew declared that the correjidor
of Exaltacion had directed them to return home as soon as they landed us
here. Whether this was so or not we are ignorant, but as the correjidor
particularly told them before me to take us to Matto Grosso, I was
curious to see what our chances would have been in case we were entirely
dependent upon this boat's crew. They refused positively to go up the
Itenez any further, saying they had never been to Matto Grosso, and
knew nothing of the river, but must hurry back and gather their crop of
sugar. They traded three raw hides for a few fish-hooks. The commandante
gave them a written passport to return to Exaltacion. Their canoe
was light, and they paddled swiftly down through the rocks, with the
current, as though they were glad to escape a longer journey. I doubt
if they could have been persuaded, under any circumstances, to make the
voyage to Matto Grosso. They landed us here the seventh day out, and
will be full nine days returning against the current of the Mamoré.
Every day two of the soldiers are detailed to catch fish for the
garrison. Although the trip from San Joaquin to the fort can be made
in three days with beef, the men say they seldom get it. The monthly
mail was despatched from the fort while we were there. A small boat was
loaded with the bags and baggage of five men and the same number of
women. They all came to bid the commandante good-bye, as he sat with
us under the guard-shed. He told them he never expected to see them
again: he knew they all intended to desert him. But both men and women
declared their intention to return. The passage is made to Matto Grosso
in forty days by these mail-carriers; from thence the despatches are
carried through the country by mules to Cuyaba in twenty-two days, from
which place there is a regular monthly mail to Rio Janeiro. The canoe
is polled and paddled up the Itenez, said to be very shallow at this
season of the year, with rocky and sandy bed. It is possible, as the
river rises thirty feet in the wet season, that a steamboat may be able
to reach Matto Grosso from the mouth of the Itenez; but during the dry
season it is not navigable for anything larger than a first-class canoe.
Don Antonio arrived and reported our crew returning. He at once had
his boat fitted out and gave us "Pedro"—one of his men, who had passed
up the Madeira with him—as our pilot. The commandante detailed five
soldiers to take us to Borba. The boat was a small Igarite, twenty-three
feet long and four feet seven inches beam. Her bottom was of one piece,
cut out of a very large tree, with washboards nailed rudely on the
sides, calked with oakum, and well pitched outside and in. The bow and
stern, or two ends, were fastened up by a solid piece of wood, also made
water-proof. She was more the shape of a barrel cut in half lengthwise,
than a boat. She was strong, short, and good beam—the main objects. She
could stand being dragged over rocks, sledded over the land, and worked
quickly in a rapid current among rocks and sawyers. She rode on short
waves securely. The soldiers were accustomed to managing boats in the
rapids and among rocks by the fort, and were somewhat experienced, but
they never had descended the Madeira river. They had not passed from
their own native province, Matto Grosso, and were, like most negroes,
anxious to travel, and particularly desirous of going away. We had a
number of volunteers among the soldiers, but the commandante said some
of them wanted to desert, and he gave me those he supposed would be most
apt to return.
There are no roads leading from the fortress except the rivers, so that
every man understands something about the management of a boat. Three
of the crew were negroes; one an Indian, whose mother was savage and
father civilized Indian—what an Englishman would call "half and half."
The fifth was of such a mixed composition that we were unable to trace
his lineage. He was nearer a white man than a negro, not in very good
health, and extremely ill-natured in his expression of face. Pedro, the
pilot, was an Amazonian Indian, quite lazy and not worth much, though
his services were needed, as he was the only one in the party who had
navigated the Madeira. The soldiers were supplied with a decent suit
of uniform, ammunition, muskets, and farinha. We were obliged to reduce
our baggage; even the jerked beef had to be diminished in quantity, as
well as the men's provisions. The boat was too small when we were all
on board to float lively. Four of the soldiers took their seats in the
bow as paddlers. Mamoré mounted the baggage, with Pedro as pilot; while
"Titto," the sergeant, a stout, well-built negro, stood up behind us and
steered the boat. The commandante gave me a passport for the crew, with
an account of the public property in their charge. Don Antonio entrusted
me with a remittance to his father, which was the only sign we had from
the people that we would ever gain the mouth of the Madeira. To him we
are indebted for many prominent kindnesses. If he had not been here we
certainly would either have gone to Rio Janeiro by the mail-route, or
tried that from Cuayaba, down the Paraguay, to Buenos Ayres.
At midday, on the 14th of September, 1852, we parted with Don Antonio,
who expected to be two years longer trading off the cargoes of his
two small boats, which he left at Exaltacion during a voyage to Matto
Grosso. He appears disappointed with his undertaking, and declares
he never will make such a voyage again. He supports a party of twelve
people. They remain by him in idleness during the time he is occupied
disposing of his cargo, each man drawing regular pay, from four to six
dollars a month. As our little boat passed swiftly down the current
among the rocks, the men paddled as though they feared being recalled.
They all sang as we bid farewell to the grim old fort. The commandante
treated us with marked attention, and appeared sorry to let us go so
soon. He said he had spent several years in his younger career as an
officer at the fort. Officers generally shrunk from orders here, for
the place had the name of being unhealthy. After the death of its
last commander, he had been selected for the station because he was
acclimated.
There is a horrible disease among the soldiers, called the "Fort fever,"
which, for the want of medicine, slowly destroys the garrison. We found
the climate quite pleasant, but its general character is any thing but
favorable from reports.
Thirty miles below the fort I sealed a bottle, and threw it into the
Itenez river, with a note inside, requesting the finder to enclose it to
Washington city. Titto was somewhat surprised at what he saw us doing,
and inquired who the note in the bottle was directed to, and why it was
thrown into the current. On being told that the bottle would go to North
America in the water, if undisturbed, he told the other negroes, the
gentleman had sent a letter home in that bottle. A tall, ugly looking
negro in the bows, answered in Portuguese, "It don't go there." The
negroes all engaged in an argument upon the subject. Titto said it would
certainly go somewhere; that it could not go to Matto Grosso, because
the current of the river flowed from there to the fort. A little sleek
black, by the side of the other, shook himself, laughed out loud, and
paddling with all his might, said, "Come, boys, let us get along down;
that nigger in the stern of the boat is right."
On the evening of the 16th of September we landed silently on the
sand flat, near the mouth of the Itenez, for the purpose of making an
observation upon the stars for latitude. The men stood at ease with
their arms, while Richards drove the musquitoes away with a bunch of
green bushes, for the observer is constantly under the necessity of
being fanned. We were on the Brazilian shore, while a great prairie-fire
lit up the night for the savage "Houbarayos" on the Bolivia side of the
river. We succeeded in getting a good observation, and after continuing
down stream some distance, swung to a snag in mid-channel during the
night.
Early in the morning of the 17th of September we came to the junction
where the Itenez empties into the Mamoré. The beach was lined with
water-fowl; alligators lay on the sand like canoes, half out of water;
porpoises were playing about, while fish were jumping. Even the prairie
and forest birds seem to come down to join the congregation. It was
evident, by the conduct of the birds and the fishes, that they had all
collected together in one place for some particular public purpose.
The water of the Itenez is 4° warmer than the water of the Mamoré.
During the cool nights, the fishes and the birds sleep in or by the
warmer water, which protects them. We saw a wild hog feeding near the
bank; he, too, had been sleeping near the warm bed of the Itenez. There
are exceptions to this practice, both among the fishes and birds; some
of the fish ascend the muddy stream, while others seek the clear. Many
fish we recognise in the Mamoré, like those found in the northern rivers
of the United States; while those in the Itenez seem to take after
families we had known living in streams flowing through the sandy soil
of Florida. The porpoises of the sea are of a deep blue color; those
of the turbid waters of the Mamoré are lighter. In the limpid waters
of the Itenez, the porpoise has a light white and pink color, though
all puff and jump above the surface of the water, and are of the same
size, shape, and manners. The drift wood, and more active current of
the Mamoré, produce an enlivening effect. After repairing one of our
paddles, which was broken by hard pulling, we launched our boat, and
were carried gallantly on the Mamoré once more.
The distance by the river from the mouth of the Itenez to Fort Beira,
is about fifty-five miles in an east-southeast direction; opposite the
junction of these rivers, there are three small hills on the Brazil
side. The Mamoré turns its course from a north direction a little to
the westward. The stream here comes in contact with the solid formation
of coarse granite in the Brazils. The commandante of the fort told me
his father made a fortune by collecting diamonds on the head waters of
the Paraguay in Brazil, and that he had found traces of the same stones
in the bed of the Itenez. The sharp angular edges of the diamond, put
in motion by rippling water, cuts itself a little hole in the hardest
rocks. As the waters rush over it in the wet season, the diamond works
deeper and deeper, so that common stones may enter the hole. The water
whirls round in this hole, the common stones wear away the sides, and
increase the size of the cavity, while the diamonds are busily at work
at the bottom. In such holes the diamond hunter seeks his wealth. We
find no traces of silver or gold on this side of the Madeira Plate, We
passed through a rapid, between rocks on the banks, getting a cast of
the lead and _no_ bottom.
_September 17._—At 9 a. m., thermometer, 78°; water, 79°; wind
southeast. The banks are thirty feet high, and well wooded. The river
is five hundred yards wide, with a depth of from thirty to sixty feet.
The country on both sides of us appears well adapted for cultivation,
many parts of it being above the rising of the floods. Pedro tells me
we have the "Sinabos" savages on the Brazil side of us, and the equally
uncivilized tribe of "Jibo" on the Bolivia side. Our men work well; with
a one-mile current, we keep on day and night. Large green and black
flies annoy us very much, in addition to which we have sand-flies and
musquitoes at night. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 87°; water, 80°; wind
southeast. As the moon went down, heavy clouds rose up in the east,
and lightning flashed there. The men slept while we drifted along among
snags. Here and there a sawyer bobbed up his head. The only way to keep
clear of them is by listening to the music of the waters playing against
the logs as we pass in the darkness of the night. One man keeps watch
with his paddle in the bow. He watches and talks to us at the same time.
He tells me the Emperor of Brazil pays him sixteen mil reis a month, and
finds him in board and lodging. Mil reis vary in value; at present worth
fifty-five cents. He is not a slave, but was born a free negro, which
is the case with most of those who enter the army. Every man born free
has either to serve the Emperor or pay tax money. As he had no money,
he was obliged to enlist. He did not know how long he was enlisted for,
or when he would be permitted to go home to Cuyaba, where his mother
lived. He had asked a number of times to be paid off and discharged; but
he was answered the Emperor required his services, so he is uncertain
when he will be able to get off; though, when he returns from this trip
faithfully, and reports himself to the commandante, he may be permitted
to go to Matto Grosso with the mail, and then he thinks of detaching
himself by not returning. Slaves are not employed as soldiers, he
tells me; only the free blacks. From his tone, he considers the man who
cultivates the sugar-cane and cotton-plant is degraded, compared with
his own occupation. According to his account, there are a great number
of free-born black people in the province of Matto Grosso. He considers
the town of Matto Grosso a miserable place compared with Cuyaba. The
people in the former place are all very poor—mostly colored folks—and
the country round about is very little cultivated; but in the latter
town there are rich white people, he says, who own slaves and cultivate
corn and beans. He always has plenty of tobacco to smoke in Cuyaba,
but at Fort Beira the men have very little; they are often without it,
as well as pine-apples and plantains. The negroes at Cuyaba have balls
and parties, music and dancing, every night. They don't drink chicha,
nor do they understand how to make it; but they drink great quantities
of aguadiente, which the Emperor don't give them as a part of their
rations. They never get any at the fort except by the mail-boat. When
letters come from the Emperor, then the soldiers get a jug or two of
aguadiente by the mail-carriers, and it is used up at once.
_September 18._—The negroes gathered a quantity of cream or Brazil nuts
from under a large tree on the Bolivia side. The nuts are encased in a
hard shell, which the men broke with our hatchet. The tree was one of
the largest in the forest, and the only one of the kind we saw. Pedro
pointed it out to them, otherwise we probably should have passed it
without knowing such good things were near us. The nuts, with a turkey
and goose, shot on the beach, served us for breakfast. The negroes are
poor fishermen compared with the Indians. There appear fewer fishes
below the juncture of the Itenez with the Mamoré; the water is still
muddy. At 9 a. m., thermometer, 80°; and water of the same temperature,
which is rather warm drinking; clear and calm. At 3 p. m., thermometer,
88°; water, 83°. The river is half a mile wide in some places, and the
channel clear of drift-wood, with from twenty-four to forty-eight feet
depth.
_September 19._—A turn in the river brought us in sight of high land to
the north. The negroes blew two cow's horns, and shouted at the sight
of it. Laying down their horns, they paddled with a will to their own
musical songs, by which they kept time. We met a north wind, which
created a short wave as it met the current of the stream, increasing in
speed. The land has become low on both sides, and is swampy, with signs
of being all flooded in the rainy season.
At 9 a. m., thermometer, 82°; water, 81°. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 87°;
water, 80°. We passed an island, rocky and wooded. Flowers bloom and
decorate the richly green foliage on the banks. The current is quite
rapid, and we dash along at a rate we have not been able to do before
on the Mamoré, passing the mouth of a small river—Pacanoba—which flows
from the Brazils and through several islands. We came alongside of one
of them for the night. Within the death-like, mournful sound of the
"Guajará-merim" falls our raw-hides were spread, hair side up, as table
and chairs. While the men made a fire, I was listening to the roaring
waters, and thinking what sensible fellows those Cuyavabos Indians were
to run from it. The night was starlight; but the mist arising from the
foaming waters below us was driven over the island by the north wind,
which prevented my getting the latitude. Small hills stood a very short
way back from the islands, in Brazil. The land appears to be above the
floods on both sides. As we are free from musquitoes at night, and the
savages do not inhabit our little island, we sleep soundly.
_September 20._—By daylight we were up and off, pulling across to the
Bolivian shore to the head of the falls. We were in doubts how our
boat would behave in the rapids. After taking out part of the baggage,
which was passed over a rocky shore below, the boat was pulled through
without any difficulty. The channel was about fifty yards wide, with
very little fall; the whole bed of the river was divided by wooded
islands and black rocks, with large and small channels of water rushing
through at a terrible rate. A steamboat could, however, pass up and down
over this fall without much trouble. We embarked, and found our little
boat, which had been named "Nannie," gliding beautifully over the short
waves formed by the rapid motion of the water. The rocks are worn away
in long strips, and cut up into confused bits by the action of the river
constantly washing over them. On the islands, quantities of drift-wood
and prairie-grasses are heaped on the upper side.
One of these islands occupied the middle of the bed for three-quarters
of a mile in length. We followed the channel down on the Bolivia side
to its lower end at a rapid rate; when we came to the foot of the first
fall we looked back _up-hill_, to see the number of streams rushing
down, each one contributing its mite to the roaring noise that was
constantly kept up. We saw no fish, but last night met large flocks of
cormorants, flying in a line stretching across the river, close to the
surface of the water; this morning they came down again. These birds
spend the night over the warm bed of the Itenez, and return here in the
day to feed.
No sooner had we cleared these falls than we found ourselves at the
head of another rapid, more steep, called "Guajará-assu." Pedro took
us to the upper end of a path in the woods, on the Brazil shore, where
Don Antonio had transported his cargo overland, three hundred and fifty
paces, to the foot of the falls. His large boats were hauled through
the water by means of strong ropes rove through large blocks.
Our cargo was landed, and while Richards, with one man, was engaged
carrying the baggage down, I took the boat over on the Bolivian side,
and we hauled her three hundred yards over the rocks and through the
small channels, down an inclined shelf of about twelve feet fall. The
main channel is in the middle of the river, with waves rolled up five
feet high by the swiftness of the current, through which a steamboat
could pass neither up nor down.
The river cuts its way through an immense mass of rock, stretching
across the country east and west like a great bar of iron. The
navigation of the river Mamoré is completely obstructed here; the
river's gate is closed, and we see no way to transport the productions
of Bolivia towards the Amazon, except by a road through the Brazilian
territory. On the east side of the river, hills are in sight, and among
them a road may be found where a cargo might pass free from inundations.
The navigable distance by the rivers Chaparé and Mamoré, from near
the base of the Andes, at Vinchuta, to Guajará-merim falls, is about
five hundred miles. We anxiously pulled across towards the baggage,
as the division of a party in this wild region is attended with great
risk. This day's work gave us some little experience in the new mode of
navigation. The sun is powerfully hot, but the negroes strip themselves,
and ease the little boat gently down in the torrent between rough
rocks. Don Antonio's advice was of the greatest importance to us in the
choice of a boat and men. The long canoes of Bolivia would have been
broken to pieces in this first day's travel among the rapids. There
are no paths through the wilderness by which we could travel in case
of an accident, and rafts we had seen enough of at the head of the
Madre-de-Dios. Embarking our baggage, we continued under a heavy thunder
storm, which came up from the northeast, and whirled over our heads,
sending down heavy drops of rain. The banks of the river are twenty
feet high. The country on the Bolivian side is level, and there the
lands are overflowed half the year; but the Brazilian side is hilly; the
ridges appear to run at right angles with the river, which passes over
the toes of the foot of them. The whole country is thickly wooded with
moderate-sized forest trees. The river below these falls is occasionally
three-quarters of a mile wide, with a depth of from twelve to thirty-six
feet. The current is rapid as we leave the foot of the falls, gradually
decreasing in speed until the boat enters the backed water, which is
dammed up by the next ridge of rocks which thwart the free passage of
the river.
_September 21._—At 3 p. m., thermometer, 83°; water, 81°. The south
wind blew all last night, accompanied with rain. Early this morning we
arrived at the head of "Bananeira" falls, distance eight miles from the
upper shelf. I find Pedro useful in pointing out the ends of the paths
over the land cut by Don Antonio. His services as pilot, however, are
not to be depended upon. Titto seems to be perfectly at home in the
management of a boat among rocks, and assists me the most of the two.
The cargo was landed on an island near the Bolivian shore. The path led
through bushes and trees, down hill, near four hundred yards. The work
of transporting the boxes, amidst the annoyance of swarms of sand-flies,
was harassing, and with difficulty Richards could make the ill-natured
member of the crew carry as many boxes as he did himself. The river
flowed windingly; the baggage could be sent straight across; but the
boat had to be dragged, towed, lifted, and pushed through the rough
rocks and rushing waters for over a mile. This was trying work. The heat
of the sun was very great; the negroes slipped, and it was with great
difficulty at times they could hold the boat from being carried from
them by the strength of the waters as they heavily passed through the
choked passages. The men stand easing down the boat up to their necks
in water. The rocks are only a few feet above the water level; they are
smoothed by the wearing of the water and drift wood. It is not easy for
the men to keep their feet under water. These negroes are good men for
such service; they crawl among the rocks like black snakes. Bananeira
falls take their name from quantities of wild banana trees formerly
discovered here, but we saw no traces of them. The fall is about twenty
feet. The islands are generally very low, a few feet above the present
surface of the river. All the rocks, and a great part of the islands,
are overflowed in the rainy season. Large heaps of drift wood lodge
against the trees. On the highest rocks we found pot-holes, worn down
to the depth of eight and ten feet by the action of small pebbles, put
in motion by the current as it passes over and whirls down, boring into
the solid mass of coarse granite. These pot-holes are generally half
full of stones, the large stones on top; gradually descending towards
the bottom, they were smaller, until at the very last they were composed
of bright little, transparent, angular-shaped stones, less in size than
a pin's head; among these the diamond hunter looks sharp. Some of these
pot-holes are three feet wide at the mouth, decreasing in edge uniformly
towards the bottom. When we gained the foot of these falls, over which
it is utterly impossible for a steamboat to pass at any season of the
year, we had to ascend a channel on the Bolivia shore for the baggage.
Mamoré lay by a part of it as watch, while the rest of the party were
at the other side of the island. We were nearly exhausted; the men
had nothing to eat half a day, and the dog looked thin and sick. There
were no fish, birds, monkeys, or Indians to be seen, nor were the men
successful in finding castanhas, Brazil nuts, which they very much
needed, as they had nothing to eat but their allowance of farinha. The
negroes were very tired, but I observed the life improved them; they
looked stronger, and were getting fat. This was a great relief, for we
were the worse for wear. I was kept in constant excitement, lest some
accident should happen to our boat, or that an attack would be made upon
our baggage party by the savages. At 3 p. m., thermometer, 85°; water,
81°, and less muddy; dashing over the rocks appears to filter it.
The boat was carried along at a rapid rate by the current, which boiled
up and formed great globular-shaped swells, over which the little boat
gayly danced on her homeward way. The satisfaction we felt, after having
safely passed these terrible cataracts, cheers us on. We were nearly
the whole day getting _two_ miles. We were prevented from the danger in
our path to proceed at night. The boat was fastened to the Brazil bank,
and after supping on a wild goose Titto was fortunate enough to shoot,
we slept soundly until midnight, when we were suddenly aroused by the
report of a gun. The men were lying by a fire on the bank, near a thick
tall growth of grass which skirted the large forest trees. Richards was
close by me. I heard Titto's voice immediately following the report,
saying "the devil"—we were all up in arms; Titto said he had shot at
a tiger, which was approaching the men as they slept; Mamoré had been
faithfully prowling in the woods, keeping close watch over us while we
all slept; because he gave the men some trouble in the boat, they laid
this plan to put our trusty friend to death. Richards found the dog
shot in the heart, close by the heads of the men, four of whom were in
the secret, while Pedro and the Indian were sleeping. We placed great
confidence in the watchfulness of Mamoré; from him we expected a quick
report of savages or wild animals. With him on watch we slept without
fear, as the Indians are more afraid of the bark of a large dog than of
the Brazilian soldiers.
From what we had seen of the men, we were convinced they were a rough,
savage set, who would put us to death quite as unceremoniously as the
dog. They expressed an impudent dissatisfaction when I ordered Titto to
put a man on watch, and keep sentinel all night. We lay till daylight,
with our pistols prepared for an attack from any quarter. The negro
murderers on the highways of Peru are more desperate and unmerciful
than either the Spaniard or Mestizo; so it is with a half-civilized
African negro. At daylight I was particular to let every man of them
see my revolver. We kept a close watch upon them, both by night and by
day. They had for some reason or other unknown to us taken a dislike to
Richards, who never gave them an order except when he was left on shore
to attend the portage of the baggage. They were under an impression we
were ignorant of what they said when speaking their own language, as
Titto and Pedro spoke to me in Spanish. On one occasion, after the loss
of Mamoré, I overheard the ill-natured one, after Richards spoke to him
about tossing water into the boat with his paddle, say to the rest of
the crew, "I don't know whether I won't put a ball through that fellow
yet, by _accident_!" After which I had no confidence in any of them,
and told Richards our only safety remained in constant watchfulness,
and the good condition of our fire-arms.
_September 22._—The river below Bananeira falls is seventy-eight feet
deep and half a mile wide, passing through rocks and islands, where we
found the wild Muscovy duck. With a rapid current, we soon reached the
mouth of the Yata river, a small stream flowing from the territory of
Bolivia, not navigable for a vessel larger than a ship's boat. At "Pau
Grande" rapids, the country is hilly on both sides, and wooded with
large trees, from which fact the rapids derive their name. These rapids
are about five miles from those above, with a fall of fifteen feet in
one hundred yards. The boat was carefully passed through narrow channels
among rocks fourteen feet high. Don Antonio came up over these falls,
when the river was flooded, by keeping close along shore. He fastened
the upper block of his tackle to large trees, or heavy rocks, and by
hard pulling, inch by inch, dragged his boats along. No steamer could
pass up or down "Pau Grande." At 9 a. m., light northerly breezes;
thermometer, 81°; water, 81°. Two miles below brought us to Lajens
rapids. The boat was kept in mid-channel, and paddled with all the might
of the men; we passed through the rocks at such a swift rate, hats had
to be held on. This was a glorious passage; the little boat seemed to
fly through a channel that might be passed by a steamboat.