TO THE SOURCE OF THE PARAGUAY RIVER
Strolling down to the dock one day I saw a sign stating that the
steamer _Asuncion_ would be sailing for Corumbá, Brazil that same
evening at six o'clock. I inquired how long it took to reach its
destination, and upon being told four days, bought a ticket. I once
had the misfortune of being a passenger on the S. S. _Asuncion_
when it ran aground on a mud bank in the Paraná River and was moored
twenty-six hours in midstream. It is one of the older ships of the
Mihanovich Line and formerly plied between Buenos Aires and Asuncion.
It has no salon and the guests are obliged to sit in the dining room.
Two other steamship companies run to Corumbá. The Brazilian Lloyd with
fortnightly service and the Vierci Line owned in Asuncion. The latter
boats and those of the Mihanovich Line touch at all the river ports,
while the only stop besides Asuncion that the Brazilian Lloyd makes in
Paraguay is Villa Concepcion.
It became dark soon after sailing, and at nine o'clock we tied up to
the dock at Villa Hayes, a small town on the Chaco side of the river
and named in honor of Rutherford Hayes, ex-president of the United
States, who was the arbiter in a boundary dispute between Argentina and
Paraguay. He rendered a decision in favor of the latter country. A high
wind blew all night, and without it the heat would have been nearly
unbearable.
The next morning when I awoke I saw that the sides of the river were
bounded by a tropical forest. The steamer hugged the east bank for
here, the river a mile wide at this point, was the deepest. Beautiful
racemose clusters of red lilies grew from tall slender stalks; from
water oaks were suspended air plants and purple orchids; lianas
ropelike, hung from the tree tops to the ground. At ten o'clock the
steamer anchored off the mouth of a small stream named the Cuarepoti
up which, a mile or so, is the settlement of Rosario. Several rowboats
came up with passengers. About two o'clock in the afternoon, the
wide and swiftly flowing Jejuy River is reached on which is the now
dismantled fort of San Pedro. The Paraguay River widens out and is
filled with many islets, some of them large. The forest had receded
and the swampy land was flooded; from the islets in the marshes rose
groves of hiaty palms and the lagoons were covered by the wonderful
aquatic plant, the Victoria Regia. The leaves of this plant are round
and flat, and they resemble huge floating dishes. Where the edges are
turned, turtles crawl up on the leaves and bask in the sun. Besides
the Victoria Regia there are lotus plants and I saw a reed resembling
papyrus. As the steamer passes, crocodiles flop in the river with a
heavy thud and hissing ñacaninás crawl into the dank undergrowth.
At ten o'clock that night, Villa Concepcion was reached where we
remained nearly two hours. I stopped at that hellfire town for three
days on my return trip and regretted it. I imagine that in the winter
it is a pleasant enough place as far as climate goes, but at the time
of my visit it was fierce. The rains had swollen the river, which
had overflowed its banks and practically left the town an island in a
fresh water sea from which emerged tree trunks. It was hotter than the
fictitious Hades and a low gray vapor shrouded everything from sight
mornings and evenings. The sun came out torrid several times a day,
alternated by thunder showers. Bugs, reptiles, and insects were galore.
Villa Concepcion is the fourth city in Paraguay in population, although
the unincorporated place of Luque is larger. Its estimated population
is 15,600 although I think one half these figures would be nearer the
mark. In importance, it is the second town in the republic for in the
hinterland are sugar mills to which a railroad extends. The terminus
is Horqueta, about forty miles inland. Concepcion is built on the left
bank of the Paraguay River which here is a mile wide, and facing the
town is an island. A few miles south of it, the Ipané River empties
into the Paraguay.
The Ipané gives the name to Concepcion's main street, a miserable
thoroughfare of one story brick and wood buildings plastered over.
There are, however, a few buildings of size on this street and on the
other principal street, whose name is Aquidabán. A ditch runs along
each side of Calle Ipané, and there is one in the middle of Calle
Aquidabán. These are crossed by planks being thrown across them.
The water had washed some of the planks away which made the streets
impassable. Strange to say, Villa Concepcion boasts of one automobile,
a Ford. As in Asuncion the market-place is of interest, although it is
on a much smaller scale than that of the capital. The main breathing
place is named Plaza de Libertad from the Statue of Liberty which
graces its center. It stands on an octagonal base with funeral wreaths
in bas-relief, while on a ledge on top of the base are perched eight
cement lions. The allegorical goddess reposes her hand upon a shield.
Her picture, taken from this statue adorns the Paraguayan jubilee
postage stamps of a few years back.
Sometime during the night that we left Villa Concepcion, we passed by
the mouth of the Aquidabán River. It was up its valley that Francisco
Solano Lopez retreated with the remnants of his brave army in 1870
closely pursued by the Brazilian cavalry, and it was at the base of
a mountain named Cerro Corá at the headwaters of the Aquidabán, many
miles distant in the tropical forest that he met his death, being
pierced through the body by the lances of the enemy. Among his retinue
was his mistress, Madame Lynch and some of her henchwomen. Strange to
say when they were captured they were found clad in silken dresses of
the latest Parisian creation and wearing low ballroom slippers, and
this in the midst of the deepest imaginable water-soaked jungle miles
away from civilization.
Early in the morning we reached the village of San Salvador with its
beef-packing plant. The _saladero_ is a stock company composed of
North American and German capital. They slaughter the long-horned
native cattle, which are cheap here. At the outbreak of the World
War, the British Government ordered from them $240,000 worth of canned
beef which was delivered and consumed by the British Army. This beef
is still unpaid for. Great Britain refuses to pay on account of the
majority of the shares of stock being held by Germans. By this refusal
it is also hurting the interests of the North Americans who have stock
in the company, which amounts to nearly one half. This defalcation of
payment has put the saladeria on the hummer and it is now in the hands
of a receiver.
At the time of my visit, the whole town of San Salvador was wrought up
by an incident that had occurred the day before, and which was the only
topic of conversation. The foremen of the saladero pay off the laborers
with time checks which they present at the company office for currency.
A native forged one of these checks and made such a poor job of it that
he was refused payment and threatened with arrest. Angered, he whipped
out a big knife, long and thin with a razor edge, with the intentions
of annihilating the manager, a North American. The latter grabbed a
revolver which scared the Paraguayan, who started to run down the road.
Leaning against a fence post, with his hand on the rail, stood another
North American, a mere boy, and a friend of the manager who had arrived
from the United States, but three days before on a visit, and not
at all connected with the company. The route of the fleeing native
led by this young chap, and as he ran by him, he raised his arm and
aimed a blow with his knife at the young fellow's hand, which was so
powerful that it completely severed it at the wrist. The Paraguayan
was caught and lodged in a temporary jail. The next morning, the day of
my arrival, he was to be taken in a rowboat to Villa Concepcion to be
tried.
The sequel to this event which I heard on my return trip was as
follows: His guards not relishing the long rowboat trip to Concepcion,
for it would take them several hard days rowing upstream on the return
journey, pitched the native overboard in midstream. A few bubbles came
up as a _saurian_ closed its jaws upon him, and a red tinge rose to the
surface of the river.
From San Salvador northward, occasional round hills are met. The first
of these is Itapucumi (sleeping giant), two hours above the settlement.
Here the Paraguay River makes a great bend and narrows to one-half
mile in width. It is studded with green islands, some of them floating.
Puerto Max, where there is another saladeria, is stopped at and farther
on, we passed the stockade of an old penal settlement. At dusk we
passed another cluster of isolated hills on the east bank; the west
bank is now a great dismal swamp. The River Apá is reached which is the
boundary line between Paraguay and the Brazilian state of Matto Grosso.
We now have Brazil on the right and the Paraguayan Chaco on the left.
Next to Amazonas, Matto Grosso is the largest state in Brazil. Its
area is 539,092 square miles and its population is estimated at about
245,000. Only three South American republics (excepting Brazil, of
which this state is a part), Argentina, Bolivia, and Peru have a larger
area than Matto Grosso. It occupies the very center of South America
and its capital, Cuyabá, is more geographically situated in the center
of that continent than any other town. The main industry of Matto
Grosso is stock raising, there being over 2,500,000 head of cattle
within its confines. In this respect it is third among the Brazilian
states, Rio Grande do Sul and Minas Geraes outranking it. The name
given to the native cattle is _cuyabára_; they are noted for their
viciousness, are red and unlike the Paraguayan breed, are short-horned.
A saladero or saladeria (the name for the whole establishment), is in
Brazil named a _charqueada_ and there are several of these in the state
besides a factory where beef extract is made at São Luiz. The eastern
part of the state is a plateau with several high ranges of hills; the
western part is a forest; great areas being flooded at certain seasons
on account of poor drainage. The word Matto Grosso means "big forest,"
_matto_ being a covering of trees and bushes. Besides stock raising,
rubber plays an important part of the state's industries but this
latter is confined to the northwestern region where is located the
Madeira-Mamoré Railroad. The only other railroad in the state is a few
miles of track outside of Corumbá. It will form part of the Mogyana
system when completed, as the present intentions are to connect Corumbá
with São Paulo. There was a telegraph line to Cuyabá and to Corumbá,
via Goyaz but it is frequently out of commission. It takes three weeks
of travel to reach Cuyabá from Rio de Janeiro and this trip is made by
the Paraná and Paraguay rivers.
On the third morning we reached an estancia, the settlement of Porto
Murtinho with its swampy background. There were numerous wild ducks and
plover to be seen. This is the starting place for egret hunters; many
of these birds abounding in the back country. Shortly after leaving
the place, two hills rise on each side of the river. The one on the
right being so much higher that the eminence on the left appears low.
These are respectively Pao d'Assucar and Fecho dos Morras. Further
up and on another hill is the Brazilian Fort Barranco-branco and
beyond it on an eminence on the Paraguayan side is Fort Olimpo. In
the afternoon, we stop at Puerto Ledo, Puerto Esperanza, Puerto 14 de
Mayo, and Puerto Boggiani, all in Paraguay, and at dark reach a place
where the river widens into a lake which is named Bahia Negra. This
is formed by the junction of the Paraguay and the Otuquis rivers. The
last mentioned stream being commonly called Rio Negro. We here left
Paraguayan territory as the Brazilian boundary line is arrived at on
the left bank. In the night we passed Fort Coimbra and when I awoke
the following morning there were hills on the west bank. The river
had narrowed down to one quarter of a mile. In the afternoon we passed
Fort Albuquerque and late at night arrived at the wretched but lively
city of Corumbá, commercial center of Matto Grosso and the synonym of
lawlessness and disorder.
This vile town with its diseased population and a jumping-off place
of commercial riffraff, has a population of nearly twenty thousand
inhabitants. It is built on the high banks of the west shore of the
Paraguay River. The water is six feet deep at the docks when the river
is low but the project has long been contemplated of deepening the
channel so that vessels drawing twenty feet can anchor there. Nineteen
hundred and eighty-six miles from the mouth of the La Plata River,
it is the head of navigation for large boats and it has an immense
trade, considering the size of the place, on account of its being
the sole distributing point for southern Matto Grosso. The tortuous
muddy road leads up the bank to the town which is well built with
morgue-like edifices. The structures are mostly of one story and many
have semicircular round-top windows, which are uncommon in all South
American countries excepting Brazil, where they are characteristic.
The Hotel Paris, where I stopped, was nothing at all like Paris and the
slovenly waiters had a cutthroat appearance.
Corumbá has a widely established reputation for disorder. It is so far
from the Federal capital of Brazil that it might be anywhere else in
the world as far as the inhabitants having any fear from that quarter
of punishments for their misdeeds. Matto Grosso is run very much as if
it were an independent country, and on account of the low caliber of
the native potentates and politicians, lawlessness is rampant. Nearly
every man in the city carries a long thin razor-edged knife and many
of the population give testimony of a one-time fight with this kind of
weapon by the scars to be seen on their visages. There are some whose
nose has been severed and others who are minus an ear. There is but
little public safety there from murder or robbery or both on the back
streets after nightfall. The natives like to pretend that they are
atheists but I have noticed that this same tribe either slink away in
a hangdog fashion when they see a priest approaching or else are quick
to drop on their knees and make the sign of the cross.
As to industry, besides having a charqueada, Corumbá has a brewery
and the Ladario naval arsenal. The town, I think, has a good future
on account of its central location. The surrounding country is swampy
so there is apt to be malaria but otherwise it is fairly free from
epidemics. Most of the inhabitants are syphilitic or are afflicted with
other diseases due to lax morals. The climate, though hot, is better
than that of Villa Concepcion, and it is doubtful if in the summer
months the thermometer rises as high as it does in Asuncion.
The 280-mile trip from Corumbá to Cuyabá is made in anywheres from
four days to a week and one half on small steamers of fifty tons. At
their very best, they make an average of seventy miles a day of twelve
hours as they tie up to the bank at night. These boats, owned locally
and also by the Vierci Brothers of Asuncion, carry twenty first-class
and fifty third-class passengers. Since the traffic is heavy, it is
necessary for the traveler to board the steamer the day before to
obtain a convenient place to sling his hammock and then hire some
roustabout to watch it for him. Otherwise somebody else would be apt
to remove it. If a person waited until the morning of departure before
slinging his hammock, he would find all the suitable places occupied.
It is impossible to sleep in one of the few cabins which have bunks on
account of the heat from the ship's engines combined with that of the
atmosphere.
Corumbá is 384 feet above the sea level; Cuyabá is 401; thus the drop
in 280 miles is only 17 feet or 7/10 of an inch to a mile. The swampy
pasture which is entered and which continues until the day Cuyabá is
reached is one of the hell holes of this earth. This immense marsh,
which is 350 miles across in an east to west line, extends into Bolivia
and is a flat piece of ground grown to marsh grass in which countless
herds of semi-wild cattle fatten. There are occasional stunted trees
whose penurious shade affords the sole protection against the powerful
sun and blinding rays. In the afternoon of the first day, we passed a
few huts named Tres Barras and at night pulled up to shore at a cape
formed by the confluence of the Cuyabá and Paraguay rivers. On account
of the low drop in altitudes, there is such poor drainage that branches
of the Paraguay and Cuyabá shoot out in all directions, forming
numerous channels in a great delta. The Paraguay is considerably wider
than the Cuyabá and has a much greater volume of water as well as a
swifter current. It is navigable for small vessels as far as São Luiz
de Caceres about 250 miles farther up.
The whole trip was uneventful through a most monotonous country. About
a day and one half before we reached the capital, another river flowing
from the northeast and about the same size as the Cuyabá entered it.
This river was named the São Lourenço although I understand that the
natives are in the habit of giving this same name even to the Cuyabá
River below its confluence. The heat was fierce but strange to say
there were but few mosquitoes. It is most peculiar that of the whole
La Plata river system mosquitoes are most abundant in the delta of
the Paraná River between Rosario and Buenos Aires, and that up in the
tropics of northern Paraguay and Matto Grosso where one would think
they would be most likely to be found, they are noticeable by their
absence. In other parts of Matto Grosso where the rivers belong to the
Amazonian watershed, I understand they are legion. At night fireflies
came out in bunches and the swampy plain was resonant with the croaking
of frogs. One afternoon nearly a week after leaving Corumbá, hills
appeared on the right which took on the form of low mountains and these
continued in view until the capital in the midst of a thickly settled
country was approached.
[Illustration: Street Scene, Cuyabá]
Cuyabá is an old city of one-story houses, strongly built, and boasts
of wide grass-grown streets, and a spacious shadeless plaza on which
faces the cathedral. It is said to have been founded a couple of
hundred years ago by Portuguese prospectors who started out from São
Paulo. During the eighteenth century it was the center of the placer
district and the headquarters of the miners who equipped themselves
here for their trips to the remote parts of Brazil and what is now
Bolivia. It was a lively place in those days, but a hundred years
ago became decadent until recently when the cattle industry took a
boom. In the last decade it has picked up, and its population to-day
numbers not far from twenty thousand. It is the seat of a bishopric,
is electric lighted (on the main street), and is in telegraphic
communication (sometimes) with Rio de Janeiro. The Mogyana Railroad
system from São Paulo is expected to extend here shortly which will
be a great benefit to the place, as well as facilitate exportation.
In many respects Cuyabá is a fine city although it falls far below
the standard of a North American city of the same size. It has many
fine residences, and an air of proudness and of aristocracy enthralls
it. It is the residence of quite a few persons of wealth, and I am
told that among its inhabitants are three millionaires, who by the way
prefer to live in Paris and in Lisbon rather than in the stagnant town
where they first saw the light of day. Cuyabá is very nearly in the
center of South America and it seems incredible that in this region so
little known, the surrounding country is so thickly populated and well
cultivated. It is said that three quarters of the entire population of
the tremendously large State of Matto Grosso inhabit a radius of fifty
miles from Cuyabá as the center. The Chapada Mountains to the east
rise to a height of 2733 feet. Cool breezes blow from the plateau of
which they form the western barriers, causing the temperature not to be
over-oppressive. There is but little malaria away from the river; the
diseases common to the country seem to be beri-beri and leprosy. Many
people afflicted with the last-named malady are found in all parts of
Matto Grosso, but not so much so in the cities as in the country. This
form of leprosy is not supposed to be contagious. Many of its victims
also have elephantiasis.
[Illustration: Street Scene, Outskirts of Cuyabá]
I was told that the springs that form the source of the Paraguay River
were about four days' horseback ride distant, and as it has always been
my ambition to gaze upon them, I decided to visit them. I had already
seen the source of the Amazon, and considered that my travels in South
America would be far from complete if I failed to also see the place
whence the second greatest water system in that continent took its
source. I had seen ancient woodcuts of the source of the river, the one
which defined itself in my mind being from a drawing in the works of
Dr. Martius, 1832. It depicts a flat, grassy plain in which is a pool,
of irregular shape, about a stone's throw wide by the same dimension
long, encircled by sixty-three hiaty palms with slender trunks.
Martius' works are long out of print but a copy of his woodcut is
reproduced on page 60 of _Album Gráfico de la República del Paraguay_
by Arsenio Lopez Decoud, Buenos Aires, 1911. Many times during the
long winter nights in my Northern Michigan home I have sat in front of
the fireplace and gazed at this woodcut, always hoping that it would
be my fortune to gaze upon the original. I became obsessed with this
fixed idea in Buenos Aires, which was augmented in Asuncion, and it
was solely for this reason that I went first to Corumbá and thence to
Cuyabá, getting nearer and nearer the goal of my quest. In Cuyabá I
was told that the source lay not many kilometers from the main traveled
road from there to Diamantino, and was easily accessible. Little did I
think that in seeing it, the trip would be responsible for the loss of
a life.
The second day after my arrival in Cuyabá I met a German commercial
traveler named Huber who represented a Rosario importing house of
harvesting machinery. He was bound to Diamantino and having heard that
I had the same destination, suggested that we should make the trip
together as he had but little use for the natives, thinking that they
might murder and rob him en route. I agreed but said that in case he
accompanied me he would have to deviate from his route for a day to see
the source of the Paraguay. He said that it was a lot of nonsense and
that I could see these springs on my way back. I replied that I had no
object to go to Diamantino excepting to rest a day or so after having
seen the springs, and that having come so far to see them I would do
so anyhow, regardless of whether he would accompany me or not. Huber
became disgruntled and told me he would let me know that night whether
he would go to the unnecessary trouble to view this "dummheit" as he
called it. He spent most of the day interviewing the foreign element
of Cuyabá inquiring if anyone else in the place had the intention
of setting out for Diamantino within the next couple of days. His
inquiries evidently were met with negative answers for as I was about
to retire he came to my room and stated that he was ready to set out
with me the following morning.
Early in the morning we set out with two guides which we had engaged
through the medium of the Italian consular agent and followed a cart
road along the east bank of the Cuyabá River, which was becoming so
narrow that one could easily heave a good-sized stone across it. At
noon we stopped at a miserable leper-infested place named Guia, the
center of a stock country, and by nightfall reached the hamlet of
Brotas. Not wishing to share my bed with the vermin that infested the
_botequim_ which went by the name of hotel, I hung my hammock between
two trees in the rear of the establishment.
At the end of the second day we arrived at dusk at the large village
of Rosario da Cuyabá, finely situated on a height of land on the west
bank of the Cuyabá River which we forded below the town. This Rosario
is at the foot of some low mountains and is a pleasant place although
but a wreck of its former self. It was once quite a placer center, and
some diamonds were found here that are now among the crown jewels of
Austria. There is a fairly comfortable four-bedroom hotel where I spent
the night, but got but little sleep on account of the hooting of an
owl in a nearby bush. The hotel is owned by a Spaniard who has resided
for over thirty years in the country. In the meantime he took one trip
back to Spain but returned as he preferred Matto Grosso. Rosario is 998
feet above sea level, being 597 feet higher than Cuyabá. I think its
population is in excess of two thousand. There is a project on hand to
inaugurate an electric lighting plant and to build a charqueada.
From here to Diamantino it is a hard two days' ride if one wishes
to visit the source of the Paraguay owing to the detour of about six
hours. The road that wound up the low mountains named the Serra Azul
is no better than a cow path, and was extremely rocky and slippery. The
shrubbery is very thick and is covered with thorns, although there are
no large trees. Occasionally a clearing is met where languid natives
have attempted to grow enough legumes for their meager wants, together
with the omnipresent sugarcane patch which supplies them with enough
_cachaca_ for their frequent debauches. Their huts are painted pink
or white and can be seen from a great distance, at which point of
vantage they always appear at their best. At one of these fazendas, as
the farms are called, we stopped for the night. A small stream but a
couple of inches deep, filled with pebbles and where pools were formed
with watercress, trickled through the fazenda. It served the farmer
with his supply of drinking water, water for his stock, the washing
place of his clothes, as well as the washing place for the feet of his
numerous offspring. On each side of the rivulet were trees and from
them we slung our hammocks. One end of my hammock was tied to a tree
on the left bank, the other end to a tree on the right bank; if the
rope had broken or come loose, I would have dropped into the creek. The
hospitality of the inhabitants of the tropics of South America is in
marked contrast to the stinginess and mean actions of those people that
inhabit the Andean uplands. Nowhere in Paraguay or Brazil have I been
subjected to the discourtesy and suspicion that greet every traveler
in the mountains of Peru or Bolivia. This particular fazendado not
only insisted upon helping our guides cook the meals, but also added
canned goods which he had bought in Cuyabá, and refused to accept any
pecuniary remuneration therefor. The next morning he accompanied us for
a few miles on his pony and also went to much trouble to point out to
us where the best paths were.
From the top of the Serra Azul near where the fazenda was situated,
a broad valley was seen to open out at our feet. It was swampy, and
was carpeted with marsh grasses and rushes which were yellow. To the
northwest the sun reflected on a tortuous silver thread which was
the river. In several places the stream lost itself behind islets of
mangrove while in front of us it was barely perceptible on account of
the tules in the bog which screened it from view. Our guides pointed
out what seemed to be a group of palmettos several kilometers to
the east and informed us that there were the springs from which the
Paraguay had its source. Leaving the cart track we galloped over the
oozing sod of black muck at the risk of getting our horses stalled
in the mire. Great blue herons, startled at our approach, rose from
the tules, emitting shrill cries, and flew away to a place of safety,
the noise of their flapping wings sounding like that made by a person
beating a rug. Near the tops of some trees resembling water oaks
we observed some egrets, but unfortunately they were at too great a
distance to bring down with a revolver shot.
The appearance of the source of the Paraguay River was much different
in details from Dr. Martius' woodcut, yet in general aspects it had
quite a resemblance. The drawing that I saw was made nearly a century
ago, and during that lapse of time the features of the immediate
landscape may have changed. It may have been that the drawing in
Martius' work was made from memory, away from the spot, and that not
being present at the pool when the drawing was made, his memory was
not accurate. Some of the hiaty palms may in the meantime have died
and rotted. It was impossible for me to photograph it on account of
the noonday shadowless sun, but I made a rough pencil sketch of the
scenery.
Picture to yourself a great bog of yellow rushes waving in the
sweltering noonday heat with no trees in sight, excepting a nearly
perfect circle of eleven hiaty palms; inscribe in this circle a pool
of dark steel-blue transparent water. This pool is about 150 feet in
diameter, and on its surface float several gigantic pan-like leaves
of Victoria Regia. From where I stood I saw that the pool abounded
with small fishes. Looking into the water, I saw several feet beneath
the surface something that appeared to be a rocky ledge. At its side
and beneath it from which bubbles constantly rose was a black hole of
Stygian darkness. This I conjectured was the main spring. On a branch
of one of the palm trees perched an owl, the only living thing in
sight excepting ourselves and our horses. I was seized with a desire
to take a plunge and a swim in this pond, the zenith of my quest and
the goal of many years' thoughts. Yet I had the feeling that this
harmless-looking water might conceal some reptile, an alligator or
giant turtle, so I quickly gave up the idea, but lying on my belly I
gulped down several large swallows of the water, which sad to relate
was not as cool as I had imagined it to be and also had a rank taste as
of decaying vegetable matter.
The water flowing from the pool does not take any definite bed, but at
first spreads out over quite an area, a few inches deep, between the
thousands of marshy islets, mere detached tufts of sod but a few feet
wide. A quarter of a mile below the pool the numerous channels unite
into two watercourses, which at a short distance farther converge into
a single creek. This creek is but a few feet wide, and is clear and
clean, a remarkable phenomenon on account of the muddy swamp which it
traverses.
Leaving the pool we made for the northern horizon defined by a height
of land resembling low hills, but had some difficulty on account of
the horses continually stumbling and tripping themselves on the roots
of a species of creeper that had white blossoms and which covered the
landscape at the edge of the marsh. After an hour's ride we reached the
hills and came upon a distinct cattle path which wound through a jungle
and finally brought us out on a cart road.
[Illustration: Source of the Paraguay River]
At the pool Huber never dismounted from his pony, but sat leaning over
in his saddle resting his head on his hand. I asked him why he did
not get down but beyond muttering a few words about "such nonsense" he
neither said nor did anything. Several times on the ride from the pool
to the hills he complained of having a headache, and although I gave
him a couple of acetphenetidin tablets they did him no good. He became
feverish and said he felt as if he were burning up. He gradually became
worse, and his pupils narrowed down to the size of a pin head while
his eyes began to shine like coals. It was with difficulty that he kept
his saddle, and the last few miles into Diamantino he had to be propped
into position by his guide.
Diamantino, whose name should not be confused with the flourishing
mining-center of Diamantina in the state of Minas Geraes, is a town
of about three thousand inhabitants built on the side of a red earth
hill but a short distance to the north of the Paraguay River, here
a few rods wide. From a distance it resembles Tallahassee on account
of the red color of the soil, and the similarity of their respective
townsites. It is one of the oldest towns in central Brazil. Formerly it
was important in the mining annals of the country on account of gold
and diamonds having been discovered in its vicinity, but mining has
long since played out, and it is only important commercially at the
present time through the exportation of vanilla beans. It is also the
starting place for laborers to the rubber district in the forests of
the north and northwest. Diamantino is at the base of the great central
plateau of Brazil, which extends eastward into Goyaz, its limits being
defined by the Serra Azul. The latter is the watershed between the
Amazon and the La Plata river systems. Beyond these mountains is a vast
impenetrable forest inhabited by Indians. The proximity is evident
by the great number of members of this race, which I believe exceeds
the white population of the village. But a day's journey northward,
I understand, is the town of Porto Velho on the Arinos River which
farther on becomes the Tapajos, the latter being the boundary line of
the extensive States of Amazonas and Para; the Tapajos finally flows
into the Amazon at Santarem.
Diamantino is one of the most funereal towns imaginable. Its houses
are neatly whitewashed, but the absence of panes in the windows gives
the impression of tombs. The doors are like black holes in a vault.
The streets are wide and are grown to grass on which horses graze; the
lawns of the better-class houses are set back in rank gardens enclosed
by walls which have pillars at the gates. The whole impression is that
of a country cemetery.
The three inns of the place, if such they can be called, run more to
botequim (barroom) than to looking after the culinary welfare and
lodging of their guests. A rubber train had just entered the town;
the laborers had just been paid off and were now riotously and in good
humor making the streets and botequims resound with their merriment.
They were fast filling up on _piraty cachaca_, a fiery rumlike liquid
made from sugar cane. A glass of this beverage will make an ordinary
man "fall under the table" and it is so cheap that it is within the
reach of all. On it a man can get one of the cheapest jags known,
and like a few other intoxicants it goes down like oil. Only the
peasants indulge in it, although it can be obtained in the better-class
botequims of Rio de Janeiro. If a well-dressed stranger should stroll
into a café in Rio and ask for some of it, the waiter would be apt to
look at him in astonishment, wondering what sort of a common fellow he
was and how he got his fine clothes, for it is the drink of the lower
stratum of society. It is kept on the boats of the Brazilian Lloyd; at
Montevideo Brazilian roustabouts swim out to them, buy the beverage,
and in a drunken stupor have to be rowed ashore.
At the mediocre and filthy inn which was the best of the three at
Diamantino, where I obtained a lodging no better than a hen coop,
I tried to get the best room in the place for Huber who was now so
sick that he could not stand. The landlord gruffly remarked that his
place was no hospital, and would not take him in. Watching over him,
I sent the guides to the other two places but they likewise refused to
shelter him. Somebody suggested that the priest might find a habitation
for him, and upon my instructions set out to find that worthy, who
presently arrived in a semi-state of inebriation. The holy man, with
filthy robes and an unshaven countenance, scrutinized Huber minutely
through his bleary eyes, and in a sottish voice said he could be taken
to the end house in the village where upon his recommendation and
for about thirty thousand reis ($7.50) he would receive "everything
that was to be desired." The price was terribly exorbitant, but
owing to the condition the commercial traveler was in, there was no
time to argue, so we set off to the place indicated, the two guides
carrying him, while the drunken priest, myself, and what seemed to
be half of the male population of Diamantino followed. An old woman,
toothless and humped, with the eternal black cigar between her lips,
discolored with nicotine, came to an aperture which served as the door
and gesticulating frantically refused admission. The priest called
her aside, and said something to her which we could not hear, but it
evidently appeased her for she came back saying that it would be all
right for him to stay there provided she was paid in advance. I was on
the point of accepting the offer when a tall, handsome man in uniform
appeared, and asked what the rumpus was about. A hundred voices tried
to answer at the same time. He motioned them to be silent, and heard
me out. No sooner had I stopped speaking than the crowd again began to
speak. He ordered them to stop, and addressing me said that he was the
chief of police as well as the mayor of the town, and that his house
was at our disposal gratis. I accepted his kind offer, much to the
dismay of the priest and toothless hag who were now begging me to let
Huber stay with them.
The two guides, who had laid the German down with a coat under his head
as a pillow in the shade of a wall, picked him up and we set out toward
the mayor's residence, but a short distance away. The crowd started to
follow, but the mayor with some harsh oaths ordered them away. They
all dispersed excepting a curious few who eyed us from a distance.
The mayor's house was a long one-story building facing a common grown
to grass and milkweed. It had in front a wide tile-paved veranda
whose heavy roof was supported by square pillars. On this veranda
were benches where the family sat evenings, and where the functionary
entertained his guests. The room in which he ordered Huber placed was
tile paved, high, and cool, with two windows, one of them at the side
nearly covered with vines. In it was an iron bedstead, a couple of
chairs, a table, and a wash basin. All the front windows of the house
had vertical iron bars. The mayor, a perfect gentleman, sent a boy whom
I imagined to be his son for a doctor while he invited me to be seated
on a bench and chat with him till the medico arrived. He was particular
to inquire when and how Huber had been taken sick, as he said he did
not care to have anybody in his place who had a contagious disease.
The doctor was slow in coming, so slow that in the meantime Huber had
become delirious. He took his temperature, looked grave, and sent a
halfbreed servant away to soak some towels and rags in cold water,
which when she returned he ordered her to place on Huber's head and
change every few minutes for fresh ones. There is no ice in Diamantino,
and the _olla_ from which the water had been poured had been standing
all the afternoon in the sun, consequently it was not cool enough to
suit the physician. He gave instructions for more ollas to be filled,
and as night had come on, to be left on the porch in front of the room
in which the patient lay.
When the doctor came out, he sat on the bench between the mayor and me,
and informed us that Huber had a sunstroke, and that it was doubtful
if he would live. "Anyhow," he said, "if he recovers, he will have to
remain here for weeks before he is well. He shouldn't have come here in
the first place. My opinion is that he won't survive twenty-four hours
longer." I returned to the botequim where I lodged for dinner, although
the mayor was insistent that I should dine with him. I excused myself;
saying that I had things to attend to and that I would return later on
to see how Huber was getting on. "He will get on all right if human
agencies can help, but in this case they are of little avail. I have
seen such cases before," were his parting words to me, as I turned up
the moonlit street towards the middle of the town from which shouts and
ribald laughter emanating from the drunken rubber men were audible in
the otherwise sleepy town.
At the botequim where I roomed there was an orgy going on. Most of the
rubber men were soused and our two guides were rapidly filling up.
Rum, gin, and brandy were spilled all over the room, on the tables,
on the chairs, and on the floor. A couple of bums lay in a corner of
the room and one on a soap box, his feet dangling over it into space.
The brutal-appearing ruffian who was the landlord was his own best
customer yet he was intent enough on business to charge two prices, one
to the badly drunk individuals, and a cheaper one to those in a lesser
maudlin state. I was hungry but as it was impossible to eat in this
barroom, in which on other occasions meals were served, I repaired to
the shed which served as a kitchen and asked if anything to eat could
be had. Two slatternly halfbreed female servants informed me that in
a few minutes dinner would be served. I waited for over half an hour
and was so impatient with hunger that I was at my wits' end, when the
youngest of the two approached me and whispered that the proprietor
had the keys to the storeroom in his pocket and that he would beat her
if she disturbed him. Disgusted I set out to buy some canned goods to
sup on at one of the stores which combine the selling of groceries with
that of light hardware and dry goods, when I felt a pull at my sleeve
and looking around saw the same halfbreed standing there as if she had
something to tell me.
"I hope the _senhor_ does not want me to sleep with him to-night," she
whispered to my great astonishment; "Manoel is here from the rubber
country, and if he finds it out he will kill me. Manoel is my fellow
and he is crazy jealous over me."
This was the first time that I was apprised of the fact that the custom
of Bohemia was likewise prevalent in Matto Grosso.
For an exorbitant price, I bought two cans of salmon which I washed
down with a bottle of warm beer. I had been counting for the past
three days on a square meal at Diamantino. I returned to the mayor's
house and found that Huber had steadily become worse, and at times was
so violent that he had to be held down on the bed. Late that night he
took a turn to the better, so the doctor said, which lasted about seven
hours. About five o'clock in the morning he steadily grew worse and at
eight-thirty died in the presence of the mayor, his family, the doctor,
the priest, one of the guides, and myself. He had only been sick twenty
hours. Although the mayor had said he had seen cases of sunstroke
before, I had never seen one in the tropics. Moreover as sunstroke is
most frequent in the first hours after sunrise and in those preceding
sundown, it must have been that he was exposed in the morning of the
day before, even before we reached the pool, for it was then that the
hot rays shone on his head.
[Illustration: House in Diamantino where Huber Died]
At about eleven o'clock in the morning of the day on which he died,
Huber's lich was interred in the gruesome cemetery of plain black
crosses on the hillside, a mile beyond the town, I officiating by
throwing the last few shovelfuls of dirt on his eternal resting place.
The town authorities took charge of his possessions and notified his
employers who knew the address of his relations in Stettin. The mayor
would accept no pay, but expressed the desire that he would like
Huber's revolver, belt, and cartridges. I could not very well refuse
seeing that he and the officials already had possession of all the
deceased man's articles; I would not have refused anyway on account
of the courtesy he showed. I paid the doctor and the priest, but I
also have no doubt that they got their share for their services from
the money that Huber had in a wallet as well. I stayed that night at
the mayor's house, but the morbidity of the affair depressed me so
much that I left Diamantino early the following morning for my return
trip, being accompanied by Huber's guide as well as my own to Cuyabá.
I saved a day by traveling the regular track and leaving the source of
the Paraguay River a six hours' ride to the east. I stopped a day at
Cuyabá, another one at Corumbá, and three weeks later left Asuncion.
Four passenger steamers of the Mihanovich line now ply weekly between
Asuncion and Buenos Aires. They are the _Bruselas_, the _Berna_, and
the two smaller ships, the _Lambary_ and the _Guarany_. The downstream
trip takes over three days. I left Asuncion a Sunday morning on the
_Bruselas_. The scenery is intensely tropical, but after the first few
miles flat. On the left bank soon after leaving Asuncion are passed the
tumulus of Tucumbú and the conical-shaped hill, Lambary, the latter
a landmark. Soon on the right we reached the Argentine frontier post
of Pilcomayo, on the long and narrow river of that name. It rises
in the high and bleak plateau of Bolivia and flows through the Gran
Chaco, where for a long space it loses itself in the marshes only to
reappear broader, lower down. From now on we have Paraguay on the left
and the Argentine territory of Formosa on the right. The only stops of
any importance the first day are Villeta, Formosa, Villa Oliva, Villa
del Pilar, and Humaita. All are Paraguayan, except Formosa which is
the capital of the Argentine territory of the same name. At Villeta,
small boats laden with cigars, plants, and fruits are rowed out to the
steamers, and the leprous hags to whom these mixed cargoes belong drive
bargains with the sailors, who are crazy to buy pineapples. Before
reaching Villa Oliva, a palmetto swamp is passed on the Paraguayan side
which stretches backward as far as the eye can see. Villa del Pilar
is the most important Paraguayan town stopped at. A railroad track on
which are flat cars drawn by horses leads from the town to the dock;
these cars are usually laden with tobacco leaf to be exported to Buenos
Aires. A crowd was at the dock and it much resembled the crowds seen on
the docks of the Great Lakes ports, with the exception that among its
members were sportily attired youths with high collars, roaring ties,
Panama hats, and patent-leather shoes. It was ludicrous to see such
people in such out-of-the-way places.
On the second day out, the broad Paraná River is entered; the water
unlike the blue Paraguay is muddy, and it is so wide that it is much
like an inland sea. Numerous islands are passed. The shores on the
Correntine side are high and there is no luxuriance of vegetation
like in Paraguay, which republic was left behind when the Paraná was
entered. The aspect is drier and the vast plains extend back to the
eastern horizon. The Chaco and Santa Fé side is a vast wilderness
of cane and brush. The city of Corrientes, famous for internecine
strife, and the birthplace of Sergeant Cabral, a hero of the War of the
Liberation, was reached in the early hours of the morning of the second
day. The rocks in the quiet water of the roadstead, overhung with trees
above which appeared church steeples and the domes of the government
buildings, made a fine picture. Soon after leaving Corrientes the boat
anchored at Barranqueras, the port for Resistencia, capital of the
territory of Chaco, and at nightfall in a pouring rain it anchored
again off Puerto Goya, from which a railroad runs to Goya and to San
Diego. On the third day the boat stopped in the morning at the ancient
capital of Argentina, Paraná, built high on the left bank of the river,
and at night at Rosario. Buenos Aires was reached on the morning of the
fourth day.
Another line of steamships plies also between Asuncion and Buenos
Aires, that named the Empresa Domingo Barthe, but the Mihanovich Line
is the best. Domingo Barthe, the controller of the rival line, is a
French adventurer who made a fortune in Argentina and in Paraguay. He
acquired a large _yerba maté_ concession from the Paraguayan government
which has made him rich. The trademark of the tea from his _yerbales_
bears the name Asuncion. Another large firm competed with him, putting
out yerba maté with a different trademark. Barthe then had some of his
tea put up in similar packages to theirs, and stealing their trademark
had it sold widely in Argentina under their name. The rival company
brought suit against Barthe which went against him. A heavy fine was
imposed upon him with the alternative of a year in jail. Barthe neither
paid the fine nor went to jail. He has simply kept out of Argentina.
Nevertheless Barthe is a man who has done a lot for Argentina, and the
court may have in view of this fact been too stiff with him; anyhow
that is what the public thinks. Not only has Barthe been the means of
facilitating transportation between these two countries but he has
opened much of the waste lands of the territory of Misiones and put
them under production, besides being in a large way responsible for the
growth of Posadas, his home town.
It is pleasant to make the return trip to Buenos Aires from Asuncion
by water after having seen the fields of Entre Rios and Corrientes
from the car window. The study of faces, the stops at the small towns,
the unloading and loading of cargo make the river trip extremely
interesting. The cargo of the passenger boats is worth inspection but
the odor of the poultry and of the parrot cages is nauseating. The main
deck becomes a storage room for sacks of yerba maté, the vile tea that
the Argentine natives are crazy about. Much of this on passenger boats
goes to Goya for consumption by the poor _chinos_, as the civilized
Indians and halfbreeds of the Correntine hinterland as well as in the
rest of the republic are called. The freight boats handle the Buenos
Aires and Rosario supply. Besides the maté there are numerous pails,
tin cans, and molasses tins filled with plants from Matto Grosso
and the Paraguayan Chaco, mild-eyed deer for the museum at La Plata,
mangy sarias, martinets in cages, a bedlam of parrots, and bottles of
home-made _cana_, which gives the imbibers murderous intentions.
I sat between two Spaniards at the dining room table. One had become
involved in a domestic scandal, the day before we left Asuncion, and
the wronged husband was looking for him with a gun, besides having
invoked the aid of the police to find him. The foxy Spaniard, a
middle-aged aristocrat, escaped across the river to Pilcomayo at
night, and as there is no extradition treaty with Argentina, he was
safe. He boarded the _Bruselas_ at that stop. Both the Spaniards fell
to discussing the charms of the various lady passengers and would
occasionally ask me my opinion. I could not agree with them as they
would pick out some fat type of woman and exclaim: "Que linda mujer"
("Oh, what a beautiful woman!"). I was fascinated by the looks of the
recently married Brazilian woman who with her groom sat across the
table from us. She was of that dark type of beauty so common in Matto
Grosso where one meets women of dark complexion, black gorse-like hair,
black flashing eyes, with strong virile mouths and chins.
In South America it is not considered a breach of table etiquette to
be continually picking one's teeth and no sooner did the meals on the
_Bruselas_ begin than the snapping of wooden toothpicks rent the air.
Some of the guests were ambidextrous as to the use of forks and knives,
the latter especially; they would shovel so much food into their mouths
that they could not contain it all, and consequently goulash would
drop from their mouths onto the tablecloth. One young barbarian, when
passed the menu, kept it, and instead of passing it on, amused himself
by reading the advertisements on the reverse. He had never seen one
before.