THE AMAZON
Early the next morning David became aware of the fact that he had
embarked on a stormy voyage. The ship rolled and pitched in an alarming
manner. He could hear the shrieking and moaning of the wind and feel the
vessel tremble as the waves struck the steel sides with a muffled roar.
At first he did not know just what to make of it, so he groped for the
switch and turned on the light. Rogers was sleeping soundly in the berth
below. There was no one stirring on deck or in the passageway, so he
came to the conclusion that a storm was not an unusual occurrence and
that everyone took it as a matter of fact, so he snapped off the light.
But it was far from comfortable, this rolling and tossing, and sleep was
impossible. Daylight soon came, however, and with it the bustle and
sound of voices on deck incident to life aboard ship.
“Going down to breakfast?” Rogers enquired, holding to a hand-rail with
one hand while he calmly shaved with the other. He seemed to mind not at
all the lurching of the boat.
“I guess not; I don’t feel hungry,” David replied in a weak voice.
“Sick?”
“A little. It’s not so bad while I lie still; but when I try to get up
my head spins.”
“Never mind. It will soon pass. Better have a cup of coffee; then you
will feel better. I’ll ring for the steward.”
“No, don’t. Please, let’s talk about something else; anything but food.
Will the storm last long?”
“It may clear up later. If it gets calmer come out for a walk on deck.
The fresh air is a good tonic,” and he strode out of the room.
But the storm did not subside. It lasted two whole days and three
nights. By that time David was so ill he was compelled to remain in his
berth another full day to recuperate sufficiently to venture out.
The fresh air and the bright sunshine on the upper deck worked wonders.
Added to these, long walks back and forth, a few games of shuffleboard
and an occasional dip in the ship’s swimming tank soon restored his good
health and usual cheerful manner.
“You expect to work on a ranch in Brazil, eh?” Rogers commented one
morning as they leaned over the rail to watch the flyingfish startled by
the prow of the boat as she cut her way through the glassy water.
“I not only expect to but I am going to,” David returned promptly.
“How long are you going to stay?”
“A long, long time. In fact, I haven’t thought of going back. I had
better get there first.”
“Know anything about ranching?”
“Not much; but I can learn.”
“Know anything about Brazil or what you are going to be up against?”
Rogers persisted.
“Not a thing.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“I’m not a mind-reader.”
“Well, I think you are foolish to try it.”
“Thank you,” David replied promptly.
“I mean it.”
“I can’t help what you think,” pleasantly. “My head is working overtime
figuring out my own things.”
“I would not go where you are going for a thousand dollars a month.”
“Neither would I. I am doing this because I am interested in it and want
to learn. Office work, no matter how easy, is unbearable to me because I
don’t like it. Outdoor work, no matter how hard, will be fun because I
do like it.”
“I went to Manaos once, and that was far enough,” Rogers proceeded. “The
heat, the rains, the mosquitoes, in fact everything that makes life
miserable was there in too great abundance to suit me. If I were in your
place I should go up the river for the sake of the trip. The Amazon
country is great--to see from the deck of the steamer. Look at it until
you have your fill and then go back to the good position you left. I am
telling you right now that you are making a big mistake, and you will
regret it.”
“It’s very kind of you to take such an interest in me, but you must
think I am a jellyfish. There is no use saying anything more. My mind is
made up. I wouldn’t even think of backing out--not for the world,”
Jones asserted in no uncertain accents.
“All right. Think it over.” Rogers yawned and went to his deck chair,
while David took a small, red volume from his pocket and devoted his
time to the study of Portuguese.
The days slipped by pleasantly and quickly. The water assumed a deeper
blue color and great rafts of seaweed dotted the surface. The air was
balmy and delightful.
There was always something new and interesting to see. The birds in
particular attracted David’s attention, especially the man-o’-war birds
that soared on motionless, narrow wings hour after hour and, it was
said, day after day, in the cloudless sky. They rarely slept or rested
but sailed on tireless pinions as if they enjoyed it, bent on some
mission none could fathom. Then there were the little petrels or Mother
Carey’s chickens, as the sailors called them, fluttering and skipping
over the water like huge, black grasshoppers; they appeared in greatest
numbers on those rare occasions when the ship passed through a choppy
stretch of water.
Some of the barren, rocky islands were fairly teeming with boobies,
jaegers, gannets and other feathered lovers of the briny deep. They sat
on the shelflike ledges running along the faces of the cliffs like the
tiers of beads on an abacus. Other swarms filled the air, fluttering,
soaring, circling and wheeling amidst squawks and screams while still
other hordes sat motionless on the water.
The jaegers were the pirates of the deep. They waited until the smaller
birds returned from their successful fishing excursion, then attacked
them until they disgorged their catches which they greedily appropriated
to their own use.
These sights fascinated David. How different from the imprisonment of
the city! And this was but a taste of what he was to see, a sample of
the free life in the open for which he longed.
After nearly two weeks sailing he came on deck one morning to find that
the color of the water had changed overnight. Instead of the clear,
crisp blue the ship was ploughing her way through a sea of yellow that
extended to the horizon on every side. He called the matter to the
attention of Rogers.
“That muddy water is discharged by the Amazon,” the latter said.
“But we are not near the river yet,” David remarked incredulously.
“There is no land in sight.”
“No, we are not near the river and will not be until some time tomorrow.
Even if we were in the very center of the Amazon you could not see the
banks, for the river is about one hundred and fifty miles wide at its
mouth. The quantity of water it carries into the ocean is so enormous
that it keeps its yellow color several hundred miles out at sea before
the mud settles and the fresh water is thoroughly mixed with and
absorbed by the brine of the ocean.”
The next evening they saw the first indication of land. At first there
were only long lines of white far in the distance where breakers were
dashing over the low sandbars that checked their onward sweep. Later,
they distinguished small, dark tufts, like feather dusters, outlined
against the clear sky; these were coconut palms growing on the outlying
islands. And before long the first land--dim strips of dark color
seemingly suspended between the water and the sky, met their gaze.
At night they entered the river proper. It was too dark to see anything,
but David was so excited he could hardly sleep. Here he was, on the
mighty Amazon, and it was not a dream either. What tales the silent
water could tell could it but talk! What had the stream witnessed, on
its journey through many thousands of miles of wilderness and jungle
inhabited by savage beasts and equally savage peoples! And what secrets
were locked up in that outwardly calm, yellow flood! The very air seemed
saturated with mystery, romance and adventure. And here he was, alone
and foot-free and eager to absorb his full share of everything this
wonderful country offered.
With daylight came disappointment. Instead of the wide expanse of water
David had expected to see there was only a narrow channel through which
the ship proceeded with caution. Both banks were covered with heavy,
deep green vegetation, extending to the edge of the river. Creepers and
ropelike lianas dangled from the branches and trailed in the water;
climbing ferns and palms and a host of other plants clinging to the
boughs and trunks united them into a solid wall of living green.
Here and there a bright-colored flower glowed brilliantly against the
darker background and from the interior of the tangled, matted screen
came subdued cries and screams. A flock of green parrots, flying low,
passed overhead and then dived into the jungle on the other side and
disappeared. There were fully a hundred birds in the party, but they
flew two by two, with a peculiar fanning motion of the wings, like a
duck’s.
One of the branches on the side nearest the steamer stirred and someone
shouted “monkeys.” David looked but saw only the swaying vegetation
which moved as if agitated by a gust of wind.
“I am sorry I missed them. I have never seen a wild monkey,” he said.
“You will see plenty of them before long; and not only see but get real
well acquainted with them,” Rogers volunteered.
“You mean they are tame and come to the camps in the forests?”
“Not exactly. You will have to live on them.”
“What? Eat monkeys?” David asked in dismay.
“Certainly. Everyone does in the bush. The Indians eat
everything--monkeys, crocodiles, snakes and lizards. And if you want to
live out in the wilderness you shall have to do as they do because there
is no other way out of it. You will be thankful for whatever you find
whether you like it or not.”
“But the rivers must be full of fish,” David reminded him.
“They are. Catching them is another proposition though. Besides, there
is nothing in the world a white man becomes so tired of as fish if he
eats it day after day.”
“Why worry?” David said it bravely, but a sigh escaped him. “If that is
the custom here I guess I can get used to it.”
The prospect of having to eat monkeys, as he knew them in the zoo at
home, was not a pleasant one and the thoughts that were in his mind were
reflected in the expression on his face. Rogers gave him a sharp glance,
then walked away; he was finding his task a difficult one.
The first stop was at Pará, and as the steamer carried a quantity of
freight for that port and was to remain two days there was ample time
for sightseeing ashore.
The feel of solid ground under his feet was very welcome to David; and
to enter the low-lying city beside the river was like stepping into
fairyland.
How different everything was from the life and living conditions of a
temperate clime. Instead of the tall buildings and wide streets bustling
with humanity there were blocks of low, white structures, narrow,
crooked streets lined with drooping, swaying palms; and the people, of
every shade from white to black, seemed to take things in a leisurely
manner.
It was warm--disagreeably warm at midday and during the early afternoon
hours--but David was too interested in his surroundings to take much
note of the heat. He tramped the streets and tried to see everything
that unfolded itself before his eyes.
The flaming _Jacaranda_ trees that thrust themselves upon one’s notice
through the sheer boldness of their beauty fascinated him. Not extremely
tall but with wide-spreading branches they looked like enormous bouquets
so thickly were they covered with purplish flowers with only an
occasional tuft of fern-like leaves to enhance their beauty.
There were palms without number. Some grew tall and stately with crowns
of gracefully drooping leaves; others had bent, spiny stems; and still
others had shocks of ragged, split leaves perched on the top of thick,
ringed trunks.
A curio store just off the main thoroughfare attracted David’s attention
and after gazing at the display in the windows for some time he decided
to investigate the mysteries inside so forcefully suggested by the
objects in front. He had always intended to make a collection of
butterflies and other things and here was the opportunity to start it.
But the door was locked. He tried the door of the next shop; it, too,
was bolted. A passing policeman, observing his actions, volunteered the
information that everything would be closed until later in the afternoon
because the people were taking a nap during the hottest part of the day.
And as David strolled down the street he rejoiced that the curio store
had been closed, for what could he have done with the butterflies if he
had purchased them? They were too fragile to carry around for months in
the wilderness; and he would no doubt have the opportunity personally to
collect all he wanted at the ranch.
The afternoon being spent, the wanderer went back to the waterfront and
boarded the steamer, and remained aboard for the night. There followed
another day of sight-seeing, confined principally to the numerous little
parks, and then the voyage was resumed up the river.
David remained on deck as the steamer headed up the sluggish, muddy
stream and enjoyed the changing vistas of broad expanses of water and
the dark green of the vegetation that contrasted sharply with it. Then
he went to his cabin to wash up for dinner. And there was Rogers
examining a number of souvenirs he had purchased in Pará; a medly array
of feather flowers, Indian head-dresses and the skins of birds and
snakes was spread on the floor and chairs.
“You still here?” David asked in surprise. He had not seen him since
saying good-bye the morning they reached the port, as Rogers had stated
that he was going no further than Pará.
“Yes, I am going to stick around a while longer--until we get to Manaos,
to be exact,” Rogers replied in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Great! But you changed your mind rather suddenly, didn’t you? I hardly
expected to see you again.”
“I did intend to go only to Pará, but I found that my affairs had not
been settled. So I have to keep on going. But I do not mind. The trip up
the river is interesting.”
“Say, Rogers,” David asked suddenly. “What is your business anyway? I
don’t like to be inquisitive; that is why I didn’t ask before now. But I
am filled with curiosity.”
“It is of a personal nature; sorry I cannot go into greater detail but
that would be violating a confidence,” and Rogers looked embarrassed.
“I see,” David said simply, but he could not get the matter off his
mind, try as he would. And to make things worse he could see no reason
why Rogers’ affairs should cause him any concern.
To spend six days on the mighty Amazon is an event in any man’s life; to
David it was the greatest he had experienced. Each morning when the
noise of the deck scrubbers awakened him he jumped from his berth and
after dressing hastily went on deck to see the sun rise. On no two
mornings was the awe-inspiring spectacle that unfolded itself before his
eyes the same in all respects. Sometimes the flaming, angry ball of fire
shot up as if from some place of concealment beyond the black wall of
forest; once it rose out of the yellow flood, at the foot of a wide path
of gold and pink light that danced and sparkled on the wave-crests; and
again, there were but fleeting glimpses of shafts of bright light that
darted through rifts in the cloud-banks whose edges were aglow with
burnished silver.
When the forested banks were visible they always loomed up like dark,
impenetrable barriers; but as the light grew stronger the blurred
outlines of trees, palms and a thousand points of vegetation gradually
became clearer and finally revealed their identity.
The forest enchanted the beholder. It exhaled an air of mystery, the
promise of adventure; and at the same time it hurled a bold defiance.
“Come, ferret out my secrets, search for my treasures,” it seemed to
say, “and I will overwhelm you, engulf you and you will be no more. But
come, come, if you dare.”
David read both the invitation and the challenge; and with more
determination than ever, he accepted them.
Nothing was seen of the wild life with which the jungle must have been
teeming. Perhaps it was because the walls of vegetation were so dense
they hid the creatures that lurked within their green depths. Then, too,
the river was frequently so wide that the banks could scarcely be
distinguished, showing only as low, dark lines in the hazy distance.
Occasionally a flock of ducks passed overhead. There were gulls also,
and other waterfowls. But far more numerous were the parrots and great
macaws, in large, boisterous companies that winged their way heavily
across the wide expanse of water. From a distance the parrots resembled
the ducks but there was always the easily noticeable difference, that no
matter how large their number, they always flew two by two.
“Where are all the crocodiles?” David asked the captain of the ship one
day as the latter stopped beside him at the railing. “And the big water
snakes and other things you hear about the Amazon?”
The captain looked at him in an amused manner.
“They are here, that is the crocodiles are, but the water is too high to
see them,” he said. “During the dry season the sand bars and islands are
covered with them. There are plenty of anacondas, too, but they stay
around the banks. So you are going into the interior, I hear!”
“Yes, to a ranch that’s just starting up,” David replied.
“Well, you’ll see all the snakes and other vermin you want, and more
too.”
“Fine! I have never been here before and I want to see everything there
is to be seen.”
“You had better look fast then, because you won’t stay long. They all go
back pretty quick.”
“Not I. I am going into the business for good.”
“That’s what they all say. And I carry them back home on the next boat.”
“You will not carry me back on the next boat, nor on the trip after that
either.” David was losing patience.
“If you knew what’s in store for you you wouldn’t even go ashore when we
get to Manaos; you would come right back home with me on this trip. And
that is what I would advise you to do.”
“Thank you,” and David walked away.
They made short stops at the more important towns along the river, to
deliver mail and unload freight.
The waterfront in these places always teemed with dark-skinned natives.
Long lines of men, stripped to the waist, were carrying bags of produce
to barges moored to the banks, waiting for steamers going downstream.
Groups of other men lounged on the docks or came to the ship in
row-boats, offering fruit for sale.
David was greatly surprised to see the barges of Brazil nuts that were
being transferred to a steamer outward bound. The nuts--he had no idea
there were so many in the world, were handled just like coal. They were
scooped out of the barges in steam shovels and dumped into the hold of
the boat, where they disappeared in the seemingly insatiable, black
void. Many were spilled overboard and others rained on the deck, but no
one cared.
There were cargoes of rubber, too, large, oblong balls, or thick bricks
that must have weighed several hundreds of pounds. But David was to see
enough of them later and under less attractive circumstances.
On the sixth day they reached the junction of the Rivers Negro and
Solimoes.
“This is the end of the Amazon,” Rogers explained as they gazed at the
sweep of the mighty streams.
“The end?” David asked in surprise. “I always thought of the Amazon as a
river three or four thousand miles long.”
“The Amazon proper is only about one thousand miles long. But the
Solimoes continues on a few thousand more and is in reality the Upper
Amazon. Here is a map that shows it.”
He drew a folder out of his pocket and they spread it on the foot of a
deck chair.
“See?” Rogers said, “Manaos is ten miles up the Rio Negro which comes
from the north-west. The Solimoes comes from the west and has its source
near Quito, Peru. It is navigable, too, almost the whole of its length
in boats of some kind. As I said, though, you have seen all of the real
Amazon. Now, are you satisfied?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you seen enough?”
“Of the river and country? I should say not. I haven’t even started.
What I have seen has only aroused my curiosity and a stronger desire for
more. I can hardly wait to get into the interior. Think of what is
behind those walls of forest!”
“Mosquitoes, snakes and cannibals.”
“Good! They are just what I want to see.”
Rogers sighed but David did not notice it. He folded the map and put it
back into his pocket.
In another hour they had reached Manaos.