June 1st (thermometer min. 55½° Fahr.; max. 74°; elev. 2,150 ft.). Heavy mist and rain-clouds, heavy and sultry atmosphere. Sky almost entirely covered by clouds.
Owing to trouble among my followers and waiting for one of my men, who had remained behind in a last effort to find the missing horse, we were unable to leave camp until nearly noon. We rose to an elevation of 2,400 ft., leaving behind the great cuvette, and marching over parallel domes extending from north to south. Between those domes in the depressions were sandy cuvettes of verdant grass and the usual central bosquets.
Cinders and sand were still plentiful, with stunted, thin trees growing upon them. Several times that day we reached an elevation of 2,550 ft. After passing a streamlet flowing north, we kept at that elevation for a considerable distance, after which, having descended 100 ft. (2,450 ft.), we found ourselves in a most enchanting, oval-shaped cuvette of cinders well covered with fresh verdure, and in its centre from north to south a row of burity palms.
That was indeed a day of great surprises in the way of scenery. No sooner had we left that beautiful cuvette than we came to a magnificent flat open valley extending from E.S.E. to W.N.W. In its northern part, where a pool of stagnant water was to be found, were innumerable burity palms. It was evident that during the rainy season that plain (elev. 2,350 ft.) must be entirely under water. In many places it was swampy, even at the time of my visit. It was most refreshing to the eyes to see such expanses of lovely green healthy grass. The mules and horses enjoyed it more than we did, neighing to their hearts' content when we emerged into the great verdant meadow. They tore away with their teeth at the delicious grass as they cantered along gaily.
Some of the enjoyment of the delightful scenery was taken away from me—not only that day, but every day during almost an entire year—owing to the stupid obstinacy of my men. They carried their magazine rifles fully loaded—eight cartridges in each—and while marching insisted on keeping the rifles cocked; they would not hear of keeping them at safety—so that any extra jerk or a twig of a tree catching the trigger might cause the weapons to go off at any moment. This would have mattered little if they had slung their rifles in the usual way, pointing skyward or else towards the earth. But no-one could never induce a Brazilian to do things in a sensible way. No, indeed; they must carry their rifles horizontally upon the shoulder, the muzzles of the nearest weapons always pointing at me. It was no use remonstrating, as they might perhaps have misunderstood it as fear. So all I could do was to trust in Providence. I could not have done better, for Providence indeed watched over me and protected me on that expedition in a most merciful way—for which I am truly grateful. On several occasions—as was to be expected from the careless way in which the weapons were carried—now one rifle then another went off unexpectedly, and I came mighty near being shot. On other occasions the mules had narrow escapes. Once a bullet went right through the hat of one of my men, just missing his head.
In any case, I beg the reader to realize how pleasant it was to have the muzzle of a loaded rifle, ready to be fired, pointing at you in front for an average of eight to twelve hours a day for several months. I generally rode last in the caravan in order to prevent straggling, and also to see that any baggage which fell off the pack-saddles was recovered. This was unpleasant in more ways than one. First the clouds of dust raised by the animals as we marched over the sand and cinders, which filled my eyes, mouth and nose; then the constant attention to watch for lost baggage—besides the work of writing my notes as we rode along. The sound of the dangling bells of the mules was monotonous to a degree, and so was the aspect of the animals' tails swinging and slashing from one side to the other in order to drive away tormenting flies. Occasionally, when stung fiercely by a horse-fly, one or two animals would dash away wildly, tearing off in their career low branches of trees and even altogether knocking down good-sized trees, four or five inches in diameter.
This would seem impossible in any other country, but not in Brazil, where the majority of the trees were nearly entirely eaten up inside by ants. The roots, owing to the substratum of lava spread horizontally near the surface, offered little resistance to side pressure upon the tree itself, so that frequently even the weight of a man leaning against a tree was sufficient to knock it down. I never shall forget how impressed I was the first time I saw my men cut the way through the forest, slashing down right and left good-sized trees with one swing each of their falcon—heavy-bladed knives some 2 ft. long.
What terrific strength! I thought, until I happened to lean against a tree, and down went the tree and myself too. Upon examination I found that merely the bark remained, with a few filaments inside—the rest of the interior having been entirely devoured by ants. Yet some of the top branches seemed still alive, and had leaves. Again, even when quite sound, those trees were extremely anæmic and soft, quite watery inside, and could be cut almost as easily as celery.
This does not mean that all the trees of Brazil were worthless. No, indeed. These remarks apply merely to that particular portion of Brazil in which I was then travelling—where, barring the burity palms in the moist lands and marshes, the trees were mostly rickety and dwarfed, with mouldy barks, malformed limbs, and scanty leaves. That is why, when we came to the healthy mass of burity palms and the lovely young grass, one felt just the same as when, after having been through a hospital, one emerges into the fresh air among healthy people.
That night we encamped on the heavenly meadow. We felt we had reached Paradise. For the first time great flocks of parrots and gorgeously-coloured macaws played about and enlivened the air with their shrill whistles and shrieks, and flew over the palms, gently swung to and fro by the wind. Then innumerable colibris—the tiny humming-birds, of marvellous iridescent metallic tints—sucked now from one then from another flower while still flying. Indeed, that spot seemed the rendez-vous of all the animals of that region. There you found onças (jaguar), anta (a large pachyderm), the Tapirus Americanus, the tamandua bandeira, with its worm-like tongue, (or Myrmecophaga jubata), and plenty of veado (Cervus elaphus). The footmarks of all those animals were innumerable near the water.