I held on to the canoe desperately, as we were banged about for a few seconds in a way that nearly stunned us, the waves striking me in the face with such force that it took me some moments to recover. When I did I found that we were already out of the channel and in the whirlpool, the canoe full of water but fortunately saved.
I lose most things in the world, but I never lose my patience nor my sense of humour. I could not help laughing when I looked at the expression on the faces of my dogs—an expression of terror and astonishment, as they looked first at the place from which we had emerged and then at me, which I am sure would have meant in words: "Good gracious! where in the world are you taking us?"
We had to halt as soon as convenient in order to cut some new paddles. It took my men some hours to recover from the effects of that experience.
As is generally the case after a violent emotion, a great deal of merriment was produced, my men for the rest of the day talking about the incident and reproducing in a realistic way the sounds of the rushing water and the impact of the waves against the canoe.
We found after that a great basin 3,000 m. long, 1,300 m. broad, from west to east, with a lovely sand beach 1,000 m. long on its eastern side.
Conveying the Canoe through the Forest.
(Notice the side of the canoe split and stuffed with pieces of cloth.)
At last—after all that time without meeting a soul—I came across a small tribe of Mundurucus—six of them all counted. They had their aldeja, or village, on the right side of the stream. Their chief rejoiced in the name of João. They were tiny little fellows, the tallest only 5 ft. in height. If you had met them anywhere else than in Central Brazil you would have mistaken them for Japanese, so exactly like them were they in appearance. Their faces were of a very dark yellow, almost black, with perfectly straight hair, just like the Japanese or their near cousins, the Tagalos of the Philippine Islands.
