Across Unknown South America

by Arnold Henry Savage Landor

We were sitting down, too tired to get up, when Filippe amazed me considerably by the following words, which he spoke in a kind of reverie:

"It would be very easy," he said, "now that you have no more strength yourself, for us two to get the big knife and cut your throat. We know that you have a big, big sum of money upon you, and if we robbed you we would be rich for ever. But we do not want to do it. It would not be much use to us, as we could not get out of the forest alone. I believe we shall all die together, and all that money will go to waste."

Filippe said this in quite a good-natured manner. The two poor fellows were so depressed that one had to forgive them for anything they said.

As the river seemed to describe a big loop, I had left it three days before, seeing plainly by the conformation of the country that we should strike it again sooner or later. We were marching once more by compass. My men, who had no faith whatever in the magnetic needle, were again almost paralysed with fear that we might not encounter the stream again. A thousand times a day they accused me of foolishness in leaving the river, as they said it would have been better to follow its tortuous course—notwithstanding the trouble we had in following it, owing to the dense vegetation near the water—rather than strike once more across country. They were beginning to lose heart altogether, when I told them I could see by the vegetation that we were once more near the water. Anybody accustomed as I am to marching through the forest could tell easily by the appearance of the vegetation some miles before actually getting to a stream.

I reassured my companions, saying that within a few hours we should certainly meet the "big water" again. In fact, not more than half an hour afterwards we suddenly found ourselves once more on the large stream—at that point 70 metres wide.

My men were so amazed and delighted that they embraced me and sobbed over my shoulders for some time. From that moment their admiration for the compass was unbounded; they expected me to find anything with it.

With gladdened hearts we followed the stream again, Benedicto and Filippe shouting at the top of their voices for help in case anybody were near. But they called and called in vain. We listened, but not a sound could be heard, except perhaps that of a crashing tree in the forest—a sound very familiar when marching across Brazil.

The right bank of the Secundury river was high, not less than from 30 to 40 ft., and extremely steep, formed of alluvial deposits with a thick surface layer of decayed vegetation, making a soft carpet. Two small tributary streams had cut deep grooves in the soft earth. In our weak condition we had the greatest trouble in going down the almost vertical banks and climbing up again on the other side.

On September 16th we followed the river once more, crossing three tributaries, the largest of which was 4 m. wide. The forest was beautifully clean underneath, just like a well-kept park. The stems of the trees were as clean as possible up to a great height, the foliage forming a regular roof over us through which little light and only exhausted air penetrated.

Although we could find nothing whatever to eat, my men were not so depressed that day, as they expected to find some living people sooner or later. I did not like to disappoint them, although the fact that we could find no signs of human creatures having recently gone through that region showed me plainly that we were yet far away from salvation.