Across Unknown South America

by Arnold Henry Savage Landor

In the evening we came in for another storm, the rain being torrential through nearly the entire night. During the day I had had the optical illusion of trees falling upon me. During the night I had the real thing. The upper part of the tree to which I had tied my hammock came down with a terrific crash during a heavy gust of wind, and just missed my head by a few inches. As it was it tore down my hammock with me inside it, and I received a bump that I shall not forget in a hurry.

We certainly seemed to have no luck whatever on that fateful expedition! Aching all over, soaked right through, water dripping down my hands, nose and hair like so many little fountains, I proceeded to tie my hammock to another tree, while poor Filippe and Benedicto, who had been caught in the foliage and branches of the falling tree, were trying to disentangle themselves from their unpleasant position. The tree had fallen because it had been eaten up internally by ants. When it came down upon us they simply swarmed over us, and bit us all over for all they were worth. I have no wish whatever to have another such miserable night.

On September 18th we lost the whole morning owing to the torrential rain which continued. We had not the strength to go on.

Now that Filippe and Benedicto had absolute faith in my compass, I had again left the river where it described a big turn toward the south-west, and it was not until two o'clock that afternoon that I struck the big stream once more and we followed its right bank.

To our great delight we came to a small clearing where some years before mandioca had been cultivated. We threw down our loads at once and proceeded to search for roots. To our great joy we found one small root, about as big as a small carrot. We made a fire. Oh! the anxiety in lighting up that fire, as we only had eight matches left, and they had got damp.

Filippe, who was the expert in striking matches, was entrusted with the job. Alas! he struck and struck time after time the first match against the box until its head was worn off altogether, and no flame was produced. With some anxiety we watched the second match having a similar fate.

The men said that the root we had found was of wild mandioca, and if we ate it raw we should certainly all die, but if roasted properly over a flame it lost some of its poisonous qualities. We all had our eyes fixed on that root, and felt the happiest of mortals, as if the most expensive banquet had all of a sudden been placed before us. It was a great relief when Filippe struck the third match and it actually produced a flame. We lighted a fire, roasting the valuable root upon it.

Benedicto, who was the culinary expert, roasted the root until it was nearly carbonized, and by the time he took it out of the flame we had each of us left for our share a section of its fibrous core not larger than a well-smoked cigarette stump.

We devoured that luxurious meal in haste. It tasted as bitter as aloes. No sooner had I eaten it than I felt extremely ill, my men also experiencing a similar sensation. Benedicto was the first one to vomit painfully and cough violently; then came my turn, then Filippe's. So our first meal was not much of a success.

The little strength we had seemed now to have disappeared altogether. We lay helpless upon the bank of the river, unable to move. Once or twice Filippe shouted for help, thinking that our voices might be heard, but no answer ever came to our cries.