Across Unknown South America

by Arnold Henry Savage Landor

The strong fever was wearing me out. The dissatisfaction of my men because we had no more food—it was their own fault, for they had insisted on leaving most of it behind—and their constant grumbling were tiring me to death. We killed a small bird in the evening. By the time we had broiled it over a flame it satisfied but little our ravenous appetites.

On October 3rd we reached quantities of boulders and rocks, which showed me that we were once more approaching the extensive rocky table-land I had seen on our outward journey. As we climbed up higher and higher we came to an elevated streamlet of limpid water running in a channel carved out of the solid rock. It took us over two hours' steady marching, going perhaps some 2½ miles an hour, to cross the summit of that high rocky tableland. Then we descended through chapada and found ourselves among a lot of ravines, on the slope of one of which we halted for the night. There we killed two large monkeys, which we proceeded to broil and eat. I never liked the idea of eating monkeys, as I could not get over the feeling that I was eating a child, they looked so human. The hands and arms particularly, after they had been roasted over the fire, looked too human for words.

On October 4th we climbed a steep and rocky hill, crossing on its summit another section of the rocky plateau, a regular dome of grey volcanic rock. Then, descending from this second tableland on its eastern side, we had to struggle and stumble through most rugged country, where I found an extinct circular crater some 50 ft. in diameter and 50 ft. deep, with a vent at an angle in its bottom going apparently to a great depth. Near that spot was also a strange giant natural gateway of rock.

The descent was steep, and most trying for us among the great boulders over which we had to climb on our hands and feet. When we got to the bottom of this elevated country, the forest we found had quite a different aspect, which suggested to me the approach of the big river. We found there plenty of wild fruit, particularly some small black berries—called in Brazilian pattaõa—quite good to eat; also some most palatable tiny red cherries. We wasted a good deal of time picking up the fruit instead of marching, my men complaining all day long of an empty stomach. They would not take my advice to march quickly, so that we might then get plenty of food on the river. During the last few days, as I knew we must have been near the camp where I had left my men in charge of my baggage, we had constantly been firing sets of three shots—the agreed signal—in order to locate the exact spot where they were. But we had received no answer. Failing that, it was impossible to locate them exactly in the virgin forest, unless we had plenty of time and strength at our disposal.

I made sure, by the appearance of the forest, that we were now not far off from the stream. In fact, on October 5th, when we had marched some distance, much to my delight as I walked ahead of my men, who were busy picking up berries as they struggled along, I recognized a little streamlet on which I had made my camp the first night I had started out on our disastrous journey across the forest.

My men, when I mentioned the fact, were sceptical and said it could not possibly be, as we must still be a long distance from the Tapajoz. But we had only gone a few hundred metres farther when I came upon my old camp. There an empty sardine-tin of a special mark which I carried was lying on the ground.

I think that that spoke pretty well for the accuracy with which I could march across the forest by compass. I knew that at that spot we were only 6 kil. from the river. We indulged there in the last tin of the sweet guyabada, which I had kept for an emergency. After that we metaphorically flew through the forest, so fast did we march—if stumbling along constantly and even occasionally falling can be called flying. Even at that last moment, when our hearts were rejoiced, our progress was impeded by a thunderstorm, which broke out with such force that we had to halt for nearly two hours until it slightly abated. The wind howled among the trees, which shook and waved to and fro, some crashing down, so that, with the thunder and lightning and the rush of the water, it seemed a regular pandemonium.

"The devil is angry with us," said Benedicto the philosopher. "He does not want us to get back."

My impatience to get quickly to the river was so great that I could not wait for the storm to be over. In the drenching rain we continued our tramp. My sandals had given way altogether in the quick march that day, and I was once more walking with bare feet. Marching so quickly, one did not always have time to detect thorns. That day my feet were indeed in a pitiable condition.

The last trial of all was yet to be added, when we had come to within 300 m. of the river. The seringueiro, from whose hut we had started on our way out, had evidently since our departure set the forest on fire in order to make a roça so as to cultivate the land. Hundreds of carbonized trees had fallen down in all directions; others had been cut down. So that for those last two or three hundred metres we had to get over or under those burned trees and struggle through their blackened boughs, the stumps of which drove holes into and scratched big patches of skin from my legs, arms and face. Where the skin was not taken off altogether it was smeared all over with the black from the burnt trees. We did not look unlike nigger minstrels, with the exception that we were also bleeding all over.