The journey up the Madeira River had no great interest. By seven o'clock in the evening we arrived at the mouth of the Canuma River—or rather at a channel connecting the Madeira River with the river Canuma, which river actually has its proper mouth about half-way between Itaquatiara and Santarem, at a place called Parintins. By way of the connecting channel the two rivers were only a short distance apart, but that channel was not always navigable. The steam launch, which drew little water, would have difficulty in going through, even at that time, when the water was fairly high.
On the Andes.
A Street of Tarma.
We therefore thought we would stay for the night at the mouth of the channel, and start on our journey by that difficult passage in broad daylight the next day. There was a house on the right-hand side of the mouth of the channel. While we made preparations to make ourselves comfortable for the night on the launch, the pilot went up to the house in order to get an expert at that place to take us through the dangerous channel.
I was just in the middle of my dinner when the pilot sent down a message for me to go up to the house at once, as my presence was required immediately. I struggled up the steep incline, not knowing what was up. Much to my amazement, on reaching the house, I saw before me my man Filippe the negro, who rushed at me and embraced me tenderly, and the other man I had left with him in charge of the baggage. The two men had been picked up by a boat two days up the river Canuma, where I had left them with my baggage, and they had come down expecting to meet me in Manaos. They had got stranded at that place, and although they had hailed one or two steamers which had gone down the river, no one had paid any attention to them, and there they had remained.
"Have you saved the photographs and the baggage, Filippe?" I immediately asked, when I had made certain that both men were in good condition.