The second day after my arrival in Cuyabá I met a German commercial traveler named Huber who represented a Rosario importing house of harvesting machinery. He was bound to Diamantino and having heard that I had the same destination, suggested that we should make the trip together as he had but little use for the natives, thinking that they might murder and rob him en route. I agreed but said that in case he accompanied me he would have to deviate from his route for a day to see the source of the Paraguay. He said that it was a lot of nonsense and that I could see these springs on my way back. I replied that I had no object to go to Diamantino excepting to rest a day or so after having seen the springs, and that having come so far to see them I would do so anyhow, regardless of whether he would accompany me or not. Huber became disgruntled and told me he would let me know that night whether he would go to the unnecessary trouble to view this "dummheit" as he called it. He spent most of the day interviewing the foreign element of Cuyabá inquiring if anyone else in the place had the intention of setting out for Diamantino within the next couple of days. His inquiries evidently were met with negative answers for as I was about to retire he came to my room and stated that he was ready to set out with me the following morning.
Early in the morning we set out with two guides which we had engaged through the medium of the Italian consular agent and followed a cart road along the east bank of the Cuyabá River, which was becoming so narrow that one could easily heave a good-sized stone across it. At noon we stopped at a miserable leper-infested place named Guia, the center of a stock country, and by nightfall reached the hamlet of Brotas. Not wishing to share my bed with the vermin that infested the botequim which went by the name of hotel, I hung my hammock between two trees in the rear of the establishment.
At the end of the second day we arrived at dusk at the large village of Rosario da Cuyabá, finely situated on a height of land on the west bank of the Cuyabá River which we forded below the town. This Rosario is at the foot of some low mountains and is a pleasant place although but a wreck of its former self. It was once quite a placer center, and some diamonds were found here that are now among the crown jewels of Austria. There is a fairly comfortable four-bedroom hotel where I spent the night, but got but little sleep on account of the hooting of an owl in a nearby bush. The hotel is owned by a Spaniard who has resided for over thirty years in the country. In the meantime he took one trip back to Spain but returned as he preferred Matto Grosso. Rosario is 998 feet above sea level, being 597 feet higher than Cuyabá. I think its population is in excess of two thousand. There is a project on hand to inaugurate an electric lighting plant and to build a charqueada.
From here to Diamantino it is a hard two days' ride if one wishes to visit the source of the Paraguay owing to the detour of about six hours. The road that wound up the low mountains named the Serra Azul is no better than a cow path, and was extremely rocky and slippery. The shrubbery is very thick and is covered with thorns, although there are no large trees. Occasionally a clearing is met where languid natives have attempted to grow enough legumes for their meager wants, together with the omnipresent sugarcane patch which supplies them with enough cachaca for their frequent debauches. Their huts are painted pink or white and can be seen from a great distance, at which point of vantage they always appear at their best. At one of these fazendas, as the farms are called, we stopped for the night. A small stream but a couple of inches deep, filled with pebbles and where pools were formed with watercress, trickled through the fazenda. It served the farmer with his supply of drinking water, water for his stock, the washing place of his clothes, as well as the washing place for the feet of his numerous offspring. On each side of the rivulet were trees and from them we slung our hammocks. One end of my hammock was tied to a tree on the left bank, the other end to a tree on the right bank; if the rope had broken or come loose, I would have dropped into the creek. The hospitality of the inhabitants of the tropics of South America is in marked contrast to the stinginess and mean actions of those people that inhabit the Andean uplands. Nowhere in Paraguay or Brazil have I been subjected to the discourtesy and suspicion that greet every traveler in the mountains of Peru or Bolivia. This particular fazendado not only insisted upon helping our guides cook the meals, but also added canned goods which he had bought in Cuyabá, and refused to accept any pecuniary remuneration therefor. The next morning he accompanied us for a few miles on his pony and also went to much trouble to point out to us where the best paths were.
From the top of the Serra Azul near where the fazenda was situated, a broad valley was seen to open out at our feet. It was swampy, and was carpeted with marsh grasses and rushes which were yellow. To the northwest the sun reflected on a tortuous silver thread which was the river. In several places the stream lost itself behind islets of mangrove while in front of us it was barely perceptible on account of the tules in the bog which screened it from view. Our guides pointed out what seemed to be a group of palmettos several kilometers to the east and informed us that there were the springs from which the Paraguay had its source. Leaving the cart track we galloped over the oozing sod of black muck at the risk of getting our horses stalled in the mire. Great blue herons, startled at our approach, rose from the tules, emitting shrill cries, and flew away to a place of safety, the noise of their flapping wings sounding like that made by a person beating a rug. Near the tops of some trees resembling water oaks we observed some egrets, but unfortunately they were at too great a distance to bring down with a revolver shot.
The appearance of the source of the Paraguay River was much different in details from Dr. Martius' woodcut, yet in general aspects it had quite a resemblance. The drawing that I saw was made nearly a century ago, and during that lapse of time the features of the immediate landscape may have changed. It may have been that the drawing in Martius' work was made from memory, away from the spot, and that not being present at the pool when the drawing was made, his memory was not accurate. Some of the hiaty palms may in the meantime have died and rotted. It was impossible for me to photograph it on account of the noonday shadowless sun, but I made a rough pencil sketch of the scenery.
Picture to yourself a great bog of yellow rushes waving in the sweltering noonday heat with no trees in sight, excepting a nearly perfect circle of eleven hiaty palms; inscribe in this circle a pool of dark steel-blue transparent water. This pool is about 150 feet in diameter, and on its surface float several gigantic pan-like leaves of Victoria Regia. From where I stood I saw that the pool abounded with small fishes. Looking into the water, I saw several feet beneath the surface something that appeared to be a rocky ledge. At its side and beneath it from which bubbles constantly rose was a black hole of Stygian darkness. This I conjectured was the main spring. On a branch of one of the palm trees perched an owl, the only living thing in sight excepting ourselves and our horses. I was seized with a desire to take a plunge and a swim in this pond, the zenith of my quest and the goal of many years' thoughts. Yet I had the feeling that this harmless-looking water might conceal some reptile, an alligator or giant turtle, so I quickly gave up the idea, but lying on my belly I gulped down several large swallows of the water, which sad to relate was not as cool as I had imagined it to be and also had a rank taste as of decaying vegetable matter.
The water flowing from the pool does not take any definite bed, but at first spreads out over quite an area, a few inches deep, between the thousands of marshy islets, mere detached tufts of sod but a few feet wide. A quarter of a mile below the pool the numerous channels unite into two watercourses, which at a short distance farther converge into a single creek. This creek is but a few feet wide, and is clear and clean, a remarkable phenomenon on account of the muddy swamp which it traverses.
Leaving the pool we made for the northern horizon defined by a height of land resembling low hills, but had some difficulty on account of the horses continually stumbling and tripping themselves on the roots of a species of creeper that had white blossoms and which covered the landscape at the edge of the marsh. After an hour's ride we reached the hills and came upon a distinct cattle path which wound through a jungle and finally brought us out on a cart road.