The Naturalist on the River Amazons

by Henry Walter Bates

To the south my rambles never extended further than the banks of the Irurá, a stream which rises amongst the hills already spoken of, and running through a broad valley, wooded along the margins of the water-courses, falls into the Tapajos, at the head of the bay of Mapirí. All beyond, as before remarked, is terra incognita to the inhabitants of Santarem. The Brazilian settlers on the banks of the Amazons seem to have no taste for explorations by land, and I could find no person willing to accompany me on an excursion further towards the interior. Such a journey would be exceedingly difficult in this country, even if men could be obtained willing to undertake it. Besides, there were reports of a settlement of fierce runaway negroes on the Serra de Mururarú, and it was considered unsafe to go far in that direction, except with a large armed party.

I visited the banks of the Irurá and the rich woods accompanying it, and two other streams in the same neighbourhood, one called the Panéma, and the other the Urumarí, once or twice a week during the whole time of my residence in Santarem, and made large collections of their natural productions. These forest brooks, with their clear, cold waters brawling over their sandy or pebbly beds through wild tropical glens, always had a great charm for me. The beauty of the moist, cool, and luxuriant glades was heightened by the contrast they afforded to the sterile country around them. The bare or scantily wooded hills which surround the valley are parched by the rays of the vertical sun. One of them, the Pico do Irura, forms a nearly perfect cone, rising from a small grassy plain to a height of 500 or 600 feet, and its ascent is excessively fatiguing after the long walk from Santarem over the campos. I tried it one day, but did not reach the summit. A dense growth of coarse grasses clothed the steep sides of the hill, with here and there a stunted tree of kinds found in the plain beneath. In bared places, a red crumbly soil is exposed; and in one part a mass of rock, which appeared to me, from its compact texture and the absence of stratification, to be porphyritic; but I am not geologically sufficient to pronounce on such questions. Mr. Wallace states that he found fragments of scoriæ, and believes the hill to be a volcanic cone. To the south and east of this isolated peak, the elongated ridges or table-topped hills attain a somewhat greater elevation.

The forest in the valley is limited to a tract a few hundred yards in width on each side the different streams; in places where these run along the bases of the hills, the hill-sides facing the water are also richly wooded, although their opposite declivities are bare or nearly so. The trees are lofty and of great variety; amongst them are colossal examples of the Brazil nut tree (Bertholletia excelsa), and the Pikiá. This latter bears a large eatable fruit, curious in having a hollow chamber between the pulp and the kernel, beset with hard spines which produce serious wounds if they enter the skin. The eatable part appeared to me not much more palatable than a raw potato; but the inhabitants of Santarem are very fond of it, and undertake the most toilsome journeys on foot to gather a basketful. The tree which yields the tonka bean (Dipteryx odorata), used in Europe for scenting snuff, is also of frequent occurrence here. It grows to an immense height, and the fruit, which, although a legume, is of a rounded shape, and has but one seed, can be gathered only when it falls to the ground. A considerable quantity (from 1000 to 3000 pounds) is exported annually from Santarem, the produce of the whole region of the Tapajos. An endless diversity of trees and shrubs, some beautiful in flower and foliage, others bearing curious fruits, grow in this matted wilderness. It would be tedious to enumerate many of them. I was much struck with the variety of trees with large and diversely-shaped fruits growing out of the trunk and branches, some within a few inches of the ground, like the cacao. Most of them are called by the natives Cupú, and the trees are of inconsiderable height. One of them called Cupú-aï bears a fruit of elliptical shape and of a dingy earthen colour six or seven inches long, the shell of which is woody and thin, and contains a small number of seeds loosely enveloped in a juicy pulp of very pleasant flavour. The fruits hang like clayey ants’-nests from the branches. Another kind more nearly resembles the cacao; this is shaped something like the cucumber, and has a green ribbed husk. It bears the name of Cacao de macaco, or monkey’s chocolate, but the seeds are smaller than those of the common cacao. I tried once or twice to make chocolate from them. They contain plenty of oil of similar fragrance to that of the ordinary cacao-nut, and make up very well into paste; but the beverage has a repulsive clayey colour and an inferior flavour.

My excursions to the Irurá had always a picnic character. A few rude huts are scattered through the valley, but they are tenanted only for a few days in the year, when their owners come to gather and roast the mandioca of their small clearings. We used generally to take with us two boys—one negro, the other Indian—to carry our provisions for the day; a few pounds of beef or dried fish, farinha and bananas, with plates, and a kettle for cooking. José carried the guns, ammunition and game-bags, and I the apparatus for entomologising—the insect net, a large leathern bag with compartments for corked boxes, phials, glass tubes, and so forth. It was our custom to start soon after sunrise, when the walk over the campos was cool and pleasant, the sky without a cloud, and the grass wet with dew. The paths are mere faint tracks; in our early excursions it was difficult to avoid missing our way. We were once completely lost, and wandered about for several hours over the scorching soil without recovering the road. A fine view is obtained of the country from the rising ground about half way across the waste. Thence to the bottom of the valley is a long, gentle, grassy slope, bare of trees. The strangely-shaped hills; the forest at their feet, richly varied with palms; the bay of Mapirí on the right, with the dark waters of the Tapajos and its white glistening shores, are all spread out before one, as if depicted on canvas. The extreme transparency of the atmosphere gives to all parts of the landscape such clearness of outline that the idea of distance is destroyed, and one fancies the whole to be almost within reach of the hand. Descending into the valley, a small brook has to be crossed, and then half a mile of sandy plain, whose vegetation wears a peculiar aspect, owing to the predominance of a stemless palm, the Curuá (Attalea spectabilis), whose large, beautifully pinnated, rigid leaves rise directly from the soil. The fruit of this species is similar to the coco-nut, containing milk in the interior of the kernel, but it is much inferior to it in size. Here, and indeed all along the road, we saw, on most days in the wet season, tracks of the jaguar. We never, however, met with the animal, although we sometimes heard his loud “hough” in the night whilst lying in our hammocks at home, in Santarem, and knew he must he lurking somewhere near us.

My best hunting ground was a part of the valley sheltered on one side by a steep hill whose declivity, like the swampy valley beneath, was clothed with magnificent forest. We used to make our halt in a small cleared place, tolerably free from ants and close to the water. Here we assembled after our toilsome morning’s hunt in different directions through the woods, took our well-earned meal on the ground—two broad leaves of the wild banana serving us for a tablecloth—and rested for a couple of hours during the great heat of the afternoon. The diversity of animal productions was as wonderful as that of the vegetable forms in this rich locality. It was pleasant to lie down during the hottest part of the day, when my people lay asleep, and watch the movements of animals. Sometimes a troop of Anús (Crotophaga), a glossy black-plumaged bird, which lives in small societies in grassy places, would come in from the campos, one by one, calling to each other as they moved from tree to tree. Or a Toucan (Rhamphastos ariel) silently hopped or ran along and up the branches, peeping into chinks and crevices. Notes of solitary birds resounded from a distance through the wilderness. Occasionally a sulky Trogon would be seen, with its brilliant green back and rose-coloured breast, perched for an hour without moving on a low branch. A number of large, fat lizards two feet long, of a kind called by the natives Jacuarú (Teius teguexim) were always observed in the still hours of midday scampering with great clatter over the dead leaves, apparently in chase of each other. The fat of this bulky lizard is much prized by the natives, who apply it as a poultice to draw palm spines or even grains of shot from the flesh. Other lizards of repulsive aspect, about three feet in length when full grown, splashed about and swam in the water, sometimes emerging to crawl into hollow trees on the banks of the stream, where I once found a female and a nest of eggs. The lazy flapping flight of large blue and black morpho butterflies high in the air, the hum of insects, and many inanimate sounds, contributed their share to the total impression this strange solitude produced. Heavy fruits from the crowns of trees which were mingled together at a giddy height overhead, fell now and then with a startling “plop” into the water. The breeze, not felt below, stirred in the topmost branches, setting the twisted and looped sipós in motion, which creaked and groaned in a great variety of notes. To these noises were added the monotonous ripple of the brook, which had its little cascade at every score or two yards of its course.

We frequently fell in with an old Indian woman, named Cecilia, who had a small clearing in the woods. She had the reputation of being a witch (feiticeira), and I found, on talking with her, that she prided herself on her knowledge of the black art. Her slightly curled hair showed that she was not a pure-blood Indian: I was told her father was a dark mulatto. She was always very civil to our party, showing us the best paths, explaining the virtues and uses of different plants, and so forth. I was much amused at the accounts she gave of the place. Her solitary life and the gloom of the woods seemed to have filled her with superstitious fancies. She said gold was contained in the bed of the brook, and that the murmur of the water over the little cascades was the voice of the “water-mother” revealing the hidden treasure. A narrow pass between two hillsides was the portao or gate, and all within, along the wooded banks of the stream, was enchanted ground. The hill underneath which we were encamped was the enchanter’s abode, and she gravely told us she often had long conversations with him. These myths were of her own invention, and in the same way an endless number of other similar ones have originated in the childish imaginations of the poor Indian and half-breed inhabitants of different parts of the country. It is to be remarked, however, that the Indian men all become sceptics after a little intercourse with the whites. The witchcraft of poor Cecilia was of a very weak quality. It consisted of throwing pinches of powdered bark of a certain tree, and other substances, into the fire whilst muttering a spell—a prayer repeated backwards—and adding the name of the person on whom she wished the incantation to operate. Some of the feiticeiras, however, play more dangerous tricks than this harmless mummery. They are acquainted with many poisonous plants, and although they seldom have the courage to administer a fatal dose, sometimes contrive to convey to their victim sufficient to cause serious illness. The motive by which they are actuated is usually jealousy of other women in love matters. Whilst I resided in Santarem, a case of what was called witchcraft was tried by the sub-delegado, in which a highly respectable white lady was the complainant. It appeared that some feiticeira had sprinkled a quantity of the acrid juice of a large arum on her linen as it was hanging out to dry, and it was thought this had caused a serious eruption under which the lady suffered.

I seldom met with any of the larger animals in these excursions. We never saw a mammal of any kind on the campos; but tracks of three species were seen occasionally besides those of the jaguar; these belonged to a small tiger cat, a deer, and an opossum, all of which animals must have been very rare, and probably nocturnal in their habits, with the exception of the deer. I saw in the woods, on one occasion, a small flock of monkeys, and once had an opportunity of watching the movements of a sloth. The latter was of the kind called by Cuvier Bradypus tridactylus, which is clothed with shaggy grey hair. The natives call it, in the Tupí language, Aï ybyreté (in Portuguese, Preguiça da terra firme), or sloth of the mainland, to distinguish it from the Bradypus infuscatus, which has a long, black and tawny stripe between the shoulders, and is called Aï Ygapó (Preguiça das vargens), or sloth of the flooded lands. Some travellers in South America have described the sloth as very nimble in its native woods, and have disputed the justness of the name which has been bestowed upon it. The inhabitants of the Amazons region, however, both Indians and descendants of the Portuguese, hold to the common opinion, and consider the sloth as the type of laziness. It is very common for one native to call another, in reproaching him for idleness, “bicho do Embaüba” (beast of the Cecropia tree); the leaves of the Cecropia being the food of the sloth. It is a strange sight to watch the uncouth creature, fit production of these silent shades, lazily moving from branch to branch. Every movement betrays, not indolence exactly, but extreme caution. He never looses his hold from one branch without first securing himself to the next, and when he does not immediately find a bough to grasp with the rigid hooks into which his paws are so curiously transformed, he raises his body, supported on his hind legs, and claws around in search of a fresh foothold. After watching the animal for about half an hour I gave him a charge of shot. He fell with a terrific crash, but caught a bough, in his descent, with his powerful claws, and remained suspended. Our Indian lad tried to climb the tree, but was driven back by swarms of stinging ants; the poor little fellow slid down in a sad predicament, and plunged into the brook to free himself. Two days afterwards I found the body of the sloth on the ground, the animal having dropped on the relaxation of the muscles a few hours after death. In one of our voyages, Mr. Wallace and I saw a sloth (B. infuscatus) swimming across a river, at a place where it was probably 300 yards broad. I believe it is not generally known that this animal takes to the water. Our men caught the beast, cooked, and ate him.

In returning from these trips we were sometimes benighted on the campos. We did not care for this on moonlit nights, when there was no danger of losing the path. The great heat felt in the middle hours of the day is much mitigated by four o’clock in the afternoon; a few birds then make their appearance; small flocks of ground doves run about the stony hillocks parrots pass over and sometimes settle in the ilhas; pretty little finches of several species, especially one kind, streaked with olive-brown and yellow, and somewhat resembling our yellow-hammer, but I believe not belonging to the same genus, hop about the grass, enlivening the place with a few musical notes. The Carashué (Mimus) also then resumes its mellow, blackbird-like song; and two or three species of humming-bird, none of which, however, are peculiar to the district, flit about from tree to tree. On the other hand, the little blue and yellow-striped lizards, which abound amongst the herbage during the scorching heats of midday, retreat towards this hour to their hiding-places, together with the day-flying insects and the numerous campo butterflies. Some of these latter resemble greatly our English species found in heathy places, namely, a fritillary, Argynnis (Euptoieta) Hegesia, and two smaller kinds, which are deceptively like the little Nemeobius Lucina. After sunset, the air becomes delightfully cool and fragrant with the aroma of fruits and flowers. The nocturnal animals then come forth. A monstrous hairy spider, five inches in expanse, of a brown colour with yellowish lines along its stout legs—which is very common here, inhabiting broad tubular galleries smoothly lined with silken web—may be then caught on the watch at the mouth of its burrow. It is only seen at night, and I think does not wander far from its den; the gallery is about two inches in diameter and runs in a slanting direction, about two feet from the surface of the soil. As soon as it is night, swarms of goat-suckers suddenly make their appearance, wheeling about in a noiseless, ghostly manner, in chase of night-flying insects. They sometimes descend and settle on a low branch, or even on the pathway close to where one is walking, and then squatting down on their heels, are difficult to distinguish from the surrounding soil. One kind has a long forked tail. In the daytime they are concealed in the wooded ilhas, where I very often saw them crouched and sleeping on the ground in the dense shade. They make no nest, but lay their eggs on the bare ground. Their breeding time is in the rainy season, and fresh eggs are found from December to June. Later in the evening, the singular notes of the goat-suckers are heard, one species crying Quao, Quao, another Chuck-cococao; and these are repeated at intervals far into the night in the most monotonous manner. A great number of toads are seen on the bare sandy pathways soon after sunset. One of them was quite a colossus, about seven inches in length and three in height. This big fellow would never move out of the way until we were close to him. If we jerked him out of the path with a stick, he would slowly recover himself, and then turn round to have a good impudent stare. I have counted as many as thirty of these monsters within a distance of half a mile.