The Naturalist on the River Amazons

by Henry Walter Bates

With the exception of three Mameluco families and a stray Portuguese trader, all the inhabitants of the village and neighbourhood are semi-civilised Indians of the Shumána and Passé tribes. The forests of the Tunantins, however, are inhabited by a tribe of wild Indians called Caishánas, who resemble much, in their social condition and manners, the debased Murás of the Lower Amazons, and have, like them, shown no aptitude for civilised life in any shape. Their huts commence at the distance of an hour’s walk from the village, along gloomy and narrow forest paths. My first and only visit to a Caishána dwelling was accidental. One day, having extended my walk further than usual, and followed one of the forest-roads until it became a mere picada, or hunters’ track, I came suddenly upon a well-trodden pathway, bordered on each side with Lycopodia of the most elegant shapes, the tips of the fronds stretching almost like tendrils down the little earthy slopes which formed the edge of the path. The road, though smooth, was narrow and dark, and in many places blocked up by trunks of felled trees, which had been apparently thrown across by the timid Indians on purpose to obstruct the way to their habitations. Half-a-mile of this shady road brought me to a small open space on the banks of a brook or creek, on the skirts of which stood a conical hut with a very low doorway. There was also an open shed, with stages made of split palm-stems, and a number of large wooden troughs. Two or three dark-skinned children, with a man and woman, were in the shed; but, immediately on espying me, all of them ran to the hut, bolting through the little doorway like so many wild animals scared into their burrows. A few moments after, the man put his head out with a look of great distrust; but, on my making the most friendly gestures I could think of, he came forth with the children. They were all smeared with black mud and paint; the only clothing of the elders was a kind of apron made of the inner bark of the sapucaya-tree, and the savage aspect of the man was heightened by his hair hanging over his forehead to the eyes. I stayed about two hours in the neighbourhood, the children gaining sufficient confidence to come and help me to search for insects. The only weapon used by the Caishánas is the blow-gun, and this is employed only in shooting animals for food. They are not a warlike people, like most of the neighbouring tribes on the Japurá and Issá.

The whole tribe of Caishánas does not exceed 400 souls in number. None of them are baptised Indians, and they do not dwell in villages, like the more advanced sections of the Tupi stock; but each family has its own solitary hut. They are quite harmless, do not practise tattooing, or perforate their ears and noses in any way. Their social condition is of a low type, very little removed, indeed, from that of the brutes living in the same forests. They do not appear to obey any common chief, and I could not make out that they had Pajés, or medicine-men, those rudest beginnings of a priest class. Symbolical or masked dances, and ceremonies in honour of the Juruparí, or demon, customs which prevail amongst all the surrounding tribes, are unknown to the Caishánas. There is among them a trace of festival keeping; but the only ceremony used is the drinking of cashiri beer, and fermented liquors made of Indian-corn, bananas, and so forth. These affairs, however, are conducted in a degenerate style, for they do not drink to intoxication, or sustain the orgies for several days and nights in succession, like the Jurís Passés, and Tucúnas. The men play a musical instrument, made of pieces of stem of the arrow-grass cut in different lengths and arranged like Pan-pipes. With this they wile away whole hours, lolling in ragged, bast hammocks slung in their dark, smoky huts. The Tunantins people say that the Caishánas have persecuted the wild animals and birds to such an extent near their settlements that there is now quite a scarcity of animal food. If they kill a Toucan, it is considered an important event, and the bird is made to serve as a meal for a score or more persons. They boil the meat in earthenware kettles filled with Tucupi sauce, and eat it with beiju, or mandioca-cakes. The women are not allowed to taste of the meat, but forced to content themselves with sopping pieces of cake in the liquor.

November 30th.—I left Tunantins in a trading schooner of eighty tons burthen belonging to Senhor Batalha, a tradesman of Ega, which had been out all the summer collecting produce, and was commanded by a friend of mine, a young Paraense, named Francisco Raiol. We arrived, on the 3rd of December, at the mouth of the Jutahí, a considerable stream about half a mile broad, and flowing with a very sluggish current. This is one of the series of six rivers, from 400 to 1000 miles in length, which flow from the south-west through unknown lands lying between Bolivia and the Upper Amazons, and enter this latter river between the Madeira and the Ucayáli. We remained at anchor four days within the mouth of the Sapó, a small tributary of the Jutahí flowing from the south-east; Senhor Raiol having to send an igarité to the Cupatána, a large tributary some few miles farther up the river, to fetch a cargo of salt-fish. During this time we made several excursions in the montaria to various places in the neighbourhood. Our longest trip was to some Indian houses, a distance of fifteen or eighteen miles up the Sapó, a journey made with one Indian paddler, and occupying a whole day. The stream is not more than forty or fifty yards broad; its waters are darker in colour than those of the Jutahí, and flow, as in all these small rivers, partly under shade between two lofty walls of forest. We passed, in ascending, seven habitations, most of them hidden in the luxuriant foliage of the banks; their sites being known only by small openings in the compact wall of forest, and the presence of a canoe or two tied up in little shady ports. The inhabitants are chiefly Indians of the Marauá tribe, whose original territory comprised all the small by-streams lying between the Jutahí and the Juruá, near the mouths of both these great tributaries. They live in separate families or small hordes, have no common chief, and are considered as a tribe little disposed to adopt civilised customs or be friendly with the whites. One of the houses belonged to a Jurí family, and we saw the owner, an erect, noble-looking old fellow, tattooed, as customary with his tribe, in a large patch over the middle of his face, fishing under the shade of a colossal tree in his port with hook and line. He saluted us in the usual grave and courteous manner of the better sort of Indians as we passed by.

We reached the last house, or rather two houses, about ten o’clock, and spent several hours there during the great heat of midday. The houses, which stood on a high clayey bank, were of quadrangular shape, partly open like sheds, and partly enclosed with rude mud-walls, forming one or more chambers. The inhabitants, a few families of Marauás, comprising about thirty persons, received us in a frank, smiling manner: a reception which may have been due to Senhor Raiol being an old acquaintance and somewhat of a favourite. None of them were tattooed; but the men had great holes pierced in their ear-lobes, in which they insert plugs of wood, and their lips were drilled with smaller holes. One of the younger men, a fine strapping fellow nearly six feet high, with a large aquiline nose, who seemed to wish to be particularly friendly with me, showed me the use of these lip-holes, by fixing a number of little white sticks in them, and then twisting his mouth about and going through a pantomime to represent defiance in the presence of an enemy. Nearly all the people were disfigured by dark blotches on the skin, the effect of a cutaneous disease very prevalent in this part of the country. The face of one old man was completely blackened, and looked as though it had been smeared with black lead, the blotches having coalesced to form one large patch. Others were simply mottled; the black spots were hard and rough, but not scaly, and were margined with rings of a colour paler than the natural hue of the skin. I had seen many Indians and a few half-castes at Tunantins, and afterwards saw others at Fonte Boa, blotched in the same way. The disease would seem to be contagious, for I was told that a Portuguese trader became disfigured with it after cohabiting some years with an Indian woman. It is curious that, although prevalent in many places on the Solimoens, no resident of Ega exhibited signs of the disease: the early explorers of the country, on noticing spotted skins to be very frequent in certain localities, thought they were peculiar to a few tribes of Indians. The younger children in these houses on the Sapó were free from spots; but two or three of them, about ten years of age, showed signs of their commencement in rounded yellowish patches on the skin, and these appeared languid and sickly, although the blotched adults seemed not to be affected in their general health. A middle-aged half-caste at Fonte Boa told me he had cured himself of the disorder by strong doses of sarsaparilla; the black patches had caused the hair of his beard and eyebrows to fall off, but it had grown again since his cure.

When my tall friend saw me, after dinner, collecting insects along the paths near the houses, he approached, and, taking me by the arm, led me to a mandioca shed, making signs, as he could speak very little Tupi, that he had something to show. I was not a little surprised when, having mounted the girao, or stage of split palm-stems, and taken down an object transfixed to a post, he exhibited, with an air of great mystery, a large chrysalis suspended from a leaf, which he placed carefully in my hands, saying, “Pána-paná curí” (Tupí: butterfly by-and-by). Thus I found that the metamorphoses of insects were known to these savages; but being unable to talk with my new friend, I could not ascertain what ideas such a phenomenon had given rise to in his mind. The good fellow did not leave my side during the remainder of our stay; but, thinking apparently that I had come here for information, he put himself to considerable trouble to give me all he could. He made a quantity of Hypadú or Coca powder that I might see the process; going about the task with much action and ceremony, as though he were a conjuror performing some wonderful trick.

We left these friendly people about four o’clock in the afternoon, and in descending the umbrageous river, stopped, about half-way down, at another house, built in one of the most charming situations I had yet seen in this country. A clean, narrow, sandy pathway led from the shady port to the house, through a tract of forest of indescribable luxuriance. The buildings stood on an eminence in the middle of a level cleared space; the firm sandy soil, smooth as a floor, forming a broad terrace around them. The owner was a semi-civilised Indian, named Manoel; a dull, taciturn fellow, who, together with his wife and children, seemed by no means pleased at being intruded on in their solitude. The family must have been very industrious, for the plantations were very extensive, and included a little of almost all kinds of cultivated tropical productions: fruit trees, vegetables, and even flowers for ornament. The silent old man had surely a fine appreciation of the beauties of nature, for the site he had chosen commanded a view of surprising magnificence over the summits of the forest; and, to give finish to the prospect, he had planted a large quantity of banana trees in the foreground, thus concealing the charred and dead stumps which would otherwise have marred the effect of the rolling sea of greenery. The only information I could get out of Manoel was, that large flocks of richly-coloured birds came down in the fruit season and despoiled his trees. The sun set over the tree-tops before we left this little Eden, and the remainder of our journey was made slowly and pleasantly, under the chequered shades of the river banks, by the light of the moon.

December 7th.—Arrived at Fonte Boa; a wretched, muddy, and dilapidated village situated two or three miles within the mouth of a narrow by-stream called the Cayhiar-hy, which runs almost as straight as an artificial canal between the village and the main Amazons. The character of the vegetation and soil here was different from that of all other localities I had hitherto examined; I had planned, therefore, to devote six weeks to the place. Having written beforehand to one of the principal inhabitants, Senhor Venancio, a house was ready for me on landing. The only recommendation of the dwelling was its coolness. It was, in fact, rather damp; the plastered walls bore a crop of green mold, and a slimy moisture oozed through the black, dirty floor; the rooms were large, but lighted by miserable little holes in place of windows. The village is built on a clayey plateau, and the ruinous houses are arranged round a large square, which is so choked up with tangled bushes that it is quite impassable, the lazy inhabitants having allowed the fine open space to relapse into jungle. The stiff clayey eminence is worn into deep gullies which slope towards the river, and the ascent from the port in rainy weather is so slippery that one is obliged to crawl up to the streets on all fours. A large tract of ground behind the place is clear of forest, but this, as well as the streets and gardens, is covered with a dense, tough carpet of shrubs, having the same wiry nature as our common heath. Beneath its deceitful covering the soil is always moist and soft, and in the wet season the whole is converted into a glutinous mud swamp. There is a very pretty church in one corner of the square, but in the rainy months of the year (nine out of twelve) the place of worship is almost inaccessible to the inhabitants on account of the mud, the only means of getting to it being by hugging closely the walls and palings, and so advancing sideways step by step.

I remained in this delectable place until the 25th of January, 1857. Fonte Boa, in addition to its other amenities, has the reputation throughout the country of being the headquarters of mosquitoes, and it fully deserves the title. They are more annoying in the houses by day than by night, for they swarm in the dark and damp rooms, keeping, in the daytime, near the floor, and settling by half-dozens together on the legs. At night the calico tent is a sufficient protection; but this is obliged to be folded every morning, and in letting it down before sunset, great care is required to prevent even one or two of the tormentors from stealing in beneath, their insatiable thirst for blood, and pungent sting, making these enough to spoil all comfort. In the forest the plague is much worse; but the forest-mosquito belongs to a different species from that of the town, being much larger, and having transparent wings; it is a little cloud that one carries about one’s person every step on a woodland ramble, and their hum is so loud that it prevents one hearing well the notes of birds. The town-mosquito has opaque speckled wings, a less severe sting, and a silent way of going to work; the inhabitants ought to be thankful the big, noisy fellows never come out of the forest. In compensation for the abundance of mosquitoes, Fonte Boa has no piums; there was, therefore, some comfort outside one’s door in the daytime; the comfort, however, was lessened by their being scarcely any room in front of the house to sit down or walk about, for, on our side of the square, the causeway was only two feet broad, and to step over the boundary, formed by a line of slippery stems of palms, was to sink up to the knees in a sticky swamp.

Notwithstanding damp and mosquitoes, I had capital health, and enjoyed myself much at Fonte Boa; swampy and weedy places being generally more healthy than dry ones in the Amazons, probably owing to the absence of great radiation of heat from the ground. The forest was extremely rich and picturesque, although the soil was everywhere clayey and cold, and broad pathways threaded it for many a mile over hill and dale. In every hollow flowed a sparkling brook, with perennial and crystal waters. The margins of these streams were paradises of leafiness and verdure; the most striking feature being the variety of ferns, with immense leaves, some terrestrial, others climbing over trees, and two, at least, arborescent. I saw here some of the largest trees I had yet seen; there was one especially, a cedar, whose colossal trunk towered up for more than a hundred feet, straight as an arrow; I never saw its crown, which was lost to view, from below, beyond the crowd of lesser trees which surrounded it. Birds and monkeys in this glorious forest were very abundant; the bear-like Pithecia hirsuta being the most remarkable of the monkeys, and the Umbrella Chatterer and Curl-crested Toucans amongst the most beautiful of the birds. The Indians and half-castes of the village have made their little plantations, and built huts for summer residence on the banks of the rivulets, and my rambles generally terminated at one or other of these places. The people were always cheerful and friendly, and seemed to be glad when I proposed to join them at their meals, contributing the contents of my provision-bag to the dinner, and squatting down amongst them on the mat.

The village was formerly a place of more importance than it now is, a great number of Indians belonging to the most industrious tribes, Shumánas, Passés, and Cambévas, having settled on the site and adopted civilised habits, their industry being directed by a few whites, who seem to have been men of humane views as well as enterprising traders. One of these old employers, Senhor Guerreiro, a well-educated Paraense, was still trading on the Amazons when I left the country in 1859: he told me that forty years previously Fonte Boa was a delightful place to live in. The neighbourhood was then well cleared, and almost free from mosquitoes, and the Indians were orderly, industrious, and happy. What led to the ruin of the settlement was the arrival of several Portuguese and Brazilian traders of a low class, who in their eagerness for business taught the easy-going Indians all kinds of trickery and immorality. They enticed the men and women away from their old employers, and thus broke up the large establishments, compelling the principals to take their capital to other places. At the time of my visit there were few pure-blood Indians at Fonte Boa, and no true whites. The inhabitants seemed to be nearly all Mamelucos, and were a loose-living, rustic, plain-spoken and ignorant set of people. There was no priest or schoolmaster within 150 miles, and had not been any for many years: the people seemed to be almost without government of any kind, and yet crime and deeds of violence appeared to be of very rare occurrence. The principal man of the village, one Senhor Justo, was a big, coarse, energetic fellow, sub-delegado of police, and the only tradesman who owned a large vessel running directly between Fonte Boa and Pará. He had recently built a large house, in the style of middle-class dwellings of towns, namely, with brick floors and tiled roof, the bricks and tiles having been brought from Pará, 1500 miles distant, the nearest place where they are manufactured in surplus. When Senhor Justo visited me he was much struck with the engravings in a file of Illustrated London News, which lay on my table. It was impossible to resist his urgent entreaties to let him have some of them, “to look at,” so one day he carried off a portion of the papers on loan. A fortnight afterwards, on going to request him to return them, I found the engravings had been cut out, and stuck all over the newly whitewashed walls of his chamber, many of them upside down. He thought a room thus decorated with foreign views would increase his importance amongst his neighbours, and when I yielded to his wish to keep them, was boundless in demonstrations of gratitude, ending by shipping a boat-load of turtles for my use at Ega.