[Hunting Turtles' Eggs]

The tropics, moreover, are strangers to the uniformity of association seen in temperate climes. We have so many social plants that we speak of a forest of oaks, and pines, and birches; but there variety is the law. Individuals of the same species are seldom seen growing together. Every tree is surrounded by strangers that seemingly prefer its room to its company; and, such is the struggle for possession of the soil, it is difficult to tell to which stem the different leaves and flowers belong. The peculiar charm of a tropical forest is increased by the mystery of its impenetrable thicket. Within that dense, matted shrubbery, and behind that phalanx of trees, the imagination of the traveler sees all manner of four-footed beasts and creeping things. Tropical vegetation is of fresher verdure, more luxuriant and succulent, and adorned with larger and more shining leaves than the vegetation of the north. The leaves are not shed periodically—a character common, not only to the equator, but also to the whole southern hemisphere. Yet there is a variety of tints, though not autumnal. The leaves put on their best attire while budding instead of falling—passing, as they come to maturity, through different shades of red, brown, and green. The majority of tropical trees bear small flowers. The most conspicuous trees are the palms, to which the prize of beauty has been given by the concurrent voice of all ages. The earliest civilization of mankind belonged to countries bordering on the region of palms. South America, the continent of mingled heat and moisture, excels the rest of the world in the number and perfection of her palms. They are mostly of the feathery and fan-like species; the latter are inferior in rank to the former. The peculiarly majestic character of the palm is given not only by their lofty stems, but also in a very high degree by the form and arrangement of their leaves. How diverse, yet equally graceful, are the aspiring branches of the jagua and the drooping foliage of the cocoa, the shuttlecock-shaped crowns of the ubussú and the plumes of the jupati, forty feet in length. The inflorescence always springs from the top of the trunk, and the male flowers are generally yellowish. Unlike the oak, all species of which have similar fruit, there is a vast difference in the fruits of the palm: compare the triangular cocoa-nut, the peach-like date, and grape-like assai. The silk-cotton tree is the rival of the palm in dignity; it has a white bark and a lofty flat crown. Among the loveliest children of Flora we must include the mimosa, with its delicately pinnated foliage, so endowed with sensibility that it seems to have stepped out of the bounds of vegetable life. The bamboo, the king of grasses, forms a distinctive feature in the landscape of the Napo, frequently rising eighty feet in length, though not in height, for the fronds curve downward. Fancy the airy grace of our meadow grasses united with the lordly growth of the poplar, and you have a faint idea of bamboo beauty.

The first day of winter (how strangely that sounds under a vertical sun!) was Sunday; but it was folly to attempt to rest where punkies were as thick as atoms, so we floated on. It was only by keeping in mid-river and moving rapidly enough to create a breeze through our cabin, that life was made tolerable. A little after noon we were again obliged to tie up for a storm. Not a human being nor a habitation have we seen since leaving Coca; and to-day nothing is visible but the river, with its islands, and plains, and the green palisades—the edges of the boundless forest. Not a hill over one hundred feet high are we destined to see till we reach Obidos, fifteen hundred miles eastward. Were it not for the wealth of vegetation—all new to trans-tropical eyes—and the concerts of monkeys and macaws, oppressively lonely would be the sail down the Napo between its uninhabited shores. But we believe the day, though distant, will come when its banks will be busy with life. Toward evening three or four canoes pulled out from the shore and came alongside. They were filled with the lowest class of Indians we have seen in South America. The women were nearly nude; the man (there was only one) had on a sleeveless frock reaching to the knees, made from the bark of a tree called llanchama. All were destitute of eyebrows; their hair was parted in the middle, and their teeth and lips were dyed black. They had rude pottery, peccari meat, and wooden lances to sell. Like all the Napo Indians, they had a weakness for beads, and they wore necklaces of tiger and monkey teeth. They were stupid rather than brutal, and probably belonged to a degraded tribe of the great Zaparo family. With Darwin, "one's mind hurries back over past centuries, and then asks, could our progenitors have been men like these?—men whose very signs and expressions are less intelligible to us than those of the domesticated animals; men who do not possess the instinct of those animals, nor yet appear to boast of human reason, or, at least, of arts consequent on that reason. I do not believe it is possible to describe or paint the difference between savage and civilized man. It is the difference between a wild and tame animal; and part of the interest in beholding a savage is the same which would lead every one to desire to see the lion in his desert, the tiger tearing his prey in the jungle, or the rhinoceros wandering over the wild plains of Africa."

On the morrow our falcon-eyed Indians whispered "cuche" long before we saw any thing.[129] Williams went ashore and came upon a herd of peccaries, killing two. The peccari is a pugnacious, fearless animal. It is not frightened by the noise of fire-arms, and when wounded is a dangerous foe; but captured when young, it is easily tamed. It has a higher back than the domestic hog, and cleanlier habits; an odoriferous gland on the loins, and three-toed hind feet. We preserved the skins for science and a ham for the table; the rest we gave to our crew and fellow-voyagers, who devoured every thing, even the viscera. They sat up late that night, around their camp-fire, cooking peccari meat: part they parboiled in a pot, and some they roasted, skewered on sticks which slanted over the flames; the rest they cured with smoke, for lack of salt. The meat, though rank, is palatable, but not equal to macaw, which we served up the next day.[130]

We had now passed the mouth of the Aguarico, leaving behind us the Christian Quitus and the peaceful Zaparos. Henceforth the right bank of the Napo is inhabited by the Mazanes and Iquitos; while on the left are the wilder Santa Marias, Anguteros, Oritos, and Orejones. The Orejones, or "Big Ears," enlarge those appendages to such an extent that they are said to lie down on one ear and cover themselves with the other. This practice is now going out of fashion. These Indians received their name, Orejones, or Oregones, from the Spaniards, on account of this singular custom of inserting disks of wood in the ears to enlarge them; the like practice prevailed among the tribes on the Columbia River, Oregon. They trade in hammocks, poisons, and provisions. The Anguteros, or Putumayos, have a bad reputation. They are reported to have killed and robbed sarsaparilla traders coming up stream. Nevertheless, we kept watch only one night during the voyage, though we always anchored to an island, and between Coca and the Amazon we did not see twenty-five men. Equally rare were the savage brutes—not a jaguar showed himself, and only one anaconda. The anaconda, or water-boa (Eunectes murinus[131]), is larger and more formidable than the boa-constrictor which lives on the land. It has a hideous appearance, broad in the middle, and tapering abruptly at both ends. We did not learn from the natives that anacondas over twenty feet long had been seen on the Napo, but specimens twice that size are found on the Amazon. Land boas do not often exceed fifteen feet in length.