At noon, January 21, the first detachment of the expedition started. This included all of the Americans and several of the Brazilians to whose number Lieutenants João Lyra and Joaquin de Melho Filho had been added. Captain Amilcar was to follow the next day with the remainder of the caravan. This division of the party was absolutely necessary as, on account of the great number of men and animals required, the expedition would have been unwieldy if it had attempted to move in one body.
The first day’s ride was a short one. Early in the morning the men started to load the pack-animals, many of which were apparently fresh from the ranges and had never been broken to work of any kind; as a result of this there was a good deal of confusion at first. The corrals reminded one of a wild-west show. Guachos, wearing fringed leather aprons, and wicked, keen-edged knives in their belts, and who swore fluently in two or three different languages, lassoed the panicky animals, blindfolded them, and adjusted the packs. When the covering was removed from the animals’ eyes they frequently gave a few sharp snorts, and then started through the corral in a series of rabbit-like leaps, eventually sending the packs, saddles, and all flying in every direction. After freeing themselves of their burden, they gave a few extra high kicks of exultation, and then ran into the huddled mass of their fellows for concealment. Gradually, however, the men became more adept at their work, the mules and oxen quieted down and little groups left the corrals, wound up the trail, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Our mounts were good, strong animals. We cantered up the trail at a brisk gait while Mr. Fiala, who had gone on a few miles in advance, took a motion-picture of the entire outfit, beginning the long journey through wildest Brazil that would end—we knew not where. Unfortunately Mr. Fiala was not present to take a film of the expedition when it emerged at Manaos; the two pictures side by side would have told an interesting story.
A few hours’ ride through forest and brush-covered country brought us to the Rio Sepotuba again, but quite some distance above Tapirapoan, and we crossed the stream on a pontoon made by laying a platform of boards across three dugout canoes. There were a number of new palm-leaf houses on the river-bank, so these were used for the night’s camp instead of erecting the tents.
Next day we were in the saddle by nine, riding through tall virgin forest with occasional stretches of sandy soil in which an expanse of low bushes only grew. It was evident as we penetrated farther into the interior that the forest zone was fast disappearing, to be replaced by the vast chapadão; this latter type of country is high, nearly level, and covered with widely scattered, stunted trees. The heat was intense; there was no rain, but troublesome insects were lacking. At three o’clock we entered an old clearing. Formerly rice, plantains, mandioca, and corn had been cultivated here, but now the place was deserted and overgrown with weeds. Kilometre 52, as the place was called, had been an important camp of the telegraph commission while work was being prosecuted in that region, but had long since been abandoned.
Colonel Roosevelt in the Brazilian chapadão.
A camp in the chapadão.
On January 23 a 32-kilometre ride took us to the site of an old Indian village known as Aldeia Queimada, meaning burnt settlement. A single hut was all that remained, and in this lived two Indian women, each of whom had two husbands and a number of small children. We were adhering closely to the telegraph-line, following the wide swath that had been cleared to protect the wires from falling trees and branches, except when a short détour was desirable to find a better crossing for some small stream. The country was of a gently undulatory character, covered with wiry grass and a very sparse growth of scrubby, gnarled trees. This vegetation is typical of a great part of Matto Grosso. With the exception of a few small deer and a limited number of wood-hewers and jays, there were no evidences of animal life. A clear, cold spring rippled over a pebbly bottom near our night’s camp. It was the last stream we should see that discharged its water (via the Sepotuba) into the Rio de la Plata system.