In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Camp on the Rio da Duvida.

From this point the exploration of the river was undertaken by Col. Roosevelt.

The trail had now left the open chapadão and wound between high walls of dark forest; instead of the monotonous level of the plain, the country was broken and hilly, with numerous small streams trickling through the dividing ravines, and it rained almost continuously; if we had succeeded in evading the rainy season heretofore, it descended on us now with doubled vigor.

A very wide swath had been cut through the forest for the telegraph-line to protect the wires from falling trunks and branches; so recent had been the work that the shrivelled leaves still clung to the prostrate trees, and the thick second growth, which springs up immediately where the sunlight is permitted to reach the ground, was just sprouting. The ground was covered with fruits of many kinds, most of them insipid or of acrid flavor, but the herds of peccaries seemed to relish them; and the flocks of parrots and macaws quarrelled noisily overhead in their struggles to reach some particularly appetizing morsel. One of the things that especially attracted our attention was the great number of hard, cannon-ball-like shells that littered the trail; they were the empty casques of the castanha, or Brazil nut, which grew abundantly throughout the forest. The Indians had opened most of them, in what manner I am unable to say, as they are so hard the blows of a hammer fail to make any impression, and extracted the dozen or more triangular nuts from each. The trees upon which they grow are remarkable for their height and great thickness; not infrequently we saw one a hundred and fifty feet high and four feet in diameter without a single branch lower than sixty or seventy feet. Graves were numerous by the wayside; I counted fifteen, near one another, each newly made mound being marked by a rude cross without name or inscription; they indicated the burial sites of camaradas, victims to the dread beri-beri and malaria.

During our second night’s camp we heard the gruff, cough-like roar of a jaguar not far away, and next morning the men reported that the creature had killed one of the oxen. I went to see the slain animal and found that it was badly bitten about the neck and that one of the thighs had been partly eaten; in its enfeebled state the ox had been an easy kill for the big spotted cat. We made no attempt to follow the jaguar, but shouldered our guns and started on the home-stretch of the long journey. Again it rained heavily, though intermittently, and frequently the mud was knee-deep: but the knowledge that the river and rest lay but thirteen kilometres away acted as a stimulus to the men, and even the weary animals responded to the ceaseless urging of their drivers and panted along as if they, too, understood that the end of their toil was at hand.

At about four o’clock that afternoon our destination was reached. From the top of a rather high hill we had an unobstructed view down the wide, newly cleared lane through the forest; a small cluster of mud-walled, palm-thatched huts nestled in the depression at the foot of the hill, with a patch of corn and rice growing to one side; a hundred yards beyond sparkled the river, and on all sides of the little clearing rose the Amazonian forest. The little building housing the telegraphic equipment was placed at our disposal, and tents were erected for the camaradas, who straggled in with the footsore pack-train until a late hour. The animals were given their liberty and bountiful feeds of corn and fodder, so that within a week many of them were in condition to start on the back trail, a comparatively easy trip, as there were no heavy loads to carry. Many of the natives were also sent back, while others were retained in the service of the expedition; one detachment was sent to the camp of the laborers who were working on the telegraph-line, which extended two kilometres beyond. This was the end of the survey, Barão de Melgaço being the name of the last station, and a force of about fifty men were engaged cutting an opening for the continuation of the line. At the rate they were working it was estimated that the line to Manaos would be completed in about two years.

We had expected to find a craft of some kind awaiting us so that we might immediately pursue our journey down the river, but in this we were disappointed, although, as it later developed, a boat was then on its way to us, sent by order of Colonel Rondon. There were only two small dugouts available, which were entirely inadequate for our purpose, so the men were put to work cutting down a tree of large size and hollowing out a canoe which would hold the party and the necessary luggage. This work we estimated would take some weeks, so in the meantime we busied ourselves exploring the country in the vicinity of Barão de Melgaço.

A short reconnoissance through the forest revealed a veritable zoological wonderland. I was consequently very glad that we were delayed, as this gave me an opportunity to study the fauna of a zoologically unknown region, and to work on some of the problems of nature with which we are constantly confronted, but of which so little is known. One of the facts that no field-naturalist can fail to have thrust upon his notice is the exact precision and nicety with which the balance in nature is preserved. Take the familiar example of the oyster. In its early stages of development it is subject to the raids of such a host of enemies and adverse conditions that out of a million eggs only a few bivalves reach maturity; to offset this wholesale destruction nature has provided that a single oyster may lay several millions of eggs, and thus the race is preserved. Birds, to a less extent, are subject to this same thoughtful provision; therefore we find that the species which are subject to many dangers during the nesting-period or which undertake long, perilous seasonal migrations, lay comparatively large sets of eggs; this is best evidenced by ducks and quail. Species which are subject to the natural dangers of migration only and are protected during the nesting-season, comparatively speaking, rear small broods of young; warblers, thrushes, and a number of our own native birds would come in this category; to further offset the loss, some of these latter may even rear two broods in a season. When we reach the tropics a marked change is noticeable; the extremes in climatic conditions are usually represented by the wet and dry seasons; there are few enemies and food is abundant, consequently the loss of life is comparatively small. If reproduction proceeded there at the same rate as in the northern lands, it must be obvious that the country would soon be overstocked; but again it has been decreed that the equity should be preserved, and the great majority of tropical birds nest but once a year, and then the full complement of eggs is but two. Of course there are a number of exceptions on each side, and on such matters it is difficult to generalize, but in the majority of cases this will be found to be true.

On one of my walks in the forest I came upon a troop of peculiar little monkeys of the saki family (cacajão) feeding in the top of a tall wild fig-tree. They differed from all other known members of the genus by being entirely black, with snow-white noses. While feeding they were quiet, and the only thing that betrayed their presence was the constant pattering of small particles of fruit upon the dry leaves carpeting the ground. Presently they took fright, and away they went in a series of leaps and bounds, so that the tree-tops were agitated as by a violent gust of wind; they uttered queer little whining squeaks as they ran and soon disappeared from view. A small one of the same species which I owned was a most amusing little pet and never failed to gain a place in the affections of any one who beheld it—even the most calloused camarada; it was of a most playful and friendly disposition and, if petted, made the most ridiculous faces and bubbled with laughter. Another monkey that was common in the forest was a species of Ateles, or spider-monkey, which is very appropriately named on account of its slender build and long, wiry arms and legs; it also is of a black color, and swings its way through the branches much after the order of a gibbon, although it lacks the latter’s agility. The Indians are very fond of this species, both for food and as pets; but whatever epicurean merits may attach to the flesh, in appearance the creatures are most repulsive. The face is pinched and drawn, with a long-suffering expression about the eyes, while a tuft of long, stiff hair extending over the forehead like a ragged cap gives it a greater look of misery and grotesqueness. One specimen which I collected measured six feet two inches from the tips of the fingers to the tip of the tail.

Birds were not uncommon, but rather hard to observe on account of the density of the vegetation. Near the river stretched a wide band of bamboo, beautiful to look upon but impossible to penetrate without the aid of a machete. Just beyond, the trees grew tall and in close proximity, giant castanhas, heveas, and ironwoods intermingling their branches to form a canopy of deepest green, impervious to sunlight and through which rain filtered slowly; palms, ferns, and thorny shrubbery formed a dense undergrowth near the streams, so that progress at best was slow. From all sides came the clear, ringing “hoo-whee-whee-hoo” of the gold-bird, or whistling cotinga, often misnamed the bell-bird, and although the sound came from but a few feet overhead, it was usually impossible to locate the dull, slate-colored songster perched motionless on a well-screened branch. The smaller species of birds travelled in large flocks, doubtless deriving some mutual benefit from this mode of living; usually the band was preceded by a few scouting brown wood-hewers, some with slender bills four inches long bent in a half-circle, flitting silently from trunk to trunk, lighting low down and running up rapidly, while they searched the crevices in the bark for insects; then came the vast host of vireos, warblers, flycatchers, tanagers, and woodpeckers, completely investing the trees in their all-absorbing quest of a livelihood. Twigs snapped, seeds dropped, the woods seemed full of fluttering wings and chirping voices; but in a few moments the noise grew faint and stopped; the tireless army had gone its way, and the vanguard of trogons suddenly appeared, hovered in mid-air to snap off an enticing fruit, and then hurried away. Occasionally we were fortunate enough to shoot a curassow, a large turkey-like bird, and then our Brazilian chef prepared the national dish called canja; it consists of a fowl and rice boiled together and is delicious.