Adieu pour aujourd’hui, votre bien affectioné
L. Agassiz.[[52]]
The Indians here are very skilful in fishing, and instead of going to collect, Mr. Agassiz, immediately on arriving at any station, sends off several fishermen of the place, remaining himself on board to superintend the drawing and putting up of the specimens as they arrive.[[53]] He made at Tajapurú a collection of the leaves and fruit of palms, of which there were several very beautiful ones near the shore. I sat for a long time on the deck watching an Indian cutting a leaf from a Mirití palm. He was sitting in the crotch of a single leaf, as safe and as perfectly supported as if he had been on the branch of an oak-tree, and it took many blows of his heavy axe to separate the leaf at his side which he was trying to bring down. The heat during the day was intense, but at about five o’clock it became quite cool and R—— and I strolled on shore. Walking here is a peculiar process, and seems rather alarming till you become accustomed to it. A great part of the land, even far up into the forest, is overflowed, and single logs are thrown across the streams and pools, over which the inhabitants walk with as much security as on a broad road, but which seem anything but safe to the new-comer. After we had gone a little way we came to an Indian house on the border of the wood. Here we were very cordially invited to enter, and had again cause to comment on the tidy aspect of the porch, which is their general reception-room. A description of one of these dwellings will do for all. Their materials are drawn from the forest about them. The frames are made of tall, slender tree-trunks, crossing each other at right angles. Between these are woven long palm-leaves, making an admirable thatch, or sometimes the walls are filled in with mud. The roof overhangs, covering the wide, open porch, which extends the length of one side of the house, and is as deep as a good-sized room; it is usually left open on the sides as well as in front. Within, the rest of the house is divided off into one or more chambers, according to its size. I have not penetrated into these, but can bear testimony to the usual cleanliness and order of the outer room. The hard mud-floor is neatly swept, there is no litter about, and, except for the mosquitoes, I should think it no hardship to sling my hammock for the night under the thatched roof of one of these primitive veranda-like apartments. There is one element of dirt common in the houses of our own poor which is absent here. Instead of the mass of old musty bedding, a nest for vermin, the Indians have their cool hammocks, slung from side to side of the room. One feature in their mode of building deserves to be mentioned. Owing to the submerged state of the ground on which they live, the Indians often raise their houses on piles sunk in the water. Here we have the old lacustrine buildings, so much discussed of late years, reproduced for us. One even sees sometimes a little garden lifted in this way above the water.
But to return to our walk. One of the Indians invited us to continue our ramble to his house, which he said was not far beyond, in the forest. We readily complied, for the path he pointed out to us looked tempting in the extreme, leading into the depth of the wood. Under his guidance we continued for some distance, every now and then crossing one of the forest creeks on the logs. Seeing that I was rather timid, he cut for me a long pole, with the aid of which I felt quite brave. But at last we came to a place where the water was so deep that I could not touch bottom with my pole, and as the round log on which I was to cross was rather rocking and unsteady, I did not dare to advance. I told him, in my imperfect Portuguese, that I was afraid. “Naō, mia branca” (No, my white) he said, reassuringly; “naō tem medo” (don’t be afraid). Then, as if a thought struck him, he motioned me to wait, and, going a few steps up the creek, he unloosed his boat, brought it down to the spot where we stood, and put us across to the opposite shore. Just beyond was his pretty, picturesque home, where he showed me his children, telling me their ages, and introduced me to his wife. There is a natural courtesy about these people which is very attractive, and which Major Coutinho, who has lived among them a great deal, tells me is a general characteristic of the Amazonian Indians. When we took leave of them and returned to the canoe, I supposed our guide would simply put us across to the other shore, a distance of a few feet only, as he had done in coming. Instead of that he headed the canoe up the creek into the wood. I shall never forget that row, the more enchanting that it was so unexpected, through the narrow water-path, overarched by a solid roof of verdure, and black with shadows; and yet it was not gloomy, for outside, the sun was setting in crimson and gold, and its last beams struck in under the boughs and lit the interior of the forest with a warm glow. Nor shall I easily forget the face of our Indian friend, who had welcomed us so warmly to his home, and who evidently enjoyed our exclamations of delight and the effect of the surprise he had given us. The creek led by a detour back into the river, a few rods above the landing where our steamer lay. Our friendly boatman left us at the stairway with a cordial good-by, and many thanks from us at parting.
We left our landing early this morning, and at about half past ten turned into the main Amazons. Thus far we have been in what is called the Pará river, and the branches connecting it with the Amazons proper. The proportions of everything in nature amaze one here, however much one may have heard or read about them. For two days and nights we have been following the isle of Marajo, which, though but an island in the mouth of the Amazons, is half as large as Ireland. I add here a second letter from Mr. Agassiz to Mr. Pimenta Bueno, giving a short summary of his scientific progress.
Mon cher Ami:—Je suis exténué de fatigue, mais je ne veux pas aller me reposer avant de vous avoir écrit un mot. Hier soir nous avons obtenu vingt-sept espèces de poissons à Gurupá et ce matin, cinquante-sept à Porto do Moz, en tout quatre-vingt-quatre espèces en moins de douze heures et, sur ce nombre, il y en à cinquante et une nouvelles. C’est merveilleux. Je ne puis plus mettre en ordre ce qu’on m’apporte au fur et à mesure que cela arrive; et quant à obtenir des dessins coloriés du tout, il n’en est plus question, à moins qu’à notre retour nous ne passions une semaine entière ici.
Tout à vous,
L. Agassiz.[[54]]
August 23d.—Yesterday morning, before reaching the little town of Gurupá, we passed a forest of Miriti palms; it is the first time we have seen a palm wood exclusive of other trees. In the afternoon we stopped at Gurupá and went on shore; but just as we landed, a violent thunder-storm burst upon us with sheets of rain, and we saw little of the town except the inside of the house where we took shelter. Mr. Agassiz obtained a most valuable collection of “forest fishes,” containing a number of new species; the Indians enumerate, however, some seventy distinct species of forest fishes in this vicinity, so that, notwithstanding his success, he leaves much to be done by those who shall come after him. We left during the night, and this morning we entered the river Xingu, stopping at Porto do Moz. The water is very blue and dark as compared with the muddy waters of the main river. Here Mr. Agassiz found two collections, one of forest fishes, the other of river fishes, awaiting him, Mr. Pimenta Bueno having sent messengers by the last steamer to a number of ports, desiring that collections should be in readiness for him. The harvest of this morning, however, was such an one as makes an era in the life of a naturalist, for it contained forty-eight new species,—more, Mr. Agassiz said, than it had ever fallen to his lot to find in the course of a single day. Ever since we entered the Amazons the forest seems to me, though more luxuriant, less sombre than it did about Rio. It is more transparent and more smiling; one sees into it, and sees the sunshine glimmering through it and lighting up its depths. The steamer has just left behind the first open land we have passed,—wide, extensive flats, with scarcely a tree, and covered with thick, coarse grass.
August 24th.—Yesterday afternoon we saw, on the north side of the river, the first elevations of any consequence one meets on the Amazons, the singular flat-topped hills of Almeirim. They are cut off as squarely on the top as if levelled with a plane, and divided from each other by wide openings, the sides being shaved down with the same evenness as the summits. Much has been said about the geology of these singular hills, but no one has fairly investigated it. Von Martius landed, and ascertained their height to be about eight hundred feet above the level of the river, but beyond this, no one seems to know anything of their real nature. They are generally represented as spurs of the higher table-land of Guiana.[[55]] Last evening was the most beautiful we have seen on the Amazons. We sat on the front upper deck as the crimson sun went down, his broad red pathway across the water followed presently by the pale trembling line of light from the crescent moon above. After the sun had vanished, broad rays of rose-color, shooting almost to the zenith, still attested his power, lending something of their glow also to a great mass of white clouds in the east, the reflection of which turned the yellow waters of the river to silver, while between glory and glory the deep blue sky of night gathered over the hills of Almeirim. This morning at dawn we stopped at the little settlement of Prainha, but did not land, and we are now on our way to Monte Alégre, where we shall pass a day and a half.