“I started before daylight; but as the dawn began to redden the sky large flocks of ducks, and of the small Amazonian goose, might be seen flying towards the lakes. Here and there a cormorant sat alone on the branch of a dead tree, or a kingfisher poised himself over the water, watching for his prey. Numerous gulls were gathered in large companies on the trees along the river-shore; alligators lay on its surface, diving with a sudden plash at the approach of our canoe; and occasionally a porpoise emerged from the water, showing himself for a moment and then disappearing again. Sometimes we startled a herd of capivaras, resting on the water’s edge; and once we saw a sloth, sitting upon the branch of an Imbauba tree (Cecropia), rolled up in its peculiar attitude, the very picture of indolence, with its head sunk between its arms. Much of the river-shore consisted of low, alluvial land, and was covered with that peculiar and beautiful grass known as Capim; this grass makes an excellent pasturage for cattle, and the abundance of it in this region renders the district of Monte Alégre very favorable for agricultural purposes. Here and there, where the red-clay soil rose above the level of the water, a palm-thatched cabin stood on the low bluff, with a few trees about it. Such a house was usually the centre of a cattle-farm, and large herds might be seen grazing in the adjoining fields. Along the river-banks, where the country is chiefly open, with extensive low, marshy grounds, the only palm to be seen is the Maraja (Geonoma). After keeping along the Rio Gurupatuba for some distance, we turned to the right into a narrow stream, which has the character of an igarapé in its lower course, though higher up it drains the country between the serra of Ereré and that of Tajury, and assumes the appearance of a small river. It is named after the serra, and is known as the Rio Ereré. This stream, narrow and picturesque, and often so overgrown with capim that the canoe pursued its course with difficulty, passed through a magnificent forest of the beautiful fan-palm, called the Miriti (Mauritia flexuosa). This forest stretched for miles, overshadowing, as a kind of underbrush, many smaller trees and innumerable shrubs, some of which bore bright, conspicuous flowers. It seemed to me a strange spectacle,—a forest of monocotyledonous trees with a dicotyledonous undergrowth; the inferior plants thus towering above and sheltering the superior ones. Among the lower trees were many Leguminosæ,—one of the most striking, called Fava, having a colossal pod. The whole mass of vegetation was woven together by innumerable lianas and creeping vines, in the midst of which the flowers of the Bignonia, with its open, trumpet-shaped corolla, were conspicuous. The capim was bright with the blossoms of the mallow, growing in its midst; and was often edged with the broad-leaved Aninga, a large aquatic Arum.
“Through such a forest, where the animal life was no less rich and varied than the vegetation, our boat glided slowly for hours. The number and variety of birds struck me with astonishment. The coarse, sedgy grasses on either side were full of water birds, one of the most common of which was a small chestnut-brown wading bird, the Jaçana (Parra), whose toes are immensely long in proportion to its size, enabling it to run upon the surface of the aquatic vegetation, as if it were solid ground. It was now the month of January, their breeding season; and at every turn of the boat we started them up in pairs. Their flat, open nests generally contained five flesh-colored eggs, streaked in zigzag with dark brown lines. The other waders were a snow-white heron, another ash-colored, smaller species, and a large white stork. The ash-colored herons were always in pairs; the white ones always single, standing quiet and alone on the edge of the water, or half hidden in the green capim. The trees and bushes were full of small warbler-like birds, which it would be difficult to characterize separately. To the ordinary observer they might seem like the small birds of our woods; but there was one species among them which attracted my attention by its numbers, and also because it builds the most extraordinary nest, considering the size of the bird itself, that I have ever seen. It is known among the country people by two names, as the Pedreiro or the Forneiro; both names referring, as will be seen, to the nature of its habitation. This singular nest is built of clay, and is as hard as stone (pedra), while it has the form of the round mandioca oven (forno) in which the country people prepare their farinha, or flour, made from the mandioca root. It is about a foot in diameter, and stands edgewise upon a branch, or in the crotch of a tree. Among the smaller birds I noticed bright Tanagers, and also a species resembling the Canary. Besides these, there were the wagtails; the black and white widow-finches; the hang-nests, or Japi, as they are called here, with their pendent, bag-like dwellings, and the familiar “Bem ti vi.” Humming-birds, which we are always apt to associate with tropical vegetation, were very scarce. I saw but a few specimens. Thrushes and doves were more frequent, and I noticed also three or four kinds of woodpeckers, beside parrots and paroquets; of these latter there were countless numbers along our canoe path, flying overhead in dense crowds, and at times drowning every other sound in their high, noisy chatter.
“Some of these birds made a deep impression upon me. Indeed, in all regions, however far away from his own home, in the midst of a fauna and flora entirely new to him, the traveller is startled occasionally by the song of a bird or the sight of a flower so familiar that it transports him at once to woods where every tree is like a friend to him. It seems as if something akin to what in our own mental experience we call reminiscence or association existed in the workings of Nature; for though the organic combinations are so distinct in different climates and countries, they never wholly exclude each other. Every zoölogical and botanical province retains some link which binds it to all the others, and makes it part of the general harmony. The Arctic lichen is found growing under the shadow of the palm on the rocks of the tropical serra; and the song of the thrush and the tap of the woodpecker mingle with the sharp, discordant cries of the parrot and paroquet.
“Birds of prey, also, were not wanting. Among them was one about the size of our kite, and called the Red Hawk, which was so tame that, even when our canoe passed immediately under the low branch on which he was sitting, he did not fly away. But, of all the groups of birds, the most striking as compared with corresponding groups in the temperate zone, and the one which reminded me the most distinctly of the fact that every region has its peculiar animal world, was that of the gallinaceous birds. The most frequent is the Cigana, to be seen in groups of fifteen or twenty, perched upon trees overhanging the water, and feeding upon berries. At night they roost in pairs, but in the daytime are always in larger companies. In their appearance they have something of the character of both the pheasant and peacock, and yet do not closely resemble either. It is a curious fact, that, with the exception of some small partridge-like gallinaceous birds, all the representatives of this family in Brazil, and especially in the valley of the Amazons, belong to types which do not exist in other parts of the world. Here we find neither pheasants, nor cocks of the woods, nor grouse; but in their place abound the Mutum, the Jacu, the Jacami, and the Unicorn (Crax, Penelope, Psophia, and Palamedea), all of which are so remote from the gallinaceous types found farther north that they remind one quite as much of the bustard, and other ostrich-like birds, as of the hen and pheasant. They differ also from northern gallinaceous birds in the greater uniformity of the sexes, none of them exhibiting those striking differences between the males and females which we see in the pheasants, the cocks of the woods, and in our barn-yard fowls, though the plumage of the young has the yellowish-mottled color distinguishing the females of most species of this family. While birds abounded in such numbers, insects were rather scarce. I saw but few and small butterflies, and beetles were still more rare. The most numerous insects were the dragon-flies,—some with crimson bodies, black heads, and burnished wings; others with large green bodies, crossed by blue bands. Of land-shells I saw but one, creeping along the reeds; and of water-shells I gathered only a few small Ampullariæ.
“Having ascended the river to a point nearly on a line with the serra, I landed, and struck across the campos on foot. Here I entered upon an entirely different region,—a dry, open plain, with scanty vegetation. The most prominent plants were clusters of Cacti and Curua palms, a kind of stemless, low palm, with broad, elegant leaves springing vase-like from the ground. In these dry, sandy fields, rising gradually toward the serra, I observed in the deeper gullies formed by the heavy rains the laminated clays which are everywhere the foundation of the Amazonian strata. They here presented again so much the character of ordinary clay-slates that I thought I had at last come upon some old geological formation. Instead of this I only obtained fresh evidence that, by baking them, the burning sun of the tropics may produce upon laminated clays of recent origin the same effect as plutonic agencies have produced upon the ancient clays,—that is, it may change them into metamorphic slates. As I approached the serra, I was again reminded how, under the most dissimilar circumstances, similar features recur everywhere in nature. I came suddenly upon a little creek, bordered with the usual vegetation of such shallow water-courses, and on its brink stood a sand-piper, which flew away at my approach, uttering its peculiar cry, so like what we hear at home that, had I not seen him, I should have recognized him by his voice. After an hour’s walk under the scorching sun, I was glad to find myself at the hamlet of Ereré, near the foot of the serra, where I rejoined my companions. This is almost the only occasion in all my Amazonian journey when I have passed a day in the pure enjoyment of nature, without the labor of collecting, which in this hot climate, where specimens require such immediate and constant attention, is very great. I learned how rich a single day may be in this wonderful tropical world, if one’s eyes are only open to the wealth of animal and vegetable life. Indeed, a few hours so spent in the field, in simply watching animals and plants, teaches more of the distribution of life than a month of closet study; for under such circumstances all things are seen in their true relations. Unhappily, it is not easy to present the picture as a whole; for all our written descriptions are more or less dependent on nomenclature, and the local names are hardly known out of the districts where they belong, while systematic names are familiar to few.”
January 30th.—On board the “Ibicuhy.” Yesterday we parted from our kind hosts, and bade good by to Monte Alégre. I shall long retain a picture, half pleasant, half sad, of its shady, picturesque walks and dells; of its wide green square, with the unfinished cathedral in the centre, where trees and vines mantle the open doors and windows, and grass grows thick over the unfrequented aisles; of its neglected cemetery, and the magnificent view it commands over an endless labyrinth of lakes on one side, beyond which glitter the yellow waters of the Amazons, while, on the other, the level campos is bordered by the picturesque heights of the distant Serra. I have never been able to explain quite to my own satisfaction the somewhat melancholy impression which this region, lovely as it unquestionably is, made upon me when I first saw it,—an impression not wholly destroyed by a longer residence. Perhaps it is the general aspect of incompleteness and decay, the absence of energy and enterprise, making the lavish gifts of Nature of no avail. In the midst of a country which should be overflowing with agricultural products, neither milk, nor butter, nor cheese, nor vegetables, nor fruit, are to be had. You constantly hear people complaining of the difficulty of procuring even the commonest articles of domestic consumption, when, in fact, they ought to be produced by every land-owner. The agricultural districts in Brazil are rich and fertile, but there is no agricultural population. The nomad Indian, floating about in his canoe, the only home to which he has a genuine attachment, never striking root in the soil, has no genius for cultivating the ground. As an illustration of the Indian character, it may not be amiss to record an incident which occurred yesterday when we were leaving Monte Alégre. On his journey to Ereré, Major Coutinho had been requested by an Indian and his wife, whose acquaintance he had made in former excursions there, to take one of their boys, a child about eight years of age, with him to Rio. This is very common among the Indians; they are not unwilling to give up their children, if they can secure a maintenance for them, and perhaps some advantages of education besides. On the day of departure, the mother and father and two sisters accompanied the child to the steamer, but I think, as the sequel showed, rather for the sake of seeing the ship, and having a day of amusement, than from any sentiment about parting with the child. When the moment of separation came, the mother, with an air of perfect indifference, gave the little boy her hand to kiss. The father seemed to be going off without remembering his son at all; but the little fellow ran after him, took his hand and kissed it, and then stood crying and broken-hearted on the deck, while the whole family put off in the canoe, talking and laughing gayly, without showing him the least sympathy. Such traits are said to be very characteristic of the Indians. They are cold in their family affections; and though the mothers are very fond of their babies, they seem comparatively indifferent to them as they grow up. It is, indeed, impossible to rely upon the affection of an Indian, even though isolated cases of remarkable fidelity have been known among them. But I have been told over and over again, by those who have had personal experience in the matter, that you may take an Indian child, bring him up, treat him with every kindness, educate him, clothe him, and find him to be a useful and seemingly faithful member of the household; one day he is gone, you know not where, and in every probability you will never hear of him again. Theft is not one of their vices. On the contrary, such an Indian, if he deserts the friend who has reared him and taken care of him, is very likely to leave behind him all his clothes, except those he has on, and any presents he may have received. The only thing he may be tempted to take will be a canoe and a pair of oars: with these an Indian is rich. He only wants to get back to his woods; and he is deterred by no sentiment of affection, or consideration of interest.
To-day we are passing the hills of Almeyrim. The last time we saw them it was in the glow of a brilliant sunset; to-day, ragged edges of clouds overhang them, and they are sombre under a leaden, rainy sky. It is delightful to Mr. Agassiz, in returning to this locality, to find that phenomena, which were a blank to him on our voyage up the river, are perfectly explicable now that he has had an opportunity of studying the geology of the Amazonian Valley. When we passed these singular flat-topped hills before, he had no clew to their structure or their age,—whether granite, as they have been said to be, or sandstone or limestone; whether primitive, secondary, or tertiary: and their strange form made the problem still more difficult. Now he sees them simply as the remnants of a plain which once filled the whole valley of the Amazons, from the Andes to the Atlantic, from Guiana to Central Brazil. Denudations on a colossal scale, hitherto unknown to geologists, have turned this plain into a labyrinth of noble rivers, leaving only here and there, where the formation has resisted the rush of waters, low mountains and chains of hills to tell what was its thickness.[[89]]
February 1st.—On Tuesday evening we reached Porto do Moz, on the river Xingú, where we had expected to be detained several days, as Mr. Agassiz wished especially to obtain the fishes from this river, and, if possible, from its upper and lower course, between which rapids intervene. He found, however, his harvest ready to his hand. Senhor Vinhas, with whom, when stopping here for a few hours on his voyage up the river, he had had some conversation respecting the scientific objects of his visit to the Amazons, has made during our absence one of the finest collections obtained in the whole course of our journey, containing, in separate lots, the fishes from above and below the cascade. By means of this double collection, which Mr. Agassiz has already examined carefully, he ascertains the fact that the faunæ on either side of the falls are entirely distinct from each other, as are those of the upper and lower courses of the Amazons, and also those of its tributaries, lakes, and igarapés. This is a most important addition to the evidence already obtained of the distinct localization of species throughout the waters of the Amazonian Valley. We regretted that, on account of the absence of Senor Vinhas from the town, we could not thank him in person for this valuable contribution. Finding that the efforts of this gentleman had really left nothing to be done in this locality, unless, indeed, we could have stayed long enough to make collections in all the water-basins connected with the Xingu, we left early in the morning and reached Gurupá yesterday. This little town stands on a low cliff some thirty feet above the river. On a projecting point of this cliff there is an old, abandoned fort; and in the open place adjoining it stands a church of considerable size, and seemingly in good repair. But the settlement is evidently not prosperous. Many of its houses are ruinous and deserted, and there is even less of activity in the aspect of the place than in most of the Amazonian villages. We heard much of its insalubrity, and found very severe cases of intermittent fever in one or two of the houses we entered. While Mr. Agassiz made a call upon the subdelegado, who was himself confined to his room with fever, I was invited to rest in the open veranda of a neighboring house, which looked pretty and attractive enough; for it opened into a sunny garden, where bananas and oranges and palm-trees were growing. But the old woman who received me complained bitterly of the dampness, to which, indeed, her hoarse cough and rheumatism bore testimony; and a man was lying in his hammock, slung under the porch, who was worn to mere skin and bone with fever. Here also we received some valuable specimens, collected, since our previous visit, by the subdelegado and one or two other residents.
February 3d.—On Thursday we reached Tajapuru, where we were detained for two days on account of some little repair needed on the steamer. The place is interesting as showing what may be done on the Amazons in a short time by enterprise and industry. A settler in these regions may, if he has the taste and culture to appreciate it, surround himself with much that is attractive in civilized life. Some seventeen years ago Senhor Sepeda established himself at this spot, then a complete wilderness. He has now a very large and pleasant country-house, with a garden in front and walks in the forest around. The interior of the house is commodious and tasteful; and we could not but wish, while we enjoyed Senhor Sepeda’s hospitality, that his example might be followed, and that there might be many such homes on the banks of the Amazons. This morning we are again on our way down the river.
February 4th.—We reached Pará to-day, parting, not without regret, from the “Ibicuhy,” on board of which we have spent so many pleasant weeks. Before we left the vessel, Captain Faria ordered the carpenter to take down our little pavilion on deck. It had been put up for our accommodation, and had served as our dining-room and our working-room, our shelter from the sun, and our snug retreat in floods of rain.[[90]] On arriving in Pará we found ourselves at once at home in the house of our kind friend, Senhor Pimenta Bueno, where we look forward to a pleasant rest from our wanderings. I insert here a letter to the Emperor, written two or three weeks later, and containing a short summary of the scientific work on the Amazons.