"Vicente is a good Indian, isn't he?" said Affonzo.
"One of the best I have ever known," said his father. "He has worked for us for years and has always been honest and reliable. It is strange that he should be so hospitable and friendly, for his ancestors and ours were always at war. When your grandfather was a young man there was always fear of the natives, and at one time there was an Indian uprising in which many Portuguese were killed. The Indians captured the city of Para, burned many of the houses, and destroyed everything they couldn't carry away with them. They held the city over a year before the Portuguese could recapture it."
"It must have been exciting to live then," cried Affonzo, who loved to read of wars and battles and thought they must be interesting things.
But his uncle said, "More peaceful times are less exciting, but far pleasanter and you would better be thankful that you live now. There is the river! How beautiful it looks!"
Affonzo had often seen the Amazon, the greatest river in the world, and had been on it in the steamers which ply between Para and Mañaos, but he had never seen it at this point, and he exclaimed in wonder at its beauty. The river was two miles wide, and in the centre was a broad deep channel down which the water flowed slowly. On each side of this were stretches of shallow water, while on either bank grew thick forests of superb trees.
Vicente drew a canoe from a thicket about a sheltered cove and the little party embarked, Vicente paddling carefully.
"Isn't this splendid?" cried Affonzo. "I feel as if I were Orellaño discovering the river."
"Why, what do you know about him?" asked his uncle.
"Oh, he was fine," said Affonzo. "He was one of Gonzalo Pizzarro's lieutenants and he crossed the Andes to find cinnamon trees. He had only fifty men and they built a boat and started down the river and had a terrible time for days. At last they reached the mouth of the river, and were picked up by some Spanish ships. It told all about it in my geography."
"Did it tell how he named the river?" asked Uncle Prudente. "Orellaña fell in with an Indian tribe where the women fought side by side with the men; you know women soldiers are called Amazons, so he called the river 'Rio de las Amazones.'"