A CORNER OF BRAZIL
CHAPTER VIII
A CORNER OF BRAZIL
Across the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim.
Tennyson: The Day-Dream.
It took some time to ferry our whole party across the Ireng, as there were only three boats available—namely, two small dug-outs and a large one, the latter specially made for us by the Mataruka people. The crossing was an amusing performance to watch, and very picturesque the dug-outs looked piled up with baggage and people. Meanwhile, my husband and I rested in shade under some trees at the mouth of the Waikana creek, which drains the Mataruka savannah and joins the Ireng through a narrow rift between hills that completely conceal the plain from the river-side. But, once through this gate, an extensive flat prairie lies before you; and an hour’s march over it brings you to Mataruka village, at the foot of the mountain of the same name, which we had first seen from the Karto tableland, and which had been in view off and on ever since. Even at the village you are only halfway across this admirable pasture-land, which is flanked on the east by Mount Bulak-köyepin, a landmark conspicuous during many days of our journey, and on the south by the hills that divide the Ireng from the Kotinga watershed. A tropical sun blazed down out of a cloudless sky, and I was extremely glad to avail myself of the hammock, and to find that the men carried me very comfortably. They bore me along faster than I could have walked.
Mataruka is a large Makusi village; and we found all its inhabitants drawn up in two long lines, with their chief, Albert, at their head, waiting to shake hands. I did wish that the fashion of shaking hands had not spread to this far-away corner of Brazil, and I left the brunt of it to my husband; but all the mothers brought their babies to me to shake hands. They seem to regard it as a most important ceremony, and, of course, we should have hated to hurt the feelings of this friendly, pleasant people. Albert, a very stout and heavy personage, whom we did not much like, wore a pink shirt and grey trousers, all much too small for his portly figure. In expectation of his church bell and gramophone, he had mustered his people from far and wide to meet us. He had also caused a banaboo to be built for us, a very large, though unfinished edifice, of which the greater part of the roof had been completed and also the sides to windward—a fortunate circumstance, as the wind sweeps ceaselessly over the Mataruka plain. We went into our house, followed by the entire village; and Albert then brought up Joseph, our future guide, a very shy Makusi cowboy. My husband asked him how many days the journey to Roraima would take, and he answered by nervously reeling off all the names of mountains and rivers we should pass. This certainly made it sound a very long way indeed. Joseph we found to be a really good fellow, and we became very fond of him before the end of our journey.