The Naturalist on the River Amazons [129]
beads, and other small wares. Jose and myself were busy for many days arranging these matters. We had to salt the meat and grind a supply of coffee ourselves. Cooking utensils, crockery, water-jars, a set of useful carpenter's tools, and many other things had to be provided. We put all the groceries and other perishable articles in tin canisters and boxes, having found that this was the only way of preserving them from dampness and insects in this climate. When all was done, our canoe looked like a little floating workshop.
I could get little information about the river, except vague accounts of the difficulty of the navigation, and the famito or hunger which reigned on its banks. As I have before mentioned, it is about 1000 miles in length, and flows from south to north; in magnitude it stands the sixth amongst the tributaries of the Amazons. It is navigable, however, by sailing vessels only for about 160 miles above Santarem. The hiring of men to navigate the vessel was our greatest trouble. Jose was to be my helmsman, and we thought three other hands would be the fewest with which we could venture. But all our endeavours to procure these were fruitless. Santarem is worse provided with Indian canoemen than any other town on the river. I found on applying to the tradesmen to whom I had brought letters of introduction and to the Brazilian authorities, that almost any favour would be sooner granted than the loan of hands. A stranger, however, is obliged to depend on them; for it is impossible to find an Indian or half-caste whom someone or other of the head-men do not claim as owing him money or labour. I was afraid at one time I should have been forced to abandon my project on this account. At length, after many rebuffs and disappointments, Jose contrived to engage one man, a mulatto, named Pinto, a native of the mining country of Interior Brazil, who knew the river well; and with these two I resolved to start, hoping to meet with others at the first village on the road.
We left Santarem on the 8th of June. The waters were then at their highest point, and my canoe had been anchored close to the back door of our house. The morning was cool and a brisk wind blew, with which we sped rapidly past the white-washed houses and thatched Indian huts of the suburbs. The charming little bay of Mapiri was soon left behind; we then doubled Point Maria Josepha, a headland formed of high cliffs of Tabatinga clay, capped with forest. This forms the limit of the river view from Santarem, and here we had our last glimpse, at a distance of seven or eight miles, of the city, a bright line of tiny white buildings resting on the dark water. A stretch of wild, rocky, uninhabited coast was before us, and we were fairly within the Tapajos.
Our course lay due west for about twenty miles. The wind increased as we neared Point Cururu, where the river bends from its northern course. A vast expanse of water here stretches to the west and south, and the waves, with a strong breeze, run very high. As we were doubling the Point, the cable which held our montaria in tow astern, parted, and in endeavouring to recover the boat, without which we knew it would be difficult to get ashore on many parts of the coast, we were very near capsizing. We tried to tack down the river; a vain attempt with a strong breeze and no current. Our ropes snapped, the sails flew to rags, and the vessel, which we now found was deficient in ballast, heeled over frightfully. Contrary to Jose's advice, I ran the cuberta into a little bay, thinking to cast anchor there and wait for the boat coming up with the wind; but the anchor dragged on the smooth sandy bottom, and the vessel went broadside on to the rocky beach. With a little dexterous management, but not until after we had sustained some severe bumps, we managed to get out of this difficulty, clearing the rocky point at a close shave with our jib-sail. Soon after, we drifted into the smooth water of a sheltered bay which leads to the charmingly situated village of Altar do Chao; and we were obliged to give up our attempt
I could get little information about the river, except vague accounts of the difficulty of the navigation, and the famito or hunger which reigned on its banks. As I have before mentioned, it is about 1000 miles in length, and flows from south to north; in magnitude it stands the sixth amongst the tributaries of the Amazons. It is navigable, however, by sailing vessels only for about 160 miles above Santarem. The hiring of men to navigate the vessel was our greatest trouble. Jose was to be my helmsman, and we thought three other hands would be the fewest with which we could venture. But all our endeavours to procure these were fruitless. Santarem is worse provided with Indian canoemen than any other town on the river. I found on applying to the tradesmen to whom I had brought letters of introduction and to the Brazilian authorities, that almost any favour would be sooner granted than the loan of hands. A stranger, however, is obliged to depend on them; for it is impossible to find an Indian or half-caste whom someone or other of the head-men do not claim as owing him money or labour. I was afraid at one time I should have been forced to abandon my project on this account. At length, after many rebuffs and disappointments, Jose contrived to engage one man, a mulatto, named Pinto, a native of the mining country of Interior Brazil, who knew the river well; and with these two I resolved to start, hoping to meet with others at the first village on the road.
We left Santarem on the 8th of June. The waters were then at their highest point, and my canoe had been anchored close to the back door of our house. The morning was cool and a brisk wind blew, with which we sped rapidly past the white-washed houses and thatched Indian huts of the suburbs. The charming little bay of Mapiri was soon left behind; we then doubled Point Maria Josepha, a headland formed of high cliffs of Tabatinga clay, capped with forest. This forms the limit of the river view from Santarem, and here we had our last glimpse, at a distance of seven or eight miles, of the city, a bright line of tiny white buildings resting on the dark water. A stretch of wild, rocky, uninhabited coast was before us, and we were fairly within the Tapajos.
Our course lay due west for about twenty miles. The wind increased as we neared Point Cururu, where the river bends from its northern course. A vast expanse of water here stretches to the west and south, and the waves, with a strong breeze, run very high. As we were doubling the Point, the cable which held our montaria in tow astern, parted, and in endeavouring to recover the boat, without which we knew it would be difficult to get ashore on many parts of the coast, we were very near capsizing. We tried to tack down the river; a vain attempt with a strong breeze and no current. Our ropes snapped, the sails flew to rags, and the vessel, which we now found was deficient in ballast, heeled over frightfully. Contrary to Jose's advice, I ran the cuberta into a little bay, thinking to cast anchor there and wait for the boat coming up with the wind; but the anchor dragged on the smooth sandy bottom, and the vessel went broadside on to the rocky beach. With a little dexterous management, but not until after we had sustained some severe bumps, we managed to get out of this difficulty, clearing the rocky point at a close shave with our jib-sail. Soon after, we drifted into the smooth water of a sheltered bay which leads to the charmingly situated village of Altar do Chao; and we were obliged to give up our attempt