The Naturalist on the River Amazons [39]
over, but had two arched awnings formed of strong wickerwork, and thatched with palm leaves. We then had to store it with provisions for three months, the time we at first intended to be away; procure the necessary passports; and, lastly, engage a crew. Mr. Leavens, having had much experience in the country, managed all these matters. He brought two Indians from the rice-mills, and these induced another to enroll himself. We, on our parts, took our cook Isidoro, and a young Indian lad, named Antonio, who had attached himself to us in the course of our residence at Nazareth. Our principal man was Alexandro, one of Mr. Leavens's Indians. He was an intelligent and well-disposed young Tapuyo, an expert sailor, and an indefatigable hunter. To his fidelity we were indebted for being enabled to carry out any of the objects of our voyage. Being a native of a district near the capital, Alexandro was a civilised Tapuyo, a citizen as free as his white neighbours. He spoke only Portuguese. He was a spare-built man, rather under the middle height, with fine regular features, and, what was unusual in Indians, the upper lip decorated with a moustache. Three years afterwards I saw him at Para in the uniform of the National Guard, and he called on me often to talk about old times. I esteemed him as a quiet, sensible, manly young fellow.
We set sail in the evening, after waiting several hours in vain for one of our crew. It was soon dark, the wind blew stiffly, and the tide rushed along with great rapidity, carrying us swiftly past the crowd of vessels which were anchored in the port. The canoe rolled a good deal. After we had made five or six miles of way, the tide turned and we were obliged to cast anchor. Not long after, we lay ourselves down, all three together, on the mat which was spread over the floor of our cabin, and soon fell asleep.
On awaking at sunrise the next morning, we found ourselves gliding upwards with the tide, along the Bahia or Bay, as it is called, of Goajara. This is a broad channel lying between the mainland and a line of islands which extends some distance beyond the city. Into it three large rivers discharge their waters, namely, the Guama, the Acara, and the Moju-- so that it forms a kind of sub-estuary within the grand estuary of Para. It is nearly four miles broad. The left bank, along which we were now sailing, was beautiful in the extreme; not an inch of soil was to be seen; the water frontage presented a compact wall of rich and varied forest, resting on the surface of the stream. It seemed to form a finished border to the water scene, where the dome-like, rounded shapes of exogenous trees which constituted the mass formed the groundwork, and the endless diversity of broad-leaved Heliconiae and Palms--each kind differing in stem, crown, and fronds--the rich embroidery. The morning was calm and cloudless; and the slanting beams of the early sun, striking full on the front of the forest, lighted up the whole most gloriously. The only sound of life which reached us was the call of the Serracura (Gallinula Cayennensis), a kind of wild-fowl; all else was so still that the voices of boatmen could be plainly heard from canoes passing a mile or two distant from us. The sun soon gains great power on the water, but with it the sea-breeze increases in strength, moderating the heat which would otherwise be almost insupportable. We reached the end of the Goajara about midday, and then entered the narrower channel of the Moju. Up this we travelled, partly rowing and partly sailing between the same unbroken walls of forest, until the morning of the 28th.
August 29th--The Moju, a stream slightly inferior to the Thames in size, is connected about twenty miles from its mouth by means of a short, artificial canal with a small stream, the Igarape- mirim, which flows the opposite way into the water-system of the Tocantins. Small vessels like ours take this route in preference to the stormy passage by way of the main river, although the distance is considerably greater. We passed through the canal yesterday, and today
We set sail in the evening, after waiting several hours in vain for one of our crew. It was soon dark, the wind blew stiffly, and the tide rushed along with great rapidity, carrying us swiftly past the crowd of vessels which were anchored in the port. The canoe rolled a good deal. After we had made five or six miles of way, the tide turned and we were obliged to cast anchor. Not long after, we lay ourselves down, all three together, on the mat which was spread over the floor of our cabin, and soon fell asleep.
On awaking at sunrise the next morning, we found ourselves gliding upwards with the tide, along the Bahia or Bay, as it is called, of Goajara. This is a broad channel lying between the mainland and a line of islands which extends some distance beyond the city. Into it three large rivers discharge their waters, namely, the Guama, the Acara, and the Moju-- so that it forms a kind of sub-estuary within the grand estuary of Para. It is nearly four miles broad. The left bank, along which we were now sailing, was beautiful in the extreme; not an inch of soil was to be seen; the water frontage presented a compact wall of rich and varied forest, resting on the surface of the stream. It seemed to form a finished border to the water scene, where the dome-like, rounded shapes of exogenous trees which constituted the mass formed the groundwork, and the endless diversity of broad-leaved Heliconiae and Palms--each kind differing in stem, crown, and fronds--the rich embroidery. The morning was calm and cloudless; and the slanting beams of the early sun, striking full on the front of the forest, lighted up the whole most gloriously. The only sound of life which reached us was the call of the Serracura (Gallinula Cayennensis), a kind of wild-fowl; all else was so still that the voices of boatmen could be plainly heard from canoes passing a mile or two distant from us. The sun soon gains great power on the water, but with it the sea-breeze increases in strength, moderating the heat which would otherwise be almost insupportable. We reached the end of the Goajara about midday, and then entered the narrower channel of the Moju. Up this we travelled, partly rowing and partly sailing between the same unbroken walls of forest, until the morning of the 28th.
August 29th--The Moju, a stream slightly inferior to the Thames in size, is connected about twenty miles from its mouth by means of a short, artificial canal with a small stream, the Igarape- mirim, which flows the opposite way into the water-system of the Tocantins. Small vessels like ours take this route in preference to the stormy passage by way of the main river, although the distance is considerably greater. We passed through the canal yesterday, and today