Across Unknown South America

A great crowd had assembled at the station. The train had hardly stopped when my car was invaded by boisterous people, who embraced me and patted me on the back in the most approved Brazilian style. Before I could inquire who they were, one fellow, more boisterous than the others, informed me that he had purchased a great many mules for me, that he had engaged men for me, and also procured riding and pack-saddles, harness, implements, clothing and bedding for the men he had engaged, and I do not know what else. Everything was paid for. I could return the sum paid out the next day. Another man said he had already prepared a sumptuous apartment for me in the best hotel in the town.

When asked who had instructed them to make such arrangements, they were vague, and on being pressed for an answer gave names of people of whose existence I was perfectly ignorant. Before I could realize what all this meant I discovered—much to my annoyance—that all my baggage had been taken out of the train and had been conveyed to the hotel. I was therefore compelled to proceed there myself, in the company of my new "friends," who shouted everything they had to say at the top of their voices, so that I should not fail to understand. It was already night, and the streets of the town were in such a terrible condition that the overladen carriage—there were people on all the seats, on the box and standing on the steps—nearly turned over on going round corners. The wheels sank up to their axles in mud.

We pulled up at the hotel door, where another crowd of loafers had assembled. I was literally dragged into the hotel—for I had become somewhat reluctant, first on seeing the appearance of the place, then on being met by waves of a nauseating odour which suggested the non-existence of sanitary arrangements and worse.

"Come in, come in!... wait here!" shouted they in a most excited manner, when I expressed a wish to inspect the palatial quarters which they had been good enough to reserve for me.

"Wait a moment!" shouted the landlord, a slumbering, disjointed, murderous-looking creature, whose violent gestures and waving of hands in front of my face were somewhat irritating. He dashed into a room on the ground floor—and we outside could hear an altercation between the loud-voiced proprietor and the plaintive moans of a half-dying man.

A moment later the half-dying man, skeleton-like, with livid eyes, a complexion the colour of a lemon gone bad, and quivering bare legs, was literally dragged out of the bed and roughly thrown out of the door.

"Here is your room!" cried the landlord triumphantly to me, as he flung out of that apartment some cheap canvas bags, clothes—which from birth had been innocent of washing and pressing—and the socks, shoes, and day shirt of the guest who had been ejected.

The odour alone, as I peeped into the room, was enough to stifle any one with the sense of scent even less delicate than my own. As for the vacant bed—any pariah dog of any other country would have been offended to be offered such filthy accommodation.

In Brazil—as elsewhere—it does not do to lose one's calm. I also wished to avoid an unpleasant quarrel, as I have a belief that quarrels are bad for one's health. I spoke gently and kindly to the hotel-keeper, and said that, although I had ordered nothing, still, as he had kindly reserved that charming apartment for me, I should be very pleased to pay for it, which I would do at once. If he would excuse me, I preferred to go back to sleep in my private car. Upon hearing these words a nasty tragi-comic scene occurred, which, had I not remained cool and collected, might have ended badly.

"Do you know, sir," shouted the landlord, with livid features and eyes shooting out of their orbits, so enraged was he—"do you know that I am the Chief of Police here, and that everybody is afraid of me? I have only to give orders and every one will kill any one I like." Here he discontinued shaking his somewhat grimy hands under my nose and, drawing himself up, stood upon the doorstep of the hotel in order to harangue the great crowd which had collected.

"We are all millionaires in Brazil," shouted the landlord, with an effort which seriously impaired the safety of his fully-congested jugular vein. "We are all atheists and anarchists in Brazil. Down with the infamous oppression and slavery of Europe! Down with kings and emperors! Down with Europe, the land of oppression and cruelty!" And again: "We in Brazil are the richest people on earth. We are all millionaires in Brazil. We do not need foreign charity!"

"Down with foreigners!" answered the chorus of assembled natives.

The railway inspector who had been sent by the Company to accompany me became scared at the turn matters were taking, and told me, against the instructions he had received, that I could not now return to the car. Upon hearing this, my new friends, believing they had me in their power, renewed their vocal attack.

I remained some time endeavouring to collect my baggage, pretending to pay no attention whatever to the absurd oratory. To this day I cannot yet grasp what the oppression of Europe had to do with my wanting to pay for something I had never had. I then repeated my offer, which was again refused. With the protection of his strong rear-guard, the Chief of Police advanced bravely towards me, holding in a suggestive manner with his right hand the pommel of his revolver in the back pocket of his trousers. In a tragic manner he exclaimed:

"We will settle this matter, to-morrow."

"We will settle it at once," I placidly replied.

"No, to-morrow," he repeated, with a vicious look.

"Very good: at what time and where?"

"At ten o'clock," he eventually grunted, after I had repeated the above question four times.

I also politely invited all the others present to come forward if they had any claims to square. I was quite ready to settle anybody at any time and anywhere. Perhaps they might get more than they wished.

I departed with my baggage laden on two carriages and a cart, and eventually found accommodation at an equally filthy hotel near the station—only the latter place was kept by a humble and honest, decrepit old woman. I do not know that I have ever spent a more miserable evening anywhere. I do not mind roughing it in the roughest way possible, but I have always detested pretentious efforts at civilization of an inferior kind. Thus I sat having a meal—eggs, beans, rice—all soaked in toucinho (pork fat) which I detest and loathe. I watched black railway workmen and porters stuffing themselves with food in a most unappetizing way, and making disgusting noises of all kinds.

Fortunately I remembered that a friend of mine—a railway contractor, Mr. Louis Schnoor—must be at that time in Araguary, looking after the construction of the new railway line which will eventually join Araguary to the capital of Goyaz. I went in search of him, stumbling along the terrible roads with deep holes and pools of water and mud. As luck would have it, I was able to purchase from him, that very same evening, a number of excellent mules, which he very generously had offered to place at my disposal without payment. Also he promised to supply me with two reliable men—a job not at all easy in that particular part of Brazil.

Author departing from Morro da Meza,

Showing costume worn during the expedition.

Alcides.                          Filippe the Negro.

Mr. Louis Schnoor—a Brazilian of German extraction—was a godsend to me. Thanks to him, I returned that night quite happy to the miserable hotel. Happy, because in less than half an hour I had arranged to leave that pestilential hole the following day. Mr. Schnoor had kindly undertaken that he would send me, at eleven o'clock the next morning, in a special train to the end of the line in construction, some 45 kil. farther north. In a town of gentle folks like Araguary the luxury of sleeping with one's window open could not be indulged in—especially as nearly all the houses were one storey high. So the night was rendered particularly oppressive and long, tormented as you were in your bed by its innumerable inhabitants, which stung you all over. I had taken the precaution to spread a waterproof sheet under my own blankets on the bed, but that, too, proved ineffective. Mosquitoes were numerous.

No sanitary arrangements to speak of existed in Araguary, so that everything was flung out of the windows into the streets, which made walking about the town most objectionable. The odour everywhere was revolting, as can well be imagined. The city was nevertheless considered by the natives as all that is most perfect in the way of civilization, for not only did it possess a few anæmic electric lights—so far apart as to be a nuisance instead of a help in seeing one's way about—but also, behold! it actually boasted of a spasmodic cinematograph. There were some 500 houses, all counted, at Araguary, all more or less miserable-looking, and a population of some 2,500 souls—"lost souls," I should think.

Slowly, very slowly came the next morning, March 31st. At ten o'clock sharp I called on the Chief of Police at his hotel, and found that he had departed early in the morning and was not to be expected back for some hours! A charming way of keeping an appointment which he was so anxious to bring about.

In the company of Mr. Louis Schnoor I also called on the persons who said they had made arrangements for my expedition, as I did not wish to have any misunderstanding in the matter. Far from having purchased mules, horses, saddles and harness, they could produce nothing on demand, and finally asked me to remain in Araguary for one month—fancy one month in Araguary!—so that they could produce their purchases.

As I was driving in Mr. Schnoor's carriage we met, a long way from his home and hotel, the Chief of Police and hotel proprietor. I immediately dismounted and informed that gentleman of my visit at the appointed time. I also demanded that whatever he wished me to settle must be settled at once.

"Nothing at all," said he, shaking me warmly by the hand. "You owe me nothing. It was all a mistake. It was all a mistake. Please do not think of it any more. You owe me nothing, nothing, nothing. If I can be of use to you, pray order me! I am your humble servant." And his delightful politeness was such that I could hardly realize it was the same vicious man of the previous evening. In my surprise I had to turn to Mr. Schnoor to inquire whether I had got hold of the wrong man.

Yes, indeed. Some of those fellows of Central Brazil were a remarkable mixture of villainy and charm—in chemical language one might describe them as sublimates of rascality and delightful manners.

However, good manners or not, I had taken such a dislike to the place that I was glad when eleven o'clock came and Mr. Schnoor conveyed me to the special train—an engine and one car. I inspected the new station of the Goyaz railway, which was already finished—a useful, well-constructed building, quite sufficient for its needs. In the company of Mr. Schnoor, his chief engineer, Mr. Schirmer and Mr. Bertoux, we left Araguary—oh, what a relief!—for the end of the line, 45 kil. away. I had decided to go and wait there in the open country the few hours which would be necessary to collect the men who were to accompany me, and the mules.

The work on that portion of the Goyaz line which was already laid was well and quickly done. Mr. Schnoor assured me that in four or five months more they expected to run trains to Catalão. An iron bridge will eventually be built across the Paranahyba River, within a short distance of which the line had already been laid when I was there. Some delay had been experienced in making a deep cut on the south side of Paranahyba Hills, where the strata had been found much harder than expected.

I camped for a day and a half at Morro da Meza, a lovely spot at an elevation of 2,850 ft., from whence an immense panorama could be enjoyed. What a relief this heavenly place was after Araguary, and how everlastingly grateful I shall be to my friend Mr. Schnoor for having deposited me there!

I took the opportunity of the solitude to rearrange my baggage. On April 1st my good friend Schnoor reappeared to see that all arrangements were satisfactory for my departure.

Morro da Meza will ever remain present in my mind, for it was my jumping-off place into the wilds. It was from there that the actual marching on horseback and on foot began, and it was there I last saw a railway train for the best part of a year.

On April 1st, at 4 p.m., I left Morro da Meza, went through the new railway cut in preparation, crossed the Paranahyba River (at an elevation of 1,970 ft. above the sea level), and made my camp on the opposite side of the stream at Anhãnguera (elev. 2,100 ft. above sea level) in the railway engineers' camp, 800 yards away from the water. The engineers, an Italian, Mr. Schnoor's father-in-law, and a Russian—a Mr. Martens—showed me every possible civility. A curious incident occurred while we were having dinner. The day was a holiday, and the workmen on the line were resting. We were sipping our coffee, when a man entered our hut and said a companion of his had been shot. We rushed to see him, and we found that the poor wretch had had his skin perforated in eight different places by the same bullet. What was more remarkable was that each perforation was close to dangerous places in the man's anatomy, and yet not a single wound was mortal. This is how it happened. The man was lying down in his suspended hammock, resting his left hand on his left knee. A friend came along to show him a new automatic pistol he had purchased. In the usual silly fashion he had pointed it at his friend. The pistol went off, and the bullet passed just under the skin at the knee, at the side of the knee-cap, and having come out again, went right through the soft part of the hand between the thumb and index finger. It then perforated the arm at the biceps, and further entering the chest, shaved the heart and came out at the shoulder-blade, continuing its flight beyond to somewhere where no one could find it again. That spoke highly for the penetrating power of bullets from automatic pistols, and also for the little harm those little bullets may inflict. The man, after we had carefully dressed his wounds, looked, perhaps, a little miserable, but he was able to depart on horseback carrying with his good arm a bottle of medicine.

The Goyaz railway was making rapid progress. The rails were soon to be laid on the north side of the river as far as Catalão. The bed of the railway was fast being made ready.

It was not until April 3rd that I was able actually to make a start with my caravan. My good friend, Mr. Louis Schnoor, had promised me two men—Alcides Ferreiro dos Santos and Filippe da Costa de Britto; the first a German Brazilian of a violent revolutionary temper but of extraordinary bravery; the other a pure negro of a boisterous, simple nature, also of indisputable bravery in moments of great danger. These two men—both natives of Araguary—proved themselves to be on that fateful expedition the two best men I possessed. Thus, if nothing else can be said in praise of Araguary, it must be said in justice that it can produce some men of great courage and faithfulness—a boast which cannot well be applied to many places in Brazil.

On April 3rd, at 9 a.m., after a touching farewell, I left the engineers' camp mounted on a magnificent mule that Mr. Schnoor had insisted on lending me as far as Goyaz, with the pack animals which I had purchased. I did not follow the principal road, which went by a somewhat circuitous route from Araguary to the capital of Goyaz via the towns of Catalão and Bomfin, but preferred to travel across country by a short cut which took you there in an almost direct line in a north-westerly direction. On getting over the Serrinha (elev. 2,250 ft.), a hill range, one obtained a gorgeous view of the valley of the Paranahyba River—a river which, already of good width there, became eventually the great Parana. It is on the right bank of the river, near its mouth, some thousands of miles from where we were, that Buenos Aires is situated.

Going through a beautiful forest in undulating country, we reached the summit of a flat-topped tableland, 2,500 ft. above the sea level, with a gentle slope towards the north, where the edge of its summit was some 50 ft. lower than on the south. The vegetation was somewhat stunted, but interesting, for many were the trees I noticed which could be put to some use or other. The Barbatimão (Stryphnodendron bar. M.) was plentiful, and could be used advantageously in tanning leather; the Pao ferro (Cæsalpinia ferria M.) and the Paneira, were present in quantities.

Through the forest we descended in three hours to the Rio Virissimo, which, swollen by the sub-tributaries Barrocas, Indaica, Pirahitinga and Perobas on the east and Vae Vem on the west, throws itself into the Paranatinga between Morro Alto and Porto do Barreiro. That stream had been bridged over. We had descended to 2,000 ft. During the entire distance—we had travelled some 23 kil. from the Paranahyba River—we had passed only two miserable sheds and we had not met a single soul, barring a glimpse at a shaggy female who happened to be opening the door of her hut as we were passing, and with a yell of terror banged it again, and bolted it as she perceived us riding by.

A peculiar kind of wild fig-tree was to be seen, ball-like in appearance, with branches inclined down instead of skyward like most trees. On our right as we proceeded down to the farms of S. Jeronymo and Sta. Barbara (elev. 2,400 ft.) stood a mountain with beautiful grazing land upon its slopes. Healthy fat cattle, in most wonderful condition—testifying to the excellence of the grazing in that region—were bred by the farmers. To the north, north-east and north-west behind this place were to be seen delightful green round-topped hills, also with excellent grazing. A few cows and imported zebus were to be seen, it is true, but the country could support a million times that number and more.

It was that evening that I noticed for the first time in Brazil a peculiar and most wonderful effect of light at sunset—not unlike an aurora borealis. White, well-defined radiations shot skyward from the west, where the sun had set, and stood out luminously against the dark blue sky, like the spokes of a gigantic wheel. This effect, as we shall see, was repeated frequently at sunset, and sometimes was even more beautiful than on the occasion of that first acquaintance with it.

We marched 39½ kil. that day—with my nine pack-mules, Formosa (which in Portuguese means "beautiful"), the splendid white mule I rode, and three other mules ridden by my men. It was a real pleasure to see the appetite of the animals when we made camp. How joyfully they ground with their powerful jaws the Indian corn which each had received in a nose-bag soon after we had halted, removed the loads and saddles from their backs, and properly groomed them!

When we started the next morning we went through most beautiful grazing land for some 20 kil., and through marvellous grassy slopes on the mountains beyond. Streamlets of clear abundant water were passed. From 2,050 ft., the elevation of the stream, we rose to 2,650 ft., then descended gradually to the village of Corumbahyba, with its brand-new red-tiled roofs and whitewashed houses—very tiny, and, with one exception, all one-storied. The windows and doors were gaily decorated with bright blue paint. There was a church, of course, on one side of the large square smothered in high grass, and by the church two wooden pillars supported a beam from which hung a bronze bell. Then in the centre of the square stood, most prominent of all in the village, a huge wooden cross in a dilapidated condition. What little life seemed to exist in the place was to be found in the local store, where an inquisitive crowd had collected when I arrived.

Goyaz Railway in Construction.

The cut leading to the Paranahyba River.

Author's Caravan crossing a Stream.

My mules were let loose to graze in the square, joining a number of cows that were there already. As I sat in the shop, closely examined by the inhabitants, I returned the compliment by analysing them. What a strange, dried-up, worn-out appearance young and old presented! What narrow, chicken-like chests, what long, unstable legs and short arms. And, dear me! what shaggy, rebellious hair, which stood out bristle-like in all directions upon their scalps! Yet those people came from ancestors who must have been, centuries ago, magnificent types of humanity to be able to accomplish what they did in the way of colonization. With the habit we possess of looking for finer, healthier specimens of humanity in the country than in the cities, this condition of affairs came somewhat as a surprise to me, since that rule generally applied to most nations I have visited except Brazil. Those people, partly by constant intermarriage among themselves, partly by the mixture of black blood with the white, and greatly owing to the effects of the most terrible complaint of the blood in existence—universal in Brazil—partly, too, by the dull, uninteresting, wasted lives they led and the poverty of their nourishment, were reduced to a state of semi-idiocy. The men hardly seemed to have the strength and energy to walk or even stand up—although I must confess, to my regret, that they had not yet lost the power of talking.

Their features were unattractive. Eyes wide apart and widely expanded, so that the entire circle of the iris was exposed, although the eyeball itself was not à fleur de tête, but rather sunk into excessively spacious orbital cavities in the skull. The part of the eyeball which is usually white was yellow with them, softened somewhat by luxuriant eyelashes of abnormal length. In fact, the only thing that seemed plentiful and vigorous with them was the hair, which grew abundantly and luxuriantly everywhere, just as bad grass and weeds do on uncultivated or abandoned lands. There was a lot of hair everywhere—on the scalp, on the eyebrows, on the men's unshaven cheeks, on the chest, the arms, hands, and the legs. It is, I believe, a well-known fact that hair is generally more luxuriant, the weaker and more anæmic the subject is—up to a certain point.

Deep grooves and hollow cheeks—the latter due to absence of teeth—marked the faces of even young men. Then one of the most noticeable peculiarities was the extraordinary development, prominence and angularity of the apple of the throat. The ears—which to my mind show the real character and condition of health of a person more than any other visible part of his or her anatomy—were large and prominent, occasionally well-formed, but lacking colour and the delightful, well-chiselled, vigorous curves of healthy, normal, intelligent people. The hands and feet were generally small and well-shaped, in wonderful condition—though not necessarily clean—owing to the inborn reluctance which all the people of Brazil have towards manual labour.

It has always been my experience that, generally speaking, malformed people possess distorted brains—which does not mean at all that the brain of a malformed person may not perhaps develop in a marvellous manner in one particular direction. What I maintain is that, with few possible exceptions, the brains of malformed people are seldom perfectly balanced. In those particular subjects it did not take a deep student of human nature to set down the entire crowd of them as visionaries, most fantastically inclined—in which direction, having no restraint whatever, they ran absolutely amuck.

Yet there was something very charming about the people of the interior of Brazil, after they had overcome their first suspicion of strangers and their own shyness. They seemed imbued with the idea that everybody went there specially to do them harm. They lived in a constant state of fear and trembling, even of their own relations and friends. They all went about armed to the teeth, and would not dream of going a yard outside their homes without a revolver, a rifle and a dagger. Even to walk about the village the men were all armed.

When not in a rage or sulky—which seemed to be their almost constant condition—they were the most good-hearted people I have ever met; gentle, affectionate—in fact, so sentimental that it became a positive nuisance. If one learnt how to deal with them—which was not always easy—they were really delightful people in their enviable simplicity.

A reflection of the people's mentality was to be discovered at a glance in examining the articles that were for sale in the only shop in the village. There, remember, you were in a country which, from an agricultural point of view, could be made of immense value. Now, did you notice any implements in the shop which suggested agricultural pursuits of any kind whatever? No; what you found were patent leather dress shoes, elaborately embroidered top-boots, fancy neckties, gaudy gilt and silver spurs of immense size, bottles of powerful perfumes, fancy soaps, mirrors, combs, and highly-coloured calicoes, beer, fire-water, and other such articles of luxury.

Characteristic Types of Brazilians of the Interior.

(Notice degenerate faces and development of goitre.)

A Typical Village of the Province of Goyaz.

The Corumbahyba village stood at an elevation of 2,250 ft. in a hollow surrounded by low hills. The water was delicious at that place.

As I was getting through my lunch—which I enjoyed thoroughly after my morning march of 23 kil.—I saw crossing the square two murderers laden with iron chains, led along with a rope by two mounted men. The natives present laughed as they saw the poor devils struggle along. Not a sign of pity or care was shown by anybody present.

After leaving Corumbahyba we witnessed a panorama of magnificent mountain scenery from a height of 2,550 ft., to which we had ascended. Then came a steep and rugged descent through a forest down to a streamlet (2,250 ft.); then up another ascent to 2,350 ft. and down again to 2,050 ft. at the great Corumbá River, there 300 yards wide. We crossed this beautiful stream—animals and all—on three canoes joined together, upon which a platform had been built.

CHAPTER V

There were some picturesque rapids just above the spot where we crossed the Corumbá River, which flowed in a tortuous channel with a general direction of W.S.W.

To the east of our track, as we proceeded northward, stood a glorious range of hills with magnificent grazing land extending for many miles. In front of us to the north and N.N.E. towered a high plateau, the Serra de Callos, also called, I believe, Serra do Cusuzeiro.

Still travelling up and down and across several streamlets, we reached at sunset the Rio Boccagna (2,230 ft. above the sea level), which, soon after passing the place where we crossed it, entered the large river Bagri, winding its way through a gorgeous forest. We had passed during the day really wonderful grazing land on either side of the track, but principally to the east, between the north bank of the Corumbá River and Camp Mazagan. There were plenty of small streams in the hilly and sometimes slightly wooded valleys.

At seven o'clock, having ridden that day 76 kil., we halted after dark at the moradoria, or farm, of Mazagan (elev. 2,375 ft. above the sea level). We were politely asked to enter the house, and immediately preparations were made to clear out the best room for me. The illumination was not grand: an ancient metal arrangement—not unlike a Pompeian lamp—with a wick soaked in oil profusely smoking. In the dim light I could just distinguish in the background, reclining against the wall, a youth with a guitar, from which two chords—always the same two chords—were strummed. The boy seemed in a trance over this musical composition, and even our appearance had not disturbed his efforts. He had taken no notice whatever of us. Dinner was prepared—it took a long time—the musician all the time delighting his admiring family with the two monotonous chords.

"It is a pity," said his delighted mother to me, "that we cannot send him to school. He is a genius; he would astonish the world."

"Yes," I hastily agreed, "it is a pity you cannot send him ... somewhere!"

"Can you not take him with you?"

I explained to the poor woman that it required very civilized people to appreciate her son's music. Among the wild Indians I expected to find, later on in my journey, I was sure that with music like that, we should all be killed; they were such savages!

After two solid hours—and the two chords still continuing, with no signs whatever of relenting—I asked the musical genius if he could treat me to a different tune. Alas! he knew no other, but as he saw that I was so fond of music he would again, with the greatest pleasure, go on playing the same air—he called it an air.

"Muito obrigado! (Thank you very much!)" I moaned, with a sickly smile on my lips and a violent internal wish to smash guitar and guitarist.

"No hai de que! (Do not mention it!)" and here recommenced the repetition of the two chords.

"I should like to go to sleep now; thank you very much again for the lovely music," I next plaintively added, in my most approved Brazilian politeness.

"Oh, not at all: I shall go on playing while you are sleeping. It will give you pleasant dreams!"

It was too pathetic. Nothing short of murder could have stopped his enthusiasm. Being a traveller of years' experience, I was not to be outwitted. As he would not stop the music, I stopped hearing it by stuffing my ears tight with cotton-wool. So I slept soundly enough, notwithstanding the orchestral entertainment. At sunrise, when I opened my eyes again, the boy was still at it. I removed the cotton from my ears ... yes, indeed, the identical two chords!

The boy and the guitar will perhaps never know what a narrow escape they both had! In despair I gave orders to get the mules ready at once in order to depart immediately.

Those halts in farmhouses were dreary beyond words. The Brazilians of the interior—quite unlike those of the big towns in or near the coast—were sullen people, with no conversation—or else too much—no interest in anything, no art, no imagination. They were timid and vain to an incredible degree, suspicious, avaricious, and easily offended, so that the greatest tact had to be used with them. They were ignorant of everything even in their own immediate neighbourhood. Yet, mind you, with all that, extraordinarily kind and ultra-polite of speech. They all seemed turned out of the same mould. When you had seen one you had seen them all. There were, of course, a few exceptions—Brazilians of recent German, French, Italian or Spanish origin—but these exceptions were indeed very rare in the interior.

Ill-fed, his blood corrupted and impoverished to the utmost degree—his health, therefore, never in a normal condition—his finances at the lowest ebb, the Brazilian of the interior had little indeed to make him happy. His home at best was as miserable and dirty as possible. The room generally given to an honoured guest—the best in the house—was the granary. More than once was my camp-bed perched on a mound of Indian corn. And the furniture? A wooden bench of the roughest description—really an instrument of torture rather than an article of comfort; a few wooden pegs in the wall for hanging rifles or other things; an occasional wooden bedstead; seldom, very seldom, a stool or a chair—in any case, never a comfortable one such as you invariably find with peasants and old-established colonists of most other countries. They cared not for comfort. Their beds, a mass of rags, were shared by masters and hens and dogs. Everything was in an abandoned state, everything had fallen to rack and ruin. All looked as if they were tired of life, too indolent to move. They seldom saluted when you met them on the trail, nor when you entered their houses; if they did, they rapidly touched their dilapidated hats as if afraid to spoil them. Never did you perceive a smile upon their long-drawn countenances. When they greeted one another they laid their bodies close together as if about to dance the tango, and patted each other repeatedly on the shoulder-blades, turning their heads away as if to avoid their reciprocal evil odour. It is not the fashion in any part of Brazil to shake hands. Some say it is because of the unpleasant feeling of touching sweating hands; others suggest that it is to prevent the contagion of the many skin complaints from which people suffer. When they do shake hands—with a stranger, for instance—one might as well be grasping the very dead hand of a very dead man; it is done in so heartless a manner.

For a consideration they reluctantly gave a stranger what little they possessed, but they had not the remotest idea of the value of things. In one farmhouse you were charged the equivalent of a few pence for an egg or a chicken; in the next farm a small fortune was demanded for similar articles of convenience. Men, women, children, dogs, pigs and fowls, all lived—not happily, but most unhappily—together.

No sooner were we able to saddle the animals and pack the baggage and pay our hostess, than we tried to make our escape from that musical farm. But luck was hard on me that day. One mule was lost, a second received a terrible gash in his hind quarters from a powerful kick from another mule.

We went on among low, fairly grassy hills to the west, W.N.W. and to the east of us. We still had before us the Serra de Callos—a flat-topped tableland some 12 kil. in diameter on the summit, where it was almost circular. Its deeply grooved sides showed clearly the great work of erosion which had occurred and was still taking place in those regions. With the exception of two spurs, which projected on the west and east sides of the plateau, its sky-line was quite clean and flat.

After rising to an elevation of 2,600 ft., then descending to 2,450 ft., we crossed two streamlets which afterwards joined a fairly important torrent. One was called the Rio Boa Vista. We gradually then rose to 2,750 ft. on another flat tableland to the east of the Serra de Callos, with its sides eroded in two distinct terraces, the higher one being almost a straight wall from two-thirds up the side of the range. In the lower portion a number of rounded mounds were to be observed, which, with a stretch of the imagination and for the sake of comparison, resembled, perhaps, elephants' heads.

North-east of the Serra stood a thickly-wooded, detached mound, while to the north as we went along there was displayed before us a magnificent view of the flat valley into which we were about to descend.

Where the country was wooded many trees and plants were to be found, useful for their tanning, medicinal, oliferous or lactiferous qualities: such as the Dedal, a yellowish-leafed shrub from which a yellow dye can be obtained; the tall thin Arariba Amarelho, or Amarelhino (Centrolobium robustum), a great number of Lobelia trees, with their elongated light green leaves and clean barked stems, which eject, from incisions, a caustic and poisonous juice. The tallest of all the trees in that region was perhaps the Jacaranda, with its tiny leaves.... There were four kinds of Jacaranda—the Jacaranda cabiuna, rosa, tan and violeta, technically known as Dalbergia nigra, Machærium incorruptibile, Machærium cencopterum, Machærium Alemanni, Benth. The three latter have a specific gravity higher than that of most woods in Brazil, except the Pao de ferro (Cæsalpina ferrea), the very plentiful Barbatimao (Stryphnodendron barbatimao), a mimosa-like tree, and the Vinhatico amarello (Echyrosperum Balthazarii), the last of which has the highest specific gravity of all.

Then we found plenty of Sambaiba, an excellent wood, and Imuliana, a wood of great resistance, much used in certain parts of Brazil for constructing fences.

A peculiar tree with concave leaves shaped like a cup was locally called Ariticun or Articun. It produced a large fruit, quite good to eat.

Much botanical variety was indeed everywhere around us.... There was the terra da folha miuta, which, as its name tells, possessed minute shiny leaves; then the tall Faveiro (Pterodon pubescens), producing a bean, and having dark leaves not unlike those of mimosas. Then, many were the kinds of acacias we noticed as we went along.

Picturesque Ox-carts of Goyaz.

Still descending, we arrived at the little town of Caldas de Goyaz—so called because there were three hot springs of water of different temperatures. I visited the three springs. The water tasted slightly of iron, was beautifully clear and quite good to drink. Two springs were found in a depression some 150 ft. lower than the village—viz., at an elevation of 2,450 ft., whereas the village itself was at 2,600 ft. These two springs were only 20 ft. away from a stream of cold water. A short distance from the cold stream was another stream of hot water emerging from the rocks.

Small rectangular tanks had been made at the two higher springs, which were said to possess wonderful curing qualities for eczema and other cutaneous troubles; also for rheumatism and blood complaints of all kinds. Whether those waters were really beneficial or not, it was not possible to ascertain on a passing visit. I drank some of the water and it did me no harm, so if it does no good neither is it injurious.

The village of Caldas showed signs of having seen better days. It was clean-looking, but like all other villages of Goyaz it was dreary in the extreme. There were only a few houses in the place, and each had a shop; all the shops sold similar articles—nickel-plated revolvers, spurs and daggers, calicoes, gaudy wearing-apparel, perfumery, and so on.

For any one interested in the study of the effects of erosion on a gigantic scale, no more suitable country could be found than Central Brazil. Here again to the E.N.E. of Caldas stood the Serra do Sappé. In this case it was not a tableland, like the Serra de Caldas, but purely a hill range. The plateau of Serra de Caldas, I was told, measured on its summit 12 kil. by 18 kil.

Again, after leaving Caldas, we went through most wonderful grazing ground to the north-east and east of our route at the foot of the Serra do Sappé. We had descended to the Rio Lagiadi, 2,480 ft. above the sea level, which flowed into the Pirapitinga River (a tributary of the Corumbá). Once more did we admire that evening the remarkable effect of solar radiation, this time a double radiation with one centre—the sun—to the west, and a second centre, at a point diametrically opposite, to the east. Those radiations, with a gradually expanded width, rose to the highest point of the celestial vault, where they met. The effect was gorgeous indeed, and gave the observer the impression of being enclosed in the immeasurable interior of an amazingly beautiful sea-shell turned inside out.

We arrived in the evening at the farm of Laza (elev. 2,450 ft.), where we had to abandon the wounded mule, and also another which, on coming down a steep incline, had badly injured its fore leg.

The pack-saddles used in the interior of Brazil (Minas Geraes, Goyaz and Matto Grosso) were the most impracticable, torturing arrangements I have ever had to use on my travels. The natives swore by them—it was sufficient for anything to be absurdly unpractical for them to do so. It only led, as it did with me at first, to continuous unpleasantness, wearying discussions and eventual failure if one tried to diverge from the local habits, or attempted to eradicate deeply-rooted ideas.

Let me describe a typical Brazilian pack-saddle. It weighed, with its inseparable protecting hide, well over 90 lbs. It was bulky and cumbersome, most difficult to lift and set right on the animal's back. It consisted of two great parallel, clumsily-carved, heavy U-shaped pieces of wood supported upright on two enormous pads, at least double the size and thickness necessary. The breast and tail pieces were of extra thick leather of great width, which had the double disadvantage of being heavy and of producing bad sores by their constant friction and hard, saw-like, cutting edges. Then the saddle allowed the loads to hang much too low on the sides of the animal's body. This naturally saved trouble and effort to the men who packed the animals. Two of them simply lifted the loads simultaneously on the two sides and hooked them to the saddle by means of adjusted loops of leather or rope. Then came the difficulty of keeping the loads in position, so that they would not shift back and forth. This was done by passing a leather thong over all and under the animal's belly, which was then squeezed beyond all measure. Result of this: continuous trouble to pack rebellious animals, who knew what was coming; painful marching for the animals, who thus had difficulty in breathing, and therefore extra long marches, almost an impossibility without much injury to them. We will not speak of sore backs, sore sides, sore chests, and sore tail root—which was a matter of course after a pack animal had borne for a few hours one of those torturing arrangements on its back.

I had tried to adopt lighter saddles of a more practical design, such as I had used on other expeditions; but as this involved a different method altogether of packing the animals, it led to much derision, unpleasantness, and refusal to do the work except in their own stupid way, so that in order to save time, expense and trouble I had to conform, much against my will, to the Brazilian method. It was an impossibility to induce a Brazilian of the interior to agree that any other way of doing anything was better or even as good as his own.

A painful phase of human existence, as the country became more and more sparsely inhabited, was the number, relative to the population, of cases of sexual insanity, due naturally to the great difficulty of intercourse. We will not refer to sexual vices—extremely common—which reduced the few inhabitants to a state of absolute idiocy. Thus at Laza farm there were only three women and no men. They were all of a certain age, and for many many years had been there alone, and had not seen a man. They had become absolutely insane, and it required no little tact to prevent a catastrophe. One—a repulsive, toothless black woman, formerly a slave—was in such an excited state of mind that I was really glad when I saw my troop of animals started on the march early the next morning.

On April 6th we were still on the north side of the Serra de Caldas, at the northernmost point of which flowed a riberão, or great river (elev. 2,450 ft.). Most beautiful grazing land spread to the north of us, enormous stretches of undulating country verdant with delicious grass. The Sappé Mountains were still visible in the distance.

Marching through enchanting country—almost level, or merely rising or descending a few feet—with a magnificent view of distant mountains to our right and of low flat plains and far-away tablelands to our left, we arrived, after a morning's march of 36 kil., at the fazenda of Pouso Alto (elev. 2,600 ft.).

A Home in Central Brazil.

A Clever Automatic Pounding Machine.

Outwardly Pouso Alto was by far the neatest-looking fazenda we had yet seen since leaving Araguary, but on entering the house the floor was a mass of dirt. Fowls were running to and fro all over the rooms. A rough table of Portuguese origin, a couple of benches so dirty that one did not dare to sit on them, some roughly made bedsteads, miserable and filthy—but no washstands or basins, no articles of necessity were anywhere to be observed or found. The mattresses—if one can elevate them to the dignity of such a name: they were mere bags filled with anything that had been found handy, such as the leaves and stalks of Indian-corn, wool and dried grass—were rolled up in the daytime. Only one bed was still made up. On it a cackling hen was busy laying an egg. That egg—a very good egg—was triumphantly served to me for breakfast.

The walls of nearly all the farmhouses in the southern part of the Province of Goyaz were made of wooden lattice work, the square cavities formed by the cross sticks being filled in and the whole plastered over with mud, which eventually became hard when dry. Near the foundations the walls were strengthened with mud bricks half baked.

Evidently, as was the case with this particular old house, in former days, when Goyaz was more prosperous than it is now, in the time of the Emperor, most of the houses were whitewashed—a luxury which in these days of misery the farmers can no longer indulge in. The doors and windows were rambling, though the frames of them were generally solidly made, but one never saw a pane of glass in any window anywhere in the country. At night the people barricaded themselves tight into their rooms and let no air in. It was partly due to fear of attack. Whenever a building was whitewashed one invariably saw on it the impression of its owner's spread hand in outline, or else his signature in blue paint. The favourite colours in house decoration—where any were noticeable—were blue and a dirty cinnabar red.

Dogs were numerous everywhere, and, like their masters, were indolent and sleepy.

In the afternoon of that same day we travelled some 13 kil. more, on practically level ground intersected by a couple of streamlets. Marching through thinly wooded country, grassy here and there, one began to notice a variation in the scenery, which was gradually becoming more tropical in appearance. Palm trees, especially burity (Mauritia vinifera M.), in single specimens, or in groups, could be seen in the great stretches of good grazing country which appeared on both sides of our course.

We spent the night at the fazenda of Ritiro Alegre (elev. 2,450 ft.), which words translated mean "the merry rest"—a most undeserved name, I can assure you, for neither merriment nor rest was to be obtained there. An evening in a Brazilian farm was, nevertheless, occasionally not devoid of interest or of comic scenes.

These folks evidently valued little the life of their children. As I was sitting on the doorstep waiting for my dinner to be cooked, down came, galloping at a breakneck speed and riding bareback, a little child of eight, carrying slung under his arm a smaller child of one, the latter squealing terribly. They both landed safely at the door. Then there appeared one of the picturesque carts drawn by twelve oxen, anxiously awaited by the family. Twenty snarling, snorting, ill-natured pigs provided enough noise seriously to impair the drums of one's ears; and when you added to this the monotonous bellowing of cows and oxen, the frantic neighing of horses and mules waiting to be fed, the crowing of cocks and the cackling of hens, the unmusical shrieks of a beautiful arara (or macaw, of gorgeous green, blue, and yellow plumage), and of two green parrots—to which total add, please, the piercing yells of the children—it was really enough to drive one insane.

They were superior farmers, those of the "Merry Rest"—no one could doubt it when the lady of the house and her pretty daughter arrived from an errand and found strangers in the house. Dear me, what style, what enchanting affectation, the pretty maid and her mamma put on when they perceived us!... With an air of solemnity that was really delightful, they each offered us the tip of one finger for us to shake, and spoke with such affectation that their words stumbled one against the other. Their vocabulary was evidently restricted, and in order to make the conversation elegant they interpolated high-sounding words which did not exactly belong, but sounded grand in their ears. It was a trial to have to remain serious.

Dinner was served—always the same fare wherever you went. Boiled rice (very badly boiled), beans, stewed chicken chopped up, pimienta (peppers), fried eggs and Indian corn flour, which one mixed up together on one's plate and rendered into a paste. The coffee was always plentiful and good, but so strong that it was quite bitter.

By the light of a wick burning and smoking terribly from the neck of an ex-medicine bottle filled with oil, we enjoyed our meal, watched intently by the entire family, silent and flattened in semi-obscurity against the walls. The primitive lamp gave so little light—although it gave abundant smell—that the many figures were almost indistinguishable against the dirty background, and all one perceived on raising one's eyes from the dinner-plate was a row of expanded eyes, following the movements of our hands, and just under that row a row of white teeth.

When seen in a stronger light it was curious to notice criminal characteristics on nearly every face one saw; in the servants at those farmhouses one frequently observed murderous-looking creatures whom one would not care to meet alone in the dark. They were a special breed of stranded outcasts who had drifted there—the outcome of a complex mixture of Portuguese, former black slaves, and Indians. When you realized that the people who had drifted into the interior were the worst Portuguese, the worst blacks, and the Indians who intermarried with these gentry the worst Indians, you can well imagine what fine results could be expected from such a breed.

One trait predominant among these people was the unreasonable jealousy of the men over their women. Had they been so many Venuses of Milo the men could not have guarded them with more ferocity. I am sure it would take a brave man indeed, and, above all, a totally blind man, to fall in love with the farmers' wives, daughters, or servants of the Province of Goyaz.

I must say this in favour of my Brazilian men, that, whatever other faults they may have had, they always, behaved in a most chivalrous, dignified way with the women-folk we met. Never once did I have to reprimand them.

In the morning, as the cows were driven into the yard to be milked, and the calves were being suckled by their mothers, and the children, rubbing their sleepy eyes with the backs of their hands, scrambled out of the house upon their drowsy legs, the girls of the family brought the last cups of coffee to us departing strangers. We packed our animals, paid the bill, and were off again.

On April 7th we crossed the Piracanjuga River, another tributary of the Corumbá, 50 yards wide, flowing from north-east to south-west, at an elevation of 2,300 ft. One league (6 kil. 600 m.) farther on we crossed another stream flowing east, in its turn a tributary of the Piracanjuga.

One of the most beautiful trees in that region was the caneleira, of the family of the Laurineas. Beautiful, too, were the oleo pardo and vermelho (Myrocarpus frondosus and Myrospermum erythrozylon).

We were next treated to a view of an extensive, deliciously green valley, most excellent for grazing purposes, extending from north to south to the west of our route. In the central depression of this valley were burity palms in abundance. They say that wherever you find a burity you are sure to find water. It is perfectly true, as the burity only flourishes where there is a good deal of moisture in the soil.

Having crossed a low pass, we found ourselves in another valley—this one sparsely wooded (2,500 ft. above the sea level), very beautiful, with undulations some 200 ft. high, and with streamlets at the bottom of most of the undulations. The summit of the highest elevation on that undulating land was 2,750 ft., the level of the principal streamlet 2,600 ft. above the sea.

CHAPTER VI