June 18th and 19th.—Senhor Jeronymo promised to sell me a montaria, so I waited for three hours after sunrise the next morning, expecting it to be forthcoming, but in vain. I sent Pinto and afterwards José to enquire about it, but they, instead of performing the errand, joined the easy-natured master of the house in a morning carousal. I was obliged, when my patience was exhausted, to go after them, having to clamber down a projecting bough, in the absence of a boat, to get ashore; and then found my two men, their host, and two or three neighbours, lolling in hammocks, tinkling wire guitars, and drinking cashaca. I mention this as a sample of a very common class of incidents in Brazilian travelling. Master Jeronymo backed out of his promise regarding the montaria. José and Pinto, who seemed to think they had done nothing wrong, sulkily obeyed my order to go on board, and we again got under way. The wind failed us on the 18th towards three p.m. About six miles above Aramdna-i we rounded a rocky point called Acardtingari, the distance travelled being altogether not more than twelve miles. The greater part of the day was thus lost: we passed the night in a snug little harbour sheltered by trees.

To-day (19th) we had a good wind, which carried us to the mouth of a creek, called Paquiattiba, where the “inspector” of the district lived, Senhor Cypriano, for whom I had brought an order from Captain Thomas to supply me with another hand. We had great difficulty in finding a place to land. The coast in this part was a tract of level, densely-wooded country, through which flowed the winding rivulet, or creek, which gives its name to a small scattered settlement hidden in the wilderness; the hills here receding two or three miles towards the interior. A large portion of the forest was flooded, the trunks of the very high trees near the mouth of the creek standing 18 feet deep in water. We lost two hours working our way with poles through the inundated woods in search of the port. Every inlet we tried ended in a labyrinth choked up with bushes, but we were at length guided to the

right place by the crowing of cocks. On shouting for a montaria an Indian boy made his appearance, guiding one through the gloomy thickets; but he was so alarmed, I suppose, at the apparition of a strange-looking white man in spectacles bawling from the prow of the vessel, that he shot back quickly into the bushes. He returned when Manoel spoke, and we went ashore; the montaria winding along a gloomy overshadowed water-path, made by cutting away the lower branches and underwood. ‘The foot-road to the houses was a narrow, sandy alley, bordered by trees of stupendous height, overrun with creepers, and having an unusual number of long air-roots dangling from the epiphytes on their branches.

After passing one low smoky little hut, half-buried in foliage, the path branched off in various directions, and, the boy having left us, we took the wrong turn. We were brought to a stand soon after by the barking of dogs; and on shouting, as is customary on approaching a dwelling, “OQ da casa!” (Oh of the house!) a dark-skinned native, a Cafuzo, with a most unpleasant expression of countenance, came forth through the tangled maze of bushes, armed with a long knife, with which he pretended to be whittling a stick. He directed us to the house of Cypriano, which was about a mile distant along another forest road. The circumstance of the Cafuzo coming out armed to receive visitors very much astonished my companions, who talked it over at every place we visited for several days afterwards; the freest and most unsuspecting welcome in these retired places being always counted upon by strangers. But, as Manoel remarked, the fellow may have been one of the unpardoned rebel leaders who had settled here after the recapture of Santarem in 1836, and lived in fear of being enquired for by the authorities of Santarem. After all our trouble we found Cypriano absent from home. His house was a large one, and full of people, old and young, women and children, all of whom were Indians or mamelucos. Several smaller huts surrounded the large dwelling, besides extensive open sheds containing mandioca ovens and rude wooden mills for grinding sugar-cane to make molasses. All the buildings were embosomed in trees; it would be scarcely possible to find a more retired nook, and an air of contentment was spread over the whole establishment. Cypriano’s wife, a good-looking mameluco girl, was superintending the packing of farinha. Two or three old women, seated on mats, were making baskets with narrow strips of bark from the leaf-stalks of palms, whilst others were occupied lining them with the broad leaves of a species of maranta, and filling them afterwards with farinha, which was previously measured in a rude square vessel. It appeared that Senhor Cypriano was a large producer of the article, selling 300 baskets (sixty pounds’ weight each) annually to Santarem traders. I was sorry we were unable to see him, but it was useless waiting, as we were told all the men were at present occupied in “ pucherums,” and he would be unable to give me the assistance I required. We returned to the canoe in the evening, and, after moving out into the river, anchored and slept.

June 20th.—We had a light baffling wind off shore all day on the 2oth, and made but fourteen or fifteen miles by 6 p.m.; when, the wind failing us, we anchored at the mouth of a narrow channel, called

Tapaitina, which runs between a large island and the mainland. About three o’clock we passed in front of Boim, a village on the opposite (western) coast The breadth of the river is here six or seven miles: a confused patch of white on the high land opposite was all we saw of the village, the separate houses being undistinguishable on account of the distance. ‘The coast along which we sailed to-day is a continuation of the low and flooded land of Paquiattiba.

June 21s¢t.—The next morning we sailed along the Tapaitina channel, which is from 400 to 600 yards in breadth. We advanced but slowly, as the wind was generally dead against us, and stopped frequently to ramble ashore. Wherever the landing-place was sandy it was impossible to walk about on account of the swarms of the terrible fire-ant, whose sting is likened by the Brazilians to the puncture of a red-hot needle. There was scarcely a square inch of ground free from them. About three p.m. we glided into a quiet, shady creek, on whose banks an industrious white settler had located himself. I resolved to pass the rest of the day and night here, and endeavour to obtain a fresh supply of provisions, our stock of salt beef being now nearly exhausted. The situation of the house was beautiful; the little harbour being gay with water plants, Pontederiz, now full of purple blossom, from which flocks of Piosdcas started up screaming as we entered. ‘The owner sent a boy with my men to show them the best place for fish up the creek, and in the course of the evening sold me a number of fowls, besides baskets of beans and farinha. The result of the fishing was a good supply of Jandia, a handsome spotted Siluride fish, and Piranha, a kind of Salmonide (Tetragonopterus). Pirdnhas are of several kinds, many of which abound in the waters of the Tapajos. They are caught with almost any kind of bait, for their taste is indiscriminate and their appetite most ravenous. They often attack the legs of bathers near the shore, inflicting severe wounds with their strong triangular teeth. At Paquiatuba and this place I added about twenty species of small fishes to my collection, caught by hook and line, or with the hand in shallow pools under the shade of the forest.

My men slept ashore, and, on their coming aboard in the morning, Pinto was drunk and insolent. According to José, who had kept himself sober, and was alarmed at the other’s violent conduct, the owner of the house and Pinto had spent the greater part of the night together, drinking aguardente de beijt, a spirit distilled from the mandioca root. We knew nothing of the antecedents of this man, who was a tall, strong, self-willed fellow, and it began to dawn on us that this was not a very safe travelling companion in a wild country like this. I thought it better now to make the best of our way to the next settlement, Aveyros, and get rid of him. Our course to-day lay along a high rocky coast, which extended without a break for about eight miles. The height of the perpendicular rocks was from too to 150 feet; ferns and flowering shrubs grew in the crevices, and the summit supported a luxuriant growth of forest, like the rest of the river banks. The waves beat with loud roar at the foot of these inhospitable barriers. At two p.m. we passed the mouth of a small picturesque harbour, formed by a gap in the precipitous coast. Several families have here settled; the place is.

called Ita-puama, or ‘‘ standing rock,” from a remarkable isolated cliff, which stands erect at the entrance to the little haven. A short distance beyond Itá-puáma we found ourselves opposite to the village of Pinhel, which is perched, like Boim, on high ground, on the western side of the river. ‘The stream is here from six to seven miles wide. A line of low islets extends in front of Pinhel, and a little further to the south is a larger island, called Capitari, which lies nearly in the middle of the

LIVEL: June 23rda.—The wind freshened at ten o’clock in the morning of the 23rd. A thick black cloud then began to spread itself over the sky a long way down the river; the storm which it portended, however, did not reach us, as the dark threatening mass crossed from east to west, and the only effect it had was to impel a column of cold air up the river, creating a breeze with which we bounded rapidly forward. The wind in the afternoon strengthened to a gale; we carried on with one foresail only, two of the men holding on to the boom to prevent the whole thing from flying to pieces. The rocky coast continued for about ‘welve miles above Ita-pudma, then succeeded a tract of low marshy land, which had evidently been once an island whose channel of separation from the mainland had become silted up. The island of Capitari and another group of islets succeeding it, called Jacaré, on the opposite side, helped also to contract at this point the breadth of the river, which was now not more than about three miles. The little cuberta almost flew along this coast, there being no perceptible current, past extensive swamps, margined with thick floating grasses. At length, on rounding a low point, higher land again appeared on the right bank of the river, and the village of Aveyros hove in sight, in the port of which we cast anchor late in the afternoon.

Aveyros is a small settlement, containing only fourteen or fifteen houses besides the church; but it is the place of residence of the authorities of a large district; the priest, Juiz de Paz, the subdelegado of police, and the Captain of the Trabalhadores. The district includes Pinhel, which we passed about twenty miles lower down on the left bank of the river. Five miles beyond Aveyros, and also on the left bank, is the missionary village of Santa Cruz, comprising thirty or forty families of baptised Munduructi Indians, who are at present under the management of a Capuchin Friar, and are independent of the Captain of Trabalhadores of Aveyros. The river view from this point towards the south was very grand; the stream is from two to three miles broad, with green islets resting on its surface, and on each side a chain of hills stretches away in long perspective. I resolved to stay here for a few weeks to make collections. On landing, my first care was to obtain a house or room, that I might live ashore. This was soon arranged; the head man of the place, Captain Antonio, having received notice of my coming, so that before night all the chests and apparatus I required were housed and put in order for working.

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