Chương Chương 11 · FROM PEVAS TO THE FRONTIER

. FROM PEVAS TO THE FRONTIER

During the few days which followed nothing occurred worthy of note. The

nights were so fine that the long raft went on its way with the stream

without even a halt. The two picturesque banks of the river seemed to

change like the panoramas of the theaters which unroll from one wing to

another. By a kind of optical illusion it appeared as though the raft

was motionless between two moving pathways.

Benito had no shooting on the banks, for no halt was made, but game was

very advantageously replaced by the results of the fishing.

A great variety of excellent fish were taken--_“pacos,” “surubis,”

“gamitanas,”_ of exquisite flavor, and several of those large rays

called _“duridaris,”_ with rose-colored stomachs and black backs armed

with highly poisonous darts. There were also collected by thousands

those _“candirus,”_ a kind of small silurus, of which many are

microscopic, and which so frequently make a pincushion of the calves of

the bather when he imprudently ventures into their haunts.

The rich waters of the Amazon were also frequented by many other aquatic

animals, which escorted the jangada through its waves for whole hours

together.

There were the gigantic _“pria-rucus,”_ ten and twelve feet long,

cuirassed with large scales with scarlet borders, whose flesh was not

much appreciated by the natives. Neither did they care to capture many

of the graceful dolphins which played about in hundreds, striking with

their tails the planks of the raft, gamboling at the bow and stern, and

making the water alive with colored reflections and spurts of spray,

which the refracted light converted into so many rainbows.

On the 16th of June the jangada, after fortunately clearing several

shallows in approaching the banks, arrived near the large island of

San Pablo, and the following evening she stopped at the village of

Moromoros, which is situated on the left side of the Amazon. Twenty-four

hours afterward, passing the mouths of the Atacoari or Cocha--or

rather the _“furo,”_ or canal, which communicates with the lake of

Cabello-Cocha on the right bank--she put in at the rising ground of the

mission of Cocha. This was the country of the Marahua Indians, whose

long floating hair, and mouths opening in the middle of a kind of fan

made of the spines of palm-trees, six inches long, give them a cat-like

look--their endeavor being, according to Paul Marcoy, to resemble

the tiger, whose boldness, strength, and cunning they admire above

everything. Several women came with these Marahuas, smoking cigars, but

holding the lighted ends in their teeth. All of them, like the king of

the Amazonian forests, go about almost naked.

The mission of Cocha was then in charge of a Franciscan monk, who was

anxious to visit Padre Passanha.

Joam Garral received him with a warm welcome, and offered him a seat at

the dinner-table.

On that day was given a dinner which did honor to the Indian cook. The

traditional soup of fragrant herbs; cake, so often made to replace bread

in Brazil, composed of the flour of the manioc thoroughly impregnated

with the gravy of meat and tomato jelly; poultry with rice, swimming in

a sharp sauce made of vinegar and _“malagueta;”_ a dish of spiced herbs,

and cold cake sprinkled with cinnamon, formed enough to tempt a poor

monk reduced to the ordinary meager fare of his parish. They tried all

they could to detain him, and Yaquita and her daughter did their utmost

in persuasion. But the Franciscan had to visit on that evening an Indian

who was lying ill at Cocha, and he heartily thanked the hospitable

family and departed, not without taking a few presents, which would be

well received by the neophytes of the mission.

For two days Araujo was very busy. The bed of the river gradually

enlarged, but the islands became more numerous, and the current,

embarrassed by these obstacles, increased in strength. Great care was

necessary in passing between the islands of Cabello-Cocha, Tarapote, and

Cacao. Many stoppages had to be made, and occasionally they were obliged

to pole off the jangada, which now and then threatened to run aground.

Every one assisted in the work, and it was under these difficult

circumstances that, on the evening of the 20th of June, they found

themselves at Nuestra-Senora-di-Loreto.

Loreto is the last Peruvian town situated on the left bank of the river

before arriving at the Brazilian frontier. It is only a little village,

composed of about twenty houses, grouped on a slightly undulating bank,

formed of ocherous earth and clay.

It was in 1770 that this mission was founded by the Jesuit missionaries.

The Ticuma Indians, who inhabit the territories on the north of the

river, are natives with ruddy skins, bushy hair, and striped designs on

their faces, making them look like the lacquer on a Chinese table. Both

men and women are simply clothed, with cotton bands bound round their

thighs and stomachs. They are now not more than two hundred in number,

and on the banks of the Atacoari are found the last traces of a nation

which was formerly so powerful under its famous chiefs.

At Loreto there also live a few Peruvian soldiers and two or three

Portuguese merchants, trading in cotton stuffs, salt fish, and

sarsaparilla.

Benito went ashore, to buy, if possible, a few bales of this smilax,

which is always so much in demand in the markets of the Amazon. Joam

Garral, occupied all the time in the work which gave him not a moment’s

rest, did not stir. Yaquita, her daughter, and Manoel also remained on

board. The mosquitoes of Loreto have a deserved reputation for driving

away such visitors as do not care to leave much of their blood with the

redoubtable diptera.

Manoel had a few appropriate words to say about these insects, and they

were not of a nature to encourage an inclination to brave their stings.

“They say that all the new species which infest the banks of the Amazon

collect at the village of Loreto. I believe it, but do not wish to

confirm it. There, Minha, you can take your choice between the gray

mosquito, the hairy mosquito, the white-clawed mosquito, the dwarf

mosquito, the trumpeter, the little fifer, the urtiquis, the harlequin,

the big black, and the red of the woods; or rather they make take

their choice of you for a little repast, and you will come back hardly

recognizable! I fancy these bloodthirsty diptera guard the Brazilian

frontier considerably better than the poverty-stricken soldiers we see

on the bank.”

“But if everything is of use in nature,” asked Minha, “what is the use

of mosquitoes?”

“They minister to the happiness of entomologists,” replied Manoel; “and

I should be much embarrassed to find a better explanation.”

What Manoel had said of the Loreto mosquitoes was only too true. When

Benito had finished his business and returned on board, his face and

hands were tattooed with thousands of red points, without counting some

chigoes, which, in spite of the leather of his boots, had introduced

themselves beneath his toes.

“Let us set off this very instant,” said Benito, “or these wretched

insects will invade us, and the jangada will become uninhabitable!”

“And we shall take them into Para,” said Manoel, “where there are

already quite enough for its own needs.”

And so, in order not to pass even the night near the banks, the jangada

pushed off into the stream.

On leaving Loreto the Amazon turns slightly toward the southwest,

between the islands of Arava, Cuyari, and Urucutea. The jangada then

glided along the black waters of the Cajaru, as they mingled with the

white stream of the Amazon. After having passed this tributary on

the left, it peacefully arrived during the evening of the 23d of June

alongside the large island of Jahuma.

The setting of the sun on a clear horizon, free from all haze, announced

one of those beautiful tropical nights which are unknown in the

temperate zones. A light breeze freshened the air; the moon arose in the

constellated depths of the sky, and for several hours took the place of

the twilight which is absent from these latitudes. But even during this

period the stars shone with unequaled purity. The immense plain seemed

to stretch into the infinite like a sea, and at the extremity of the

axis, which measures more than two hundred thousand millions of leagues,

there appeared on the north the single diamond of the pole star, on the

south the four brilliants of the Southern Cross.

The trees on the left bank and on the island of Jahuma stood up in sharp

black outline. There were recognizable in the undecided _silhouettes_

the trunks, or rather columns, of _“copahus,”_ which spread out in

umbrellas, groups of _“sandis,”_ from which is extracted the thick and

sugared milk, intoxicating as wine itself, and _“vignaticos”_ eighty

feet high, whose summits shake at the passage of the lightest currents

of air. “What a magnificent sermon are these forests of the Amazon!” has

been justly said. Yes; and we might add, “What a magnificent hymn there

is in the nights of the tropics!”

The birds were giving forth their last evening notes--_“bentivis,”_

who hang their nests on the bank-side reeds; _“niambus,”_ a kind of

partridge, whose song is composed of four notes, in perfect accord;

_“kamichis,”_ with their plaintive melody; kingfishers, whose call

responds like a signal to the last cry of their congeners; _“canindes,”_

with their sonorous trumpets; and red macaws, who fold their wings in

the foliage of the _“jaquetibas,”_ when night comes on to dim their

glowing colors.

On the jangada every one was at his post, in the attitude of repose.

The pilot alone, standing in the bow, showed his tall stature, scarcely

defined in the earlier shadows. The watch, with his long pole on

his shoulder, reminded one of an encampment of Tartar horsemen. The

Brazilian flag hung from the top of the staff in the bow, and the breeze

was scarcely strong enough to lift the bunting.

At eight o’clock the three first tinklings of the Angelus escaped from

the bell of the little chapel. The three tinklings of the second and

third verses sounded in their turn, and the salutation was completed in

the series of more rapid strokes of the little bell.

However, the family after this July day remained sitting under the

veranda to breathe the fresh air from the open.

It had been so each evening, and while Joam Garral, always silent, was

contented to listen, the young people gayly chatted away till bedtime.

“Ah! our splendid river! our magnificent Amazon!” exclaimed the young

girl, whose enthusiasm for the immense stream never failed.

“Unequaled river, in very truth,” said Manoel; “and I do not understand

all its sublime beauties. We are going down it, however, like Orellana

and La Condamine did so many centuries ago, and I am not at all

surprised at their marvelous descriptions.”

“A little fabulous,” replied Benito.

“Now, brother,” said Minha seriously, “say no evil of our Amazon.”

“To remind you that it has its legends, my sister, is to say no ill of

it.”

“Yes, that is true; and it has some marvelous ones,” replied Minha.

“What legends?” asked Manoel. “I dare avow that they have not yet found

their way into Para--or rather that, for my part, I am not acquainted

with them.”

“What, then do you learn in the Belem colleges?” laughingly asked Minha.

“I begin to perceive that they teach us nothing,” replied Manoel.

“What, sir!” replied Minha, with a pleasant seriousness, “you do

not know, among other fables, that an enormous reptile called the

_‘minhocao,’_ sometimes visits the Amazon, and that the waters of the

river rise or fall according as this serpent plunges in or quits them,

so gigantic is he?”

“But have you ever seen this phenomenal minhocao?”

“Alas, no!” replied Lina.

“What a pity!” Fragoso thought it proper to add.

“And the ‘Mae d’Aqua,’” continued the girl--“that proud and redoubtable

woman whose look fascinates and drags beneath the waters of the river

the imprudent ones who gaze a her.”

“Oh, as for the ‘Mae d’Aqua,’ she exists!” cried the naïve Lina; “they

say that she still walks on the banks, but disappears like a water

sprite as soon as you approach her.”

“Very well, Lina,” said Benito; “the first time you see her just let me

know.”

“So that she may seize you and take you to the bottom of the river?

Never, Mr. Benito!”

“She believes it!” shouted Minha.

“There are people who believe in the trunk of Manaos,” said Fragoso,

always ready to intervene on behalf of Lina.

“The ‘trunk of Manaos’?” asked Manoel. “What about the trunk of Manaos?”

“Mr. Manoel,” answered Fragoso, with comic gravity, “it appears that

there is--or rather formerly was--a trunk of _‘turuma,’_ which every

year at the same time descended the Rio Negro, stopping several days at

Manaos, and going on into Para, halting at every port, where the natives

ornamented it with little flags. Arrived at Belem, it came to a halt,

turned back on its road, remounted the Amazon to the Rio Negro, and

returned to the forest from which it had mysteriously started. One day

somebody tried to drag it ashore, but the river rose in anger, and the

attempt had to be given up. And on another occasion the captain of a

ship harpooned it and tried to tow it along. This time again the river,

in anger, broke off the ropes, and the trunk mysteriously escaped.”

“What became of it?” asked the mulatto.

“It appears that on its last voyage, Miss Lina,” replied Fragoso, “it

mistook the way, and instead of going up the Negro it continued in the

Amazon, and it has never been seen again.”

“Oh, if we could only meet it!” said Lina.

“If we meet it,” answered Benito, “we will put you on it! It will take

you back to the mysterious forest, and you will likewise pass into the

state of a legendary mind!”

“And why not?” asked the mulatto.

“So much for your legends,” said Manoel; “and I think your river is

worthy of them. But it has also its histories, which are worth something

more. I know one, and if I were not afraid of grieving you--for it is a

very sad one--I would relate it.”

“Oh! tell it, by all means, Mr. Manoel,” exclaimed Lina; “I like stories

which make you cry!”

“What, do you cry, Lina?” said Benito.

“Yes, Mr. Benito; but I cry when laughing.”

“Oh, well! let us save it, Manoel!”

“It is the history of a Frenchwoman whose sorrows rendered these banks

memorable in the eighteenth century.”

“We are listening,” said Minha.

“Here goes, then,” said Manoel. “In 1741, at the time of the expedition

of the two Frenchmen, Bouguer and La Condamine, who were sent to measure

a terrestrial degree on the equator, they were accompanied by a very

distinguished astronomer, Godin des Odonais. Godin des Odonais set out

then, but he did not set out alone, for the New World; he took with him

his young wife, his children, his father-in-law, and his brother-in-law.

The travelers arrived at Quito in good health. There commenced a series

of misfortunes for Madame Odonais; in a few months she lost some of her

children. When Godin des Odonais had completed his work, toward the end

of the year 1759, he left Quito and started for Cayenne. Once arrived

in this town he wanted his family to come to him, but war had been

declared, and he was obliged to ask the Portuguese government for

permission for a free passage for Madame Odonais and her people. What

do you think? Many years passed before the permission could be given.

In 1765 Godin des Odonais, maddened by the delay, resolved to ascend

the Amazon in search of his wife at Quito; but at the moment of his

departure a sudden illness stopped him, and he could not carry out his

intention. However, his application had not been useless, and Madame

des Odonais learned at last that the king of Portugal had given the

necessary permission, and prepared to embark and descend the river to

her husband. At the same time an escort was ordered to be ready in the

missions of the Upper Amazon. Madame des Odonais was a woman of

great courage, as you will see presently; she never hesitated, and

notwithstanding the dangers of such a voyage across the continent, she

started.”

“It was her duty to her husband, Manoel,” said Yaquita, “and I would

have done the same.”

“Madame des Odonais,” continued Manoel, “came to Rio Bamba, at the

south of Quito, bringing her brother-in-law, her children, and a French

doctor. Their endeavor was to reach the missions on the Brazilian

frontier, where they hoped to find a ship and the escort. The voyage at

first was favorable; it was made down the tributaries of the Amazon in

a canoe. The difficulties, however, gradually increased with the dangers

and fatigues of a country decimated by the smallpox. Of several guides

who offered their services, the most part disappeared after a few

days; one of them, the last who remained faithful to the travelers, was

drowned in the Bobonasa, in endeavoring to help the French doctor. At

length the canoe, damaged by rocks and floating trees, became useless.

It was therefore necessary to get on shore, and there at the edge of the

impenetrable forest they built a few huts of foliage. The doctor offered

to go on in front with a negro who had never wished to leave Madame des

Odonais. The two went off; they waited for them several days, but in

vain. They never returned.

“In the meantime the victuals were getting exhausted. The forsaken ones

in vain endeavored to descend the Bobonasa on a raft. They had to

again take to the forest, and make their way on foot through the almost

impenetrable undergrowth. The fatigues were too much for the poor folks!

They died off one by one in spite of the cares of the noble Frenchwoman.

At the end of a few days children, relations, and servants, were all

dead!”

“What an unfortunate woman!” said Lina.

“Madame des Odonais alone remained,” continued Manoel. “There she was,

at a thousand leagues from the ocean which she was trying to reach! It

was no longer a mother who continued her journey toward the river--the

mother had lost her children; she had buried them with her own hands! It

was a wife who wished to see her husband once again! She traveled night

and day, and at length regained the Bobonasa. She was there received

by some kind-hearted Indians, who took her to the missions, where the

escort was waiting. But she arrived alone, and behind her the stages of

the route were marked with graves! Madame des Odonais reached Loreto,

where we were a few days back. From this Peruvian village she descended

the Amazon, as we are doing at this moment, and at length she rejoined

her husband after a separation of nineteen years.”

“Poor lady!” said Minha.

“Above all, poor mother!” answered Yaquita.

At this moment Araujo, the pilot, came aft and said:

“Joam Garral, we are off the Ronde Island. We are passing the frontier!”

“The frontier!” replied Joam.

And rising, he went to the side of the jangada, and looked long and

earnestly at the Ronde Island, with the waves breaking up against

it. Then his hand sought his forehead, as if to rid himself of some

remembrance.

“The frontier!” murmured he, bowing his head by an involuntary movement.

But an instant after his head was raised, and his expression was that of

a man resolved to do his duty to the last.