Aspect of TeffÉ.—Situation.—Description of Houses.—Fishing Excursion.—Astonishing Variety of Fishes.—Acara.—Scarcity of Laborers.—Our indoors Man.—Bruno.—Alexandrina.—Pleasant Walks.—Mandioca-shed in the Forest.—Indian Encampment on the Beach.—Excursion to Fishing Lodge on the Solimoens.—Amazonian Beaches.—Breeding-Places of Turtles, Fishes, etc.—Adroitness of Indians in finding them.—Description of a “Sitio.”—Indian Clay-Eaters.—Cuieira-Tree.—Fish Hunt.—Forest Lake.—Water Birds.—Success in collecting.—Evening Scene in Sitio.—Alexandrina as “aide scientifique.”—Fish Anecdote.—Relations between Fishes as shown by their Embryology.—Note Upon the Marine Character of the Amazonian FaunÆ.—Acara.—News from the Parties in the Interior.—Return of Party from the IÇa.—Preparations for Departure.—Note on General Result of Scientific Work in TeffÉ.—Waiting for the Steamer.—Sketch of Alexandrina.—Mocuim.—Thunder-Storm.—Repiquete.—Geological Observations.

September 27th.—Of all the little settlements we have seen on the Amazons, TeffÉ looks the most smiling and pleasant. Just now the town, or, as it should rather be called, the village, stands, as I have said, above a broad sand-beach; in the rainy season, however, we are told that the river covers this beach completely, and even encroaches on the fields beyond, coming almost to the threshold of some of the dwellings. The houses are generally built of mud, plastered over and roofed with tiles, or thatched with palm. Almost all have a little ground about them, enclosed in a picket fence, and planted with orange-trees and different kinds of palms,—Cocoa-nut, Assais, and Pupunhas or peach-palms. The latter bears, in handsome clusters, a fruit not unlike the peach in size and coloring; it has a mealy character when cooked, and is very palatable, eaten with sugar. The green hill behind the town, on which cows and sheep are grazing,^[68] slopes up to the forest, and makes a pretty background to the picture. In approaching the village, many little inlets of the lake and river give promise of pleasant canoe excursions. Through our friend Major Coutinho we had already bespoken lodgings, and to-day finds us as comfortably established as it is possible for such wayfarers to be. Our house stands on an open green field, running down to the water, and is enclosed only on two sides by buildings. In front, it commands a pretty view of the beach and of the opposite shore across the water. Behind, it has a little open ground planted with two or three orange-trees, surrounding a turtle-tank, which will be very convenient for keeping live specimens. A well-stocked turtle-tank is to be found in almost every yard, as the people depend largely upon turtles for their food. The interior of the house is very commodious. On the right of the flagged entry is a large room already transformed into a laboratory. Here are numerous kegs, cans, and barrels for specimens, a swinging-shelf to keep birds and insects out of the way of the ants, a table for drawing, and an immense empty packing-case, one side of which serves as a table for cleaning and preparing birds, while the open space beneath makes a convenient cupboard for keeping the instruments and materials of one sort and another, used in the process. After a little practice in travelling one learns to improvise the conveniences for work almost without the accessories which seem indispensable at home. Opposite to the laboratory on the other side of the entry is a room of the same size, where the gentlemen have slung their hammocks; back of this is my room, from the window of which, looking into the court behind, I get a glimpse of some lovely Assai palms and one or two orange-trees in full flower; adjoining that is the dining-room, with a large closet leading out of it, used as a storage-place for alcohol, and serving at this moment as a prison-house for two live alligators who are awaiting execution there. The news of our arrival has already gone abroad, and the fishermen and boys of the village are bringing in specimens of all sorts,—alligators, turtles, fish, insects, birds. Enough is already gathered to show what a rich harvest may be expected in this neighborhood.

September 28th.—Yesterday afternoon, between sunset and moonlight, our neighbor Dr. Romualdo invited us to go with him and his friend Senhor Joao da Cunha on a fishing excursion into one of the pretty bayous that open out to the lake. As our canoe entered it, lazy alligators were lying about in the still glassy water, with their heads just resting above the surface; a tall, gray heron stood on the shore, as if watching his reflection, almost as distinct as himself, and a variety of water-birds sailed over our heads as we intruded upon their haunts. When we had reached a certain point, the Indians sprang up to their necks in the water, (which was, by the way, unpleasantly warm,) and stretched the net. After a few minutes, they dragged it into shore with a load of fish, which seemed almost as wonderful as Peter’s miraculous draught. As the net was landed the fish broke from it in hundreds, springing through the meshes and over the edges, and literally covering the beach. The Indians are very skilful in drawing the net, going before it and lashing the water with long rods to frighten the fish and drive them in. Senhor da Cunha, who is a very ardent lover of the sport, worked as hard as any of the boatmen, plunging into the water to lend a hand at the net or drive in the fish, and, when the draught was landed on the beach, rushing about in the mud to catch the little fishes which jumped in myriads through the meshes, with an enthusiasm equal to that of Mr. Agassiz himself. The operation was repeated several times, always with the same success, and we returned by moonlight with a boat-load of fish, which Mr. Agassiz is examining this morning, while Mr. Burkhardt makes colored drawings of the rarer specimens. Here, as elsewhere in the Amazonian waters, the variety of species is bewildering. The collections already number more than four hundred, including those from ParÁ, and, while every day brings in new species, new genera are by no means infrequent. The following letter to Professor Milne Edwards, of the Jardin des Plantes, gives some account of the work in this department.

Mon cher Ami et trÈs honorÉ ConfrÈre:—Me voici depuis deux mois dans le bassin de l’Amazone et c’est ici que j’ai eu la douleur de recevoir la nouvelle de la mort de mon vieil ami Valenciennes. J’en suis d’autant plus affectÉ que personne plus que lui n’aurait apprÉciÉ les rÉsultats de mon voyage, dont je me rÉjouissais dÉjÀ de lui faire part prochainement. Vous concevrez naturellement que c’est À la classe des poissons que je consacre la meilleure partie de mon temps et ma rÉcolte excÈde toutes mes prÉvisions. Vous en jugerez par quelques donnÉes. En atteignant Manaos, À la jonction du Rio Negro et de l’Amazonas, j’avais dÉjÀ recueilli plus de trois cents espÈces de poissons, dont la moitiÉ au moins ont ÉtÉ peintes sur le vivant c. À. d. d’aprÈs le poisson nageant dans un grand vase en verre devant mon dessinateur. Je suis souvent peinÉ de voir avec quelle lÉgÈretÉ on a publiÉ des planches coloriÉes de ces animaux. Ce n’est pas seulement tripler le nombre des espÈces connues, je compte les genres nouveaux par douzaines et j’ai cinq ou six familles nouvelles pour l’Amazone et une voisine des Gobioides entiÈrement nouvelle pour l’Ichthyologie. C’est surtout parmi les petites espÈces que je trouve le plus de nouveautÉs. J’ai des Characins de cinq À six centimÈtres et au-dessous, ornÉs des teintes les plus ÉlÉgantes, des Cyprinodontes, se rapprochant un peu de ceux de Cuba et des Etats-Unis, des ScomberÉsoces voisins du BÉlone de la MÉditerranÉe, un nombre considÉrable de Carapoides, des Raies de genres differents de ceux de l’ocÉan, et qui par consÉquent ne sont pas des espÈces qui remontent le fleuve. Une foule de Goniodontes et de Chromides de genres et d’espÈces inÉdits. Mais ce que j’apprÉcie surtout c’est la facilitÉ que j’ai d’Étudier les changements que tous ces poissons subissent avec l’Âge et les diffÉrences de sexe qui existent entr’eux et qui sont souvent trÈs considÉrables. C’est ainsi que j’ai observÉ une espÈce de Geophagus dont le mÂle porte sur le front une bosse trÈs-saillante qui manque entiÈrement À la femelle et aux jeunes. Ce mÊme poisson a un mode de reproduction des plus extraordinaires. Les oeufs passent, je ne sais trop comment, dans la bouche dont ils tapissent le fond, entre les appendices intÉrieurs des arcs branchiaux et surtout dans une poche formÉe par les pharyngiens supÉrieurs qu’ils remplissent complÈtement. LÀ ils Éclosent et les petits, libÉrÉs de leur coque, se dÉveloppent jusqu’À ce qu’ils soient en État de fournir À leur existence. Je ne sais pas encore combien de temps cela va durer; mais j’ai dÉjÀ rencontrÉ des exemplaires dont les jeunes n’avaient plus de sac vitellaire, qui hÉbergeaient encore leur progÉniture. Comme je passerai environ un mois À TeffÉ, j’espÈre pouvoir complÉter cette observation. L’examen de la structure d’un grand nombre de Chromides m’a fait entrevoir des affinitÉs entre ces poissons et diverses autres familles dont on ne s’est jamais avisÉ de les rapprocher. Et d’abord je me suis convaincu que les Chromides, rÉpartis autrefois parmi les Labroides et les SciÈnoides, constituent bien rÉellement un groupe naturel, reconnu À peu prÈs en mÊme temps et d’une maniÈre indÉpendante par Heckel et J. MÜller. Mais il y a plus; les genres Enoplosus, Pomotis, Centrarchus et quelques autres genres voisins, rangÉs parmi les Percoides par tous les Ichthyologistes, me paraissent, d’ici et sans moyen de comparaison directe, tellement voisins des Chromides que je ne vois pas comment on pourra les en sÉparer, surtout maintenant que je sais que les pharyngiens infÉrieurs ne sont pas toujours soudÉs chez les Chromides. Et puis l’embryologie et les mÉtamorphoses des Chromides que je viens d’Étudier m’ont convaincu que les “Poissons À branchies labyrinthiques” sÉparÉs de tous les autres poissons par Cuvier comme une famille entiÈrement isolÉe, À raison de la structure Étrange de ses organes respiratoires, se rattachent de trÈs-prÈs aux Chromides. Ce groupe devient ainsi par ses affinitÉs variÉes, l’un des plus intÉressants de la classe des poissons, et le bassin de l’Amazone paraÎt Être la vraie patrie de cette famille. Je ne veux pas vous fatiguer de mes recherches ichthyologiques; permettez moi seulement d’ajouter que les poissons ne sont point uniformÉment rÉpandus dans ce grand bassin. DÉjÀ j’ai acquis la certitude qu’il faut y distinguer plusieurs faunes ichthyologiques, trÈs-nettement caractÉrisÉes; c’est ainsi que les espÈces qui habitent la riviÈre du ParÁ, des bords de la mer jusque vers l’embouchure du Tocantins, diffÈrent de celles que l’on rencontre dans le rÉseau d’anastomoses qui unissent la riviÈre de ParÁ À l’Amazone propre. Les espÈces de l’Amazone, au-dessous du Xingu, diffÈrent de celles que j’ai rencontrÉes plus haut; celles du cours infÉrieur du Xingu, diffÈrent de celles du cours infÉrieur du Tapajos. Celles des nombreux igarapÉs et lacs de Manaos diffÈrent Également de celles du cours principal du grand fleuve et de ses principaux affluents. Il reste maintenant À Étudier les changements qui peuvent survenir dans cette distribution, dans le cours de l’annÉe, suivant la hauteur des eaux et peut-Être aussi suivant l’Époque À laquelle les diffÉrentes espÈces pondent leurs oeufs. Jusqu’À prÉsent je n’ai rencontrÉ qu’un petit nombre d’espÈces qui aient une aire de distribution trÈs Étendue. C’est ainsi que le Sudis gigas se trouve À-peu-prÈs partout. C’est le poisson le plus important du fleuve; celui qui comme aliment remplace le bÉtail pour les populations riveraines. Un autre problÈme À rÉsoudre c’est de savoir jusqu’À quel point les grands affluents de l’Amazone rÉpÈtent ce phÉnomÈne de la distribution locale des poissons. Je vais chercher À le rÉsoudre en remontant le Rio Negro et le Rio Madeira et comme je reviendrai À Manaos, je pourrai comparer mes premiÈres observations dans cette localitÉ, avec celles d’une autre saison de l’annÉe. Adieu, mon cher ami. Veuillez faire mes amitiÉs À M. Elie de Beaumont et me rappeler aux bons souvenirs de ceux de mes collÈgues de l’AcadÉmie qui veulent bien s’intÉresser À mes travaux actuels. Faites aussi, je vous prie, mes amitiÉs À M. votre fils.

Mr. Agassiz has already secured quite a number of the singular type of AcarÀ, which carries its young in its mouth, and he has gathered a good deal of information about its habits. The fishermen here say that this mode of caring for the young prevails more or less in all the family of AcarÀ. They are not all born there, however; some lay their eggs in the sand, and, hovering over their nest, take up the little ones in their mouth, when they are hatched. The fishermen also add, that these fish do not always keep their young in the mouth, but leave them sometimes in the nest, taking them up only on the approach of danger.^[70]

Our household is now established on a permanent basis. We had at first some difficulty in finding servants; at this fishing season, when the men are going off to dry and salt fish, and when the season for hunting turtle-eggs and making turtle-butter is coming on, the town is almost deserted by the men. It is like haying-time in this country, when every arm is needed in the fields. Then the habits of the Indians are so irregular, and they care so little for money, finding, as they do, the means of living almost without work immediately about them, that even if one does engage a servant, he is likely to disappear the next day. An Indian will do more for good-will and a glass of cachaÇa (rum) than he will do for wages, which are valueless to him. The individual, who has been supplying the place of indoors man while we have been looking for a servant, is so original in his appearance that he deserves a special description. He belongs to a neighbor who has undertaken to provide our meals, and he brings them when they are prepared and waits on the table. He is rather an elderly Indian, and his dress consists of a pair of cotton drawers, originally white, but now of many hues and usually rolled up to the knees, his feet being bare; the upper part of his person is partially (very partially) concealed by a blue rag, which I suppose in some early period of the world’s history must have been a shirt; this extraordinary figure is surmounted by an old straw hat full of holes, bent in every direction, and tied under the chin by a red string. Had he not been a temporary substitute, we should have tried to obtain a more respectable livery for him; but to-day he gives place to an Indian lad, Bruno by name, who presents a more decent appearance, though he seems rather bewildered by his new office. At present his idea of waiting on the table seems to be to sit on the floor and look at us while we eat. However, we hope to break him in gradually. He looks as if he had not been long redeemed from the woods, for his face is deeply tattooed with black, and his lips and nose are pierced with holes, reminding one of the becoming vanities he has renounced in favor of civilization.^[71] Besides Bruno we have a girl, Alexandrina by name, who, by her appearance, has a mixture of Indian and black blood in her veins. She promises very well, and seems to have the intelligence of the Indian with the greater pliability of the negro.

September 29th.—One of the great charms of our residence here is, that we have so many pleasant walks within easy reach. My favorite walk in the early morning is to the wood on the brow of the hill. From the summit, the sunrise is lovely over the village below, the lake with its many picturesque points and inlets, and the forests on the opposite shores. From this spot a little path through the bushes brings one at once into a thick, beautiful wood. Here one may wander at will, for there are a great many paths, worn by the Indians, through the trees; and one is constantly tempted on by the cool, pleasant shade, and by the perfume of moss and fern and flower. The forest here is full of life and sound. The buzz of insects, the shrill cry of the cicadas, the chattering talk of the papagaios, and occasionally busy voices of the monkeys, make the woods eloquent. The monkeys are, however, very difficult of approach, and though I hear them often, I have not yet seen them on the trees; but Mr. Hunnewell told me that the other day, when shooting in this very wood, he came upon a family of small white monkeys sitting on a bough together, and talking with much animation. One of the prettiest of the paths, with which my daily walks made me familiar, leads over an igarapÉ to a house, or rather to a large thatched shed, in the forest, used for preparing mandioca. It is supplied with four large clay ovens, having immense shallow pans fitted on to the top, with troughs for kneading, sieves for straining, and all the apparatus for the various processes to which the mandioca is subjected. One utensil is very characteristic; the large, empty turtle-shells, which may be seen in every kitchen, used as basins, bowls, &c. I suppose this little establishment is used by a number of persons, for in my morning walks I always meet troops of Indians going to it, the women with their deep working baskets,—something like the Swiss “hotte,”—in which they carry their tools, on their backs, supported by a straw band fastened across the forehead, and their babies astride on their hips, so as to leave their hands perfectly free. They always give me a cordial morning greeting and stop to look at the plants and flowers with which I am usually laden. Some of the women are quite pretty, but as a general thing the Indians in this part of the country do not look very healthy, and are apt to have diseases of the eyes and skin. It is a curious thing that the natives seem more liable to the maladies of the country than strangers. They are very subject to intermittent fevers, and one often sees Indians worn to mere skin and bone by this terrible scourge.

If the morning walk in the woods is delightful, the evening stroll on the beach in front of the house is no less so, when the water is dyed in the purple sunset, and the quiet of the scene is broken here and there by a fire on the sands, around which a cluster of Indians are cooking their supper. As Major Coutinho and I were walking on the shore last evening we came on such a group. They were a family who had come over from their home on the other side of the lake, with a boat-load of fish and turtle to sell in the village. When they have disposed of their cargo, they build their fire on the beach, eat their supper of salted or broiled fish, farinha, and the nuts of a particular kind of palm (Atalea), and then sleep in their canoe. We sat down with them, and, that they should not think we came merely out of curiosity, we shared their nuts and farinha, and they were soon very sociable. I am constantly astonished at the frank geniality of these people, so different from our sombre, sullen Indians, who are so unwilling to talk with strangers. The cordiality of their reception, however, depends very much on the way in which they are accosted. Major Coutinho, who has passed years among them, understands their character well, and has remarkable tact in his dealings with them. He speaks their language a little also, and this is important here where many of the Indians speak only the “lingua geral.” This was the case with several of the family whose acquaintance we made last evening, though some of them talked in Portuguese fluently enough, telling us about their life in the forest, their success in disposing of their fish and turtle, and inviting us to come to their house. They pointed out to us one of the younger girls, who they said had never been baptized, and they seemed to wish to have the rite performed. Major Coutinho promised to speak to the priest about it for them. So far as we can learn, the white population do little to civilize the Indians beyond giving them the external rites of religion. It is the old sad story of oppression, duplicity, and license on the part of the white man, which seems likely to last as long as skins shall differ, and which necessarily ends in the degradation of both races.

October 4th.—On Saturday morning at four o’clock, Major Coutinho, Mr. Agassiz, and myself left TeffÉ in company with our neighbor and landlord Major Estolano, on our way to his “sitio,” a rough sort of Indian lodge on the other side of the Solimoens, where he goes occasionally with his family to superintend the drying and salting of fish, a great article of commerce here. It had rained heavily all night, but the stars were bright, and the morning was cool and fresh when we put off in the canoe. When we issued from TeffÉ lake it was already broad day, and by the time we entered the Solimoens we began to have admonitions that breakfast-time was approaching. There is something very pleasant in these improvised meals; the coffee tastes better when you have made it yourself, setting up the coffee-machine under the straw-roof of the canoe, dipping up the water from the river over the side of the boat, and cooking your own breakfast. One would think it a great bore at home, with all the necessary means and appliances; but with the stimulus of difficulty and the excitement of the journey it is quite pleasant, and gives a new relish to ordinary fare. After we had had a cup of hot coffee and a farinha biscuit, being somewhat cramped with sitting in the canoe, we landed for a walk on a broad beach along which we were coasting. There is much to be learned on these Amazonian beaches; they are the haunts and breeding-places of many different kinds of animals, and are covered by tracks of alligators, turtles, and capivari. Then there are the nests, not only of alligators and turtles, but of the different kind of fishes and birds that lay their eggs in the mud or sand. It is curious to see the address of the Indians in finding the turtle-nests; they walk quickly over the sand, but with a sort of inquiring tread, as if they carried an instinctive perception in their step, and the moment they set their foot upon a spot below which eggs are deposited, though there is no external evidence to the eye, they recognize it at once, and, stooping, dig straight down to the eggs, generally eight or ten inches under the surface. Besides these tracks and nests, there are the rounded, shallow depressions in the mud, which the fishermen say are the sleeping-places of the skates. They have certainly about the form and size of the skate, and one can easily believe that these singular impressions in the soft surface have been made in this way. The vegetation on these beaches is not less interesting than these signs of animal life. In the rainy season more than half a mile of land, now uncovered along the margins of the river, is entirely under water, the river rising not only to the edge of the forest, but penetrating far into it. At this time of the year, however, the shore consists, first of the beach, then of a broad band of tall grasses, beyond which are the lower shrubs and trees, leading up, by a sort of gradation, to the full forest growth. During this dry season the vegetation makes an effort to recover its lost ground; one sees the little Imbauba (Cecropia) and a kind of willow-tree (Salix humboldiana), the only familiar plant we met, springing up on the sand, and creeping down to the water’s edge, only to be destroyed again with the next rise of the river. While we were walking, the boatmen were dragging the net, and though not with such astonishing success as the other day, yet it landed not only an ample supply of fresh fish for breakfast, but also a number of interesting specimens. At about eleven o’clock we turned from the Solimoens into the little river on which Mr. Estolano’s fishing-lodge is situated, and in a few minutes found ourselves at the pretty landing, where a rough flight of steps led up to the house. In this climate a very slight shelter will serve as a house. Such a dwelling is indeed nothing but a vast porch; and a very airy, pleasant, and picturesque abode it makes. A palm-thatched roof to shed the rain and keep off the sun, covering a platform of split logs that one may have a dry floor under foot; these, with plenty of posts and rafters for the swinging of hammocks, are the essentials. It was somewhat after this fashion that Major Estolano’s lodge was built. The back part of it consisted of one very large, high chamber, to which the family retired in the hottest part of the day, when the sun was most scorching; all the rest was roof and platform, the latter stretching out considerably beyond the former, thus leaving an open floor on one side for the stretching and drying of fish. The whole structure was lifted on piles about eight feet above the ground, to provide against the rising of the river in the rainy season. In front of the house, just on the edge of the bank, were several large, open, thatched sheds, used as kitchen and living-rooms for the negroes and Indians employed in the preparation of the fish. In one of these rooms were several Indian women who looked very ill. We were told they had been there for two months, and they were worn to skin and bone with intermittent fever. Major Coutinho said they were, no doubt, suffering in part from the habit so prevalent among these people of eating clay and dirt, for which they have a morbid love. They were wild-looking creatures, lying in their hammocks or squatting on the ground, often without any clothes, and moaning as if in pain. They were from the forest, and spoke no Portuguese.

We were received most cordially by the ladies of the family, who had gone up to the lodge the day before, and were offered the refreshment of a hammock, the first act of hospitality in this country, when one arrives from any distance. After this followed an excellent breakfast of the fresh fish we had brought with us, cooked in a variety of ways, broiled, fried, and boiled. The repast was none the less appetizing that it was served in picnic fashion, the cloth being laid on the floor, upon one of the large palm-mats, much in use here to spread over the uncarpeted brick floors or under the hammocks. For several hours after breakfast the heat was intense, and we could do little but rest in the shade, though Mr. Agassiz, who works at all hours if specimens are on hand, was busy in making skeletons of some fish too large to be preserved in alcohol. Towards evening it grew cooler, and we walked in the banana plantation near the house, and sat under an immense gourd-tree on the bank, which made a deep shade; for it was clothed not only by its own foliage, but the branches were covered with parasites, and with soft, dark moss, in contrast with which the lighter green, glossy fruit seemed to gain new lustre. I call it a gourd-tree, simply from the use to which the fruit is put. But it goes here by the name of the Cuieira-tree (Crescentia Cajeput), the cup made from the fruit being called a Cuia. The fruit is spherical, of a light green, shiny surface, and grows from the size of an apple to that of the largest melon. It is filled with a soft, white pulp, easily removed when the fruit is cut in halves; the rind is then allowed to dry. Very pretty cups and basins, of many sizes, are made in this way; and the Indians, who understand how to prepare a variety of very brilliant colors, are very skilful in painting them. It would seem that the art of making colors is of ancient date among the Amazonian Indians, for in the account of Francisco Orellana’s journey down the Amazons in 1541, “the two fathers of the expedition declare that in this voyage they found all the people to be both intelligent and ingenious, which was shown by the works which they performed in sculpture and painting in bright colors.”^[72] Their paints are prepared from a particular kind of clay and from the juices of several plants which have coloring properties. In an Amazonian cottage one hardly sees any utensils for the table except such as the Indians have prepared and ornamented themselves from the fruits of the Cuieira-tree. I longed to extend my walk into the woods which surrounded us on all sides; but the forest is very tantalizing here, so tempting and so impenetrable. The ladies told me there were no paths cut in the neighborhood of the house.

The next morning we were off early in the canoes on a fish hunt; I call it a hunt advisedly, for the fish are the captives of the bow and spear, not of the net and line. The Indians are very adroit in shooting the larger fish with the bow and arrow, and in harpooning some of the veritable monsters of their rivers, such as the Peixe-boi (“fish-cow”), Manatee or Dugon, with the spear. We made two parties this morning, some of us going in the larger canoe to drag a forest lake with the net, while some of the fishermen took a smaller, lighter boat, to be able to approach their larger prey. Our path lay through a pretty igarapÉ, where, for the first time, I saw monkeys in a tree by the water-side. On coming to the Amazons we expect to see monkeys as frequently as squirrels are seen at home; but, though very numerous, they are so shy that one rarely gets a fair view of them. After an hour’s row we landed at a little point jutting out into the water, and went through the forest, the men cutting the way before us, clearing the path of branches, fallen trees, and parasitic vines which obstructed it. I was astonished to see the vigor and strength with which Dona Maria, the mother-in-law of our host, made her way through the tangled trees, helping to free the road, and lopping off branches with her great wood-knife. We imagine all the ladies in this warm country to be very indolent and languid; and in the cities, as a general thing, their habits are much less vigorous than those of our women. But here, in the Upper Amazons, the women who have been brought up in the country and in the midst of the Indians are often very energetic, bearing a hand at the oar or the fishing-net with the strength of a man. A short walk brought us out upon a shallow forest lake, or, as the Indians call it, “round water.” The Indian names are often very significant. I have mentioned the meaning of igarapÉ, “boat path”; to this, when they wish to indicate its size more exactly, they affix either the word “assÙ” (large) or “mirim” (small). But an igarapÉ, whether large or small, is always a channel opening out of the main river and having no other outlet. For a channel connecting the upper and lower waters of the same river, or leading from one river to another, they have another word, “ParanÁ” (signifying river), which they modify in the same way, as ParanÁ-assÚ or ParanÁ-mirim. ParanÁ-assÚ, the big river, means also the sea. A still more significant name for a channel connecting two rivers is the Portuguese word “fÚro,” meaning bore.

The lake was set in the midst of long, reed-like grass, and, as we approached it, thousands of white water-birds rustled up from the margin and floated like a cloud above us. The reason of their numbers was plain when we reached the lake: it was actually lined with shrimps; one could dip them out by the bucketful. The boatmen now began to drag the net, and perhaps nowhere, from any single lake or pond, has Mr. Agassiz made a more valuable collection of forest fishes. Among them was a pipe-fish, one of the Goniodont family, very similar to our ordinary Syngnathus in appearance, but closely related to Acestra, and especially interesting to him as throwing light on certain investigations of his, made when quite a young man. This specimen confirmed a classification by which he then associated the pipe-fish with the Garpikes and Sturgeons, a combination which was scouted by the best naturalists of the time, and is even now repudiated by most of them. Without self-glorification, it is impossible not to be gratified when the experience of later years confirms the premonitions of youth, and shows them to have been not mere guesses, but founded upon an insight into the true relations of things. Wearied after a while with watching the fishing in the sun, I went back into the forest, where I found the coffee-pot already boiling over the fire. It was pleasant to sit down on a fallen, moss-grown trunk, and breakfast in the shade. Presently the fishermen came back from the lake, and we found our way to the boats again, laden with an immense number of fishes. The gentlemen returned to the house in one of the smaller montarias, taking the specimens with them, and leaving me to return in the larger canoe with the Senhoras. It seemed to me strange on this Sunday morning, when the bells must be ringing and the people trooping to church under the bright October sky, in our far-off New England home, to be floating down this quiet igarapÉ, in a boat full of half-naked Indians, their wild, monotonous chant sounding in our ears as they kept time to their oars. In these excursions one learns to understand the fascination this life must have for a people among whom civilization is as yet but very incomplete; it is full of physical enjoyment, without any mental effort. Up early in the morning and off on their fishing or hunting excursions long before dawn, they return by the middle of the day, lie in their hammocks and smoke during the hours of greatest heat; cook the fish they have brought with them, and, unless sickness comes to them, know neither want nor care. We reached the house in time for a twelve o’clock breakfast of a more solid character than the lighter one in the forest, and by no means unacceptable after our long row. In the course of the day two “Peixe-bois” (Manatees) were brought in, also a Boto (porpoise), and some large specimens of Pirarucu (Sudis). All these are too clumsy to preserve in alcohol, especially when alcohol is so difficult to obtain and so expensive as it is here; but Mr. Agassiz has had skeletons made of them, and will preserve the skins of the Peixe-bois for mounting. He obtained at the same time an entirely new genus of the Siluroid family. It is a fish weighing some ten pounds, called here the Pacamum, and of a bright canary color.

The evening scene at the “Sitio” was always very pretty. After dinner, when the customary “boa noite,” the universal greeting at the close of the day, had been exchanged, the palm-mats, spread over the platforms, had each their separate group, Indians or negroes, children, members of the family or guests, the central figure being usually that of Major Coutinho, who was considered to be especially successful in the making of coffee and who generally had a mat to himself, where he looked, as the blue flame of his alcohol lamp flickered in the wind, not unlike a magician of old, brewing some potent spell. Little shallow cups, like open antique lamps, filled with oil and having a bit of wick hanging over the edge, were placed about the floors, and served to light the interior of the porch, though after a glimmering and uncertain fashion. On Monday morning we left the “Sitio” and returned to TeffÉ, where Mr. Agassiz had the pleasure of receiving all his collections, both those he had sent on before him and those which accompanied us, in good condition.

October 9th.—Alexandrina turns out to be a valuable addition to the household, not only from a domestic, but also from a scientific point of view. She has learned to prepare and clean skeletons of fish very nicely, and makes herself quite useful in the laboratory. Besides, she knows many paths in the forest, and accompanies me in all my botanizing excursions; with the keen perceptions of a person whose only training has been through the senses, she is far quicker than I am in discerning the smallest plant in fruit or flower, and now that she knows what I am seeking, she is a very efficient aid. Nimble as a monkey, she thinks nothing of climbing to the top of a tree to bring down a blossoming branch; and here, where many of the trees shoot up to quite a height before putting out their boughs, such an auxiliary is very important. The collections go on apace, and every day brings in new species; more than can be easily cared for,—far more than our artist can find time to draw. Yesterday, among other specimens, a hollow log was brought in, some two feet and a half in length, and about three inches in diameter, crowded with Anojas (a common fish here) of all sizes, from those several inches long to the tiniest young. The thing was so extraordinary that one would have been inclined to think it was prepared in order to be passed off as a curiosity, had not the fish been so dexterously packed into the log from end to end, that it was impossible to get them out without splitting it open, when they were all found alive and in perfectly good condition. They could not have been artificially jammed into the hollow wood, in that way, without injuring them. The fishermen say that this is the habit of the family; they are often found thus crowded into dead logs at the bottom of the river, making their nests as it were in the cavities of the wood.^[73]

October 14th.—Mr. Agassiz has a corps of little boys engaged in catching the tiniest fishes, so insignificant in size that the regular fishermen, who can never be made to understand that a fish which is not good to eat can serve any useful purpose, always throw them away. Nevertheless, these are among the most instructive specimens for the ichthyologist, because they often reveal the relations not only between parent and offspring, but wider relations between different groups. Mr. Agassiz’s investigations on these little fish here have shown repeatedly that the young of some species resemble closely the adult of others. Such a fish, not more than half an inch long, was brought to him yesterday. It constitutes a new genus, Lymnobelus, and belongs to the bill-fish family, Scomberesoces, with Belone and others,—that long, narrow type, with a long beak, which has such a wide distribution over the world. In the Northern United States, as well as in the Mediterranean, it has a representative of the genus Scomberesox, in which the jaws of its long snout are gaping; in the Mediterranean, and almost everywhere in the temperate and torrid zones, Belones are found in which, on the contrary, the bill is closed; in Florida and on the Brazilian coast, as well as in the Pacific, species of Hemirhamphus occur in which the two jaws are unequal, the upper one being very short and the lower one enormously long, while the Amazonian bill-fish has a somewhat different cut of the bill from either of those mentioned above, though both jaws are very long, as in Belone. When, then, the young of this Amazonian species was brought to Mr. Agassiz, he naturally expected to find it like its parent. On the contrary, he found it far more like the species of Florida and the Brazilian coast, having the two jaws unequal, the upper one excessively short, the lower enormously long, showing that the Amazonian species, before taking on its own characteristic features, passes through a stage resembling the permanent adult condition of the Hemirhamphus. It is interesting to find that animals, which have their natural homes so far from each other that there is no possibility of any material connection between them, are yet so linked together by structural laws, that the development of one species should recall the adult form of another.^[74] The story of the Acaras, the fish which carries its young in its mouth, grows daily more wonderful. This morning Mr. Agassiz was off before dawn, on a fishing excursion with Major Estolano, and returned with numerous specimens of a new species of that family. These specimens furnished a complete embryological series, some of them having their eggs at the back of the gills, between the upper pharyngeals and the branchial arches, others their young in the mouth in different stages of development, up to those a quarter of an inch long and able to swim about, full of life and activity, when removed from the gills and placed in water. The most advanced were always found outside of the gills, within the cavity formed by the gill-covers and the wide branchiostegal membrane. In examining these fishes Mr. Agassiz has found that a special lobe of the brain, similar to those of the Triglas, sends large nerves to that part of the gills which protects the young; thus connecting the care of the offspring with the organ of intelligence. The specimens of this morning seem to invalidate the statement of the fishermen, that the young, though often found in the mouth of the parent, are not actually developed there, but laid and hatched in the sand. The series, in these specimens, was too complete to leave any doubt that in this species at least the whole process of development is begun and completed in the gill-cavity.

October 17th.—TeffÉ. Yesterday, to our great pleasure, our companions, Mr. James and Mr. Talisman, returned from their canoe expedition on the rivers IÇa and Hyutahy, bringing most valuable collections. Mr. Agassiz has felt some anxiety about their success, as, in consequence of their small supply of alcohol, for preserving specimens, which was, nevertheless, all he could spare from the common store, a great deal of judgment in the choice of specimens was required in order to make a truly characteristic collection. The commission could not have been better executed, and the result raises the number of species from the Amazonian waters to more than six hundred, every day showing more clearly how distinctly the species are localized, and that this immense basin is divided into numerous zoÖlogical areas, each one of which has its own combination of fishes. Our stay at TeffÉ draws to a close, and to-day begins the great work of packing, in preparation for the arrival of the steamer at the end of the week. These days are the most laborious of all; on leaving every station, all the alcoholic specimens have to be overhauled, their condition ascertained, the barrels, kegs, and cans examined, to make sure that the hoops are fast, and that there are no leakages. Fortunately, there are some of our party who are very dexterous as coopers and joiners, and at these times the laboratory is turned into a workshop. We were reminded of the labors of the day by a circular distributed at breakfast this morning:—

“Sir:—The ‘United Coopers’ Association’ will meet in the laboratory after breakfast. You are particularly requested to attend.

And at this moment the laboratory rings with click of hammer, and nails, and iron hoops. As usual, there are a number of uninvited spectators watching the breaking up of the scientific establishment, which has been, during the past month, a source of constant entertainment to the vagrant population of TeffÉ. In this country of open doors and windows one has not the same protection against intrusion as in a colder climate, and we have had a constant succession of curious visitors hanging about our premises.

I have dwelt especially on the fish collection; but we do not go away empty-handed in other respects. Mr. Dexter has prepared a large number of the forest birds for mounting,—papagaios, toucans, and a great variety of smaller species of very brilliant plumage, not to speak of the less showy water-birds. He has been often in the woods shooting, with Mr. Hunnewell and Mr. Thayer, and has employed several sportsmen of the place to assist him. Turtles, jacarÉs, and snakes are also largely represented in the collections; and Mr. Agassiz has obtained, by purchase, a large and well-preserved collection of insects, made by a Frenchman during a several years’ residence in this little town. In TeffÉ and its neighborhood we constantly tread in the footsteps of the English naturalist, Mr. Bates, “Senhor Henrique,” as the people call him here, whose charming book, “The Naturalist on the Amazons,” has been a very pleasant companion to us in our wanderings.^[75]

October 21st.—Since Thursday afternoon our canoe has been loaded, all the specimens, amounting to something more than thirty barrels, kegs, and boxes, packed and waiting the arrival of the steamer. We have paid our parting visits to friends and acquaintances here. I have taken my last ramble in the woods where I have had so many pleasant walks, and now we are sitting in the midst of valises and carpet-bags, waiting to see the steamer round the wooded point in front of the house, before we turn the key on our four weeks’ home, and close this chapter of our Amazonian life. In this country, where time seems to be of comparatively little importance, one is never sure whether the boat will leave or arrive on the appointed day. One has only to make the necessary preparations, and then practise the favorite Brazilian virtue, “paciencia.” The adjoining sketch is a portrait of my little house-maid, Alexandrina, who, from her mixture of Negro and Indian blood, is rather a curious illustration of the amalgamation of races here. She consented yesterday, after a good deal of coy demur, to have her portrait taken. Mr. Agassiz wanted it especially on account of her extraordinary hair, which, though it has lost its compact negro crinkle, and acquired something of the length and texture of the Indian hair, retains, nevertheless, a sort of wiry elasticity, so that, when combed out, it stands off from her head in all directions as if electrified. In the examples of negro and Indian half-breeds we have seen, the negro type seems the first to yield, as if the more facile disposition of the negro, as compared with the enduring tenacity of the Indian, showed itself in their physical as well as their mental characteristics. A few remarks, gathered from Mr. Agassiz’s notes on the general character of the population in this region may not be without interest.

“Two things are strongly impressed on the mind of the traveller in the Upper Amazons. The necessity, in the first place, of a larger population, and, secondly, of a better class of whites, before any fair beginning can be made in developing the resources of the country; and, as an inducement to this, the importance of taking off all restraint on the navigation of the Amazons and its tributaries, opening them to the ambition and competition of other nations. Not only is the white population too small for the task before it, but it is no less poor in quality than meagre in numbers. It presents the singular spectacle of a higher race receiving the impress of a lower one, of an educated class adopting the habits and sinking to the level of the savage. In the towns of the Solimoens the people who pass for the white gentry of the land, while they profit by the ignorance of the Indian to cheat and abuse him, nevertheless adopt his social habits, sit on the ground and eat with their fingers as he does. Although it is forbidden by law to enslave the Indian, there is a practical slavery by which he becomes as absolutely in the power of the master as if he could be bought and sold. The white man engages an Indian to work for him at a certain rate, at the same time promising to provide him with clothes and food until such time as he shall have earned enough to take care of himself. This outfit, in fact, costs the employer little; but when the Indian comes to receive his wages he is told that he is already in debt to his master for what has been advanced to him; instead of having a right to demand money, he owes work. The Indians, even those who live about the towns, are singularly ignorant of the true value of things. They allow themselves to be deceived in this way to an extraordinary extent, and remain bound to the service of a man for a lifetime, believing themselves under the burden of a debt, while they are, in fact, creditors. Besides this virtual slavery, an actual traffic of the Indians does go on: but it is so far removed from the power of the authorities that they cannot, if they would, put a stop to it. A better class of emigrants would suppress many of these evils. Americans or Englishmen might be sordid in their transactions with the natives; their hands are certainly not clean in their dealings with the dark-skinned races; but they would not degrade themselves to the social level of the Indians as the Portuguese do; they would not adopt his habits.”

I cannot say good by to TeffÉ without a word in commemoration of one class of its inhabitants who have interfered very seriously with our comfort. There is a tiny creature called the Mocuim, scarcely visible except for its bright vermilion color, which swarms all over the grass and low growth here. It penetrates under the skin so that one would suppose a red rash had broken out over the body, and causes excessive itching, ending sometimes in troublesome sores. On returning from a walk it is necessary to bathe in alcohol and water, in order to allay the heat and irritation produced by these little wretches. Mosquitoes are annoying, piums are vexatious, but for concentrated misery commend me to the Mocuim.

October 23d.—We left TeffÉ on Saturday evening on board the Icamiaba, which now seems quite like a home to us; we have passed so many pleasant hours in her comfortable quarters since we left ParÁ. We are just on the verge of the rainy season here, and almost every evening during the past week has brought a thunder-storm. The evening before leaving TeffÉ we had one of the most beautiful storms we have seen on the Amazons. It came sweeping up from the east; these squalls always come from the east, and therefore the Indians say “the path of the sun is the path of the storm.” The upper, lighter layer of cloud, travelling faster than the dark, lurid mass below, hung over it with its white, fleecy edge, like an avalanche of snow just about to fall. We were all sitting at the doorstep watching its swift approach, and Mr. Agassiz said that this tropical storm was the most accurate representation of an avalanche on the upper Alps he had ever seen. It seems sometimes as if Nature played upon herself, reproducing the same appearances under the most dissimilar circumstances. It is curious to mark the change in the river. When we reached TeffÉ it was rapidly falling at the rate of about a foot a day. It was easy to measure its retreat by the effect of the occasional rains on the beach. The shower of one day, for instance, would gully the sand to the water’s edge, and the next day we would find the water about a foot below the terminus of all the cracks and ruts thus caused, their abrupt close showing the line at which they met the water the previous day. Ten days or a fortnight before we left, and during which we had heavy rains at the close of every day, continuing frequently through the night, those oscillations in the river began, which the people here call “repiquete,” and which, on the Upper Amazons, precede the regular rise of the water during the winter. The first repiquete occurs in TeffÉ toward the end of October, accompanied by almost daily rains. After a week or so the water falls again; in ten or twelve days it begins once more to ascend, and sinks again after the same period. In some seasons there is a third rise and fall, but usually the third repiquete begins the permanent annual rise of the river. On board the steamer we were joined by Mr. Bourget, with his fine collections from Tabatinga. He, like both the other parties, has been hindered, by want of alcohol, from making as large collections as he might otherwise have done; but they are, nevertheless, very valuable, exceedingly well put up, and embracing a great variety of species, from the MaraÑon as well as from the Hyavary. Thus we have a rich harvest from all the principal tributaries of the Upper Amazons, within the borders of Brazil, above the Rio Negro, except the Purus, which must be left unexplored for want of time and a sufficient working force.

On leaving TeffÉ I should say something of the nature of the soil in connection with Mr. Agassiz’s previous observations on this subject. Although he has been almost constantly occupied with his collections, he has, nevertheless, found time to examine the geological formations of the neighborhood. The more he considers the Amazons and its tributaries, the more does he feel convinced that the whole mass of the reddish, homogeneous clay, which he has called drift, is the glacial deposit brought down from the Andes and worked over by the melting of the ice which transported it. According to his view, the whole valley was originally filled with this deposit, and the Amazons itself, as well as the rivers connected with it, are so many channels worn through the mass, having cut their way just as the igarapÉ now wears its way through the more modern deposits of mud and sand. It may seem strange that any one should compare the formation of these insignificant forest-streams with that of the vast river which pours itself across a whole continent; but it is, after all, only a reversal of the microscopic process of investigation. We magnify the microscopically small in order to see it, and we must diminish that which transcends our apprehension by its great size, in order to understand it. The naturalist who wishes to compare an elephant with a Coni (Hyrax),^[76] turns the diminishing end of his glass upon the former, and, reducing its clumsy proportions, he finds that the difference is one of size rather than structure. The essential features are the same. So the little igarapÉ, as it wears its channel through the forest to-day, explains the early history of the great river and feebly reiterates the past.