We want to see for ourselves the way the present-day rubber-gatherers in Brazil do their work, and the kind of life they lead. So we have made a long journey by boat up one of the tributaries of the River Amazon to the landing-stage for a typical rubber-gatherers’ village.

We step ashore straight into the forest, and are warmly welcomed by a group of working men, who inquire eagerly for the latest news from anywhere, about anything. For days we have been travelling in a region that is far removed from the busy haunts of man, and we have grown quite used to the solitude of the wilds; but the loneliness comes home to us much more forcibly as we realize that there are civilized folk who spend nearly all their life in these out-of-the-way parts.

We set out to walk along a rough road that threads its way through the jungle. Before long we notice buildings ahead. We are close upon a “seringal”—that is to say, a village which serves as the headquarters of a number of rubber-gatherers, who work a big area of neighbouring forest-lands.

The seringal, together with the stretch of country which it serves, belongs to a man who probably lives far away in one of the two great commercial centres of Brazil—Para, at the mouth of the Amazon; or Manaos, about a thousand miles up the river. The owner may have inherited his claim to proprietorship, or he may have bought it from some other man; in any case, the tract of forest which is now regarded as his private property originally became one man’s land because in days gone by some settler tried to make a living out of rubber collecting, went so far this way, so far that in his search for rubber-trees, and gradually came to look upon the district between such self-appointed boundaries as his own personal hunting-ground.

Great care has to be taken in choosing the site for a seringal. Since none of the forests have yet been opened up for more than about a mile in the inland direction, the seringals must all be built near the riverside; it is very necessary that they should be perched on some piece of rising ground, because the waters of the Amazon rise very high at times, causing great floods.

The seringal we have come to visit is typical of the many widely scattered villages which the rubber industry has called into existence in the Brazilian forests of the Amazon—typical in its isolation, and as regards the style of its buildings, the kind of people who make up the population, and the everyday life of the little community, who are cut off from the rest of the world. The outstanding buildings are the manager’s house, which boasts a tiled roof, his office and store. These are to all intents and purposes “government” quarters; for, although the manager represents a private individual, he rules the community who work for his master with much the same sort of authority he might be expected to exercise if he held office under the Republic. Round about his quarters are some thatched shanties, which provide accommodation for part of the community. But some of the labourers have to go their daily round from tree to tree in far distant parts of the forest; where their work is, there must they make their home in a solitary hut. The merriest day of the week for everybody is Saturday, when all the rubber-gatherers have to make their way to the manager’s quarters, to hand over the rubber they have collected and to buy stores for the coming week. This general meeting, called together by business, is taken full advantage of as an opportunity for gossip, hospitality, and various little jollifications, such as a “sing-song.”

The population of a seringal consists of working-class Brazilians, who are of Portuguese and mixed Portuguese and Indian descent. Certainly they look a rough lot, but that is not surprising, seeing what a hard life they lead—and there are many rough diamonds among them. You will feel more in sympathy with them when you have lived but a day in their midst, and been with one of them on his round. But already you must have been thinking that they have not much comfort to look forward to when their work is done, for you can see at a glance that their houses are mere shelters.

Here is the picture you will take away in your mind’s eye of a rubber-gatherer’s home on the shores of the Amazon: A framework of poles, uprights and crossbars, carries a thatched roof. The building is open on all sides—indeed, the only other detail which entitles it to the name of building is one floor, raised well above the ground, so that the inmates of the house can keep a little distance out of damp’s way. The unpartitioned space between floor and roof serves as common day-room and night-room. Hammocks provide sleeping accommodation; old boxes take the place of tables and chairs; pots and pans pretend to be ornaments; every corner is a makeshift cupboard for tinned foods, bottles, oil-cans, tools, and suchlike oddments; and the framework of poles does duty as wardrobe on week-days and as linen-line for the washing on Sundays.

In seringal life a married man and his family generally occupy a private hut. The unmarried men, and their married comrades who have not brought wife and children into the forest, live together in batches, several of them sharing one house on the “chummery” system.