After many days of rafting our travellers arrived in a most singular country. They were now approaching the mighty Amazon, and the river upon which they had hitherto been travelling appeared to divide into many branches, where it formed deltas with the Amazon. Every day, and sometimes two or three times in the day, they passed places where the river forked, as though each branch passed round an island, but our travellers perceived that these branches did not meet again; and they conjectured that they all fell into the Amazon by separate embouchures. They were often puzzled to know which one to take, as the main river was not always broadest, and they might get into one that was not navigable below. A curious region it was through which they passed; for, in fact, they were now travelling in the country of the “Gapo.”

What is the “Gapo?” you will ask. The “Gapo,” then, is the name given to vast tracts of country upon the Amazon and some of its tributary streams, that are annually inundated, and remain under water for several months in the year. It extends for hundreds of miles along the Amazon itself, and up many of the rivers, its tributaries also, for hundreds of miles.

But the whole country does not become one clear sheet of water, as is the case with floods in other parts of the world. On the contrary, high as is the flood, the tree-tops and their branches rise still higher, and we have in the “Gapo” the extraordinary spectacle of a flooded forest, thousands of square miles in extent!

In this forest the trees do not perish, but retain life and verdure. In fact, the trees of this part are peculiar, most of them differing in kind from the trees of any other region. There are species of palms growing in the “Gapo” that are found nowhere else; and there are animals and birds, too, that remain in this region during the whole season of flood. It has been further asserted that there are tribes of “Gapo” Indians, who live in the middle of the inundation, making their dwellings upon the trees, and who can pass from branch to branch and tree to tree almost as nimbly as monkeys.

This may or may not be true. It would not be a new thing, if true, for it is well known that the Guarano Indians, at the mouth of the Orinoco, dwell among the tops of the murichi palms during many months of the season of flood. These people build platforms on the palms, and upon these erect roofs, and sling their hammocks, and, with little fireplaces of mud, are enabled to cook their provisions upon them. But they have canoes, in which they are able to go from place to place, and capture fish, upon which they principally subsist. The murichi palm furnishes them with all the other necessaries of life.

This singular tree is one of the noblest of the palms. It rises to a height of more than one hundred feet, and grows in immense palmares, or palm-woods, often covering the bank of the river for miles. It is one of those called “fan-palm”—that is, the leaves, instead of being pinnate or feathery, have long naked stalks, at the end of which the leaflets spread out circularly, forming a shape like a fan. One of the murichi leaves is a grand sight. The leaf-stalk, or petiole, is a foot thick where it sprouts from the trunk; and before it reaches the leaflets it is a solid beam of ten or twelve feet long, while the circular fan or leaf itself is nine or ten in diameter! A single leaf of the murichi palm is a full load for a man.

With a score of such leaves,—shining and ever verdant as they are,—at the top of its column-like trunk, what a majestic tree is the murichi palm!

But it is not more beautiful than useful. Its leaves, fruit, and stem, are all put to some use in the domestic economy of the Indians. The leaf-stalk, when dried, is light and elastic, like the quill of a bird—owing to the thin, hard, outer covering and soft internal pith. Out of the outer rind, when split off, the Indian makes baskets and window-blinds. The pithy part is separated into laths, about half an inch thick, with which window-shutters, boxes, bird-cages, partitions, and even entire walls, are constructed.

The epidermis of the leaves furnishes the strings for hammocks and all kinds of cordage. From the fruits a favourite beverage is produced, and these fruits are also pleasant eating, somewhat resembling apples. They are in appearance like pine-cones, of a red colour outside and yellow pulp. The trunk itself furnishes a pith or marrow that can be used as sago; and out of the wood the Indian cuts his buoyant canoe! In short, there are tribes of Indians that not only live, in a literal sense, on the murichi palms, but that almost subsist on them.

Although the flood had, to a considerable extent, subsided, the river in most places was still beyond its banks; and this made it difficult for our travellers to find a place for their night-camps. Several nights they were obliged to sleep, as they best could, on the balza,—the latter being secured to a tree. Sometimes, by pushing some distance up the mouth of an “igaripÉ,” or creek, they were able to find dry ground, on which to encamp. During their passage through this labyrinth of rivers, they travelled but very slowly, and their provisions were fast running out. There was no chance for increasing their stock, as they could not find either wild-hogs (peccaries) or capivaras. These creatures, although they can swim well enough, would only be found upon the banks of the river, when it returned within its proper channel.

Now and then Guapo brought down a parrot, a macaw, or an aracari, with his blow-gun; but these were only temporary supplies. They had often heard howling monkeys in the trees, but had not been able to see them; and none of the party would have refused to eat roast-monkey now, as they had all tried it and found it quite palatable. Guapo, blow-gun in hand, was continually peering up among the tree-tops in search of monkeys or other game. He was, at length, rewarded for his vigilance.

One night they had pushed the balza up an “igaripÉ” for a hundred yards or so, where a dry bank gave them an opportunity of landing. The creek itself was not much wider than the balza, and tall trees stood upon both banks. In one or two places the thorny “jacitara” palm—which is a sort of climbing plant, often hanging over the branches of other trees—nearly reached across the stream. These curious palms had even to be cautiously pushed to one side as the balza passed,—for the arrowy claws upon them, if once hooked into the clothes of passengers, would either have dragged the latter from off the raft, or have torn out the piece of cloth.

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