A LITTLE group stood at the water’s edge to witness the departure of our canoe and to wish us a “feliz viagem” (good voyage), and I felt a thrill of satisfaction when a turn in the stream hid Leopoldina from sight, and there stretched before us the solitary grandeur of this splendid river. Even at 2000 miles from its source, the river averages 300 yards in width, opening out to a mile or more in its lower reaches.
On our first night down the river we slept fairly well, having paddled about forty miles. I arranged my bed on a dry ox-hide under the tolda, the others sleeping out on the cool sands, in the broad moonlight. I had little rest at first; the novelty of the situation, the occasional strange sounds of animals and fish around us, and the monotonous cries of certain night birds kept me awake until my weariness gained the upper hand, and I slept until, daybreak.
Throughout the course of this magnificent river all is grandly primitive, silent, and lonely, untouched by the hand of man. Just before stopping as usual for breakfast, we were at last agreeably surprised by the appearance of three big “ubás” (dug-out canoes), with a dozen or so Carajás on board, traveling up the river. They were all men, big, corpulent, and quite naked, and looked wonderfully interesting in that early morning light.
About midday Chrichas was sighted, a Carajá village of some eight houses and 70 people in all. We ran the nose of our igarité on the sandy island about a hundred yards from the huts, and several redskins ran out to greet us. Leaving the canoe with my three companions, I walked across the hot sand to the village, accompanied by two stalwart young giants, whose bodies were stained a bright red, with a black design on top, this being their only dress; yet withal, their native dignity and carriage were worthy of a foreign ambassador. I found that the village consisted of lightly constructed huts of palm leaf; they were of a roomy character, the larger ones being arched, about 15 feet wide and 30 feet long, and open at one end; the only furniture being the usual reed mats stretched on the sand. Occasionally there was also a curiously made stool, somewhat resembling a double-headed tortoise with a flat back, a long nose, and staring eyes of pearl shell fastened on with beeswax, perhaps a relic of the old Inca empire. The smaller huts are of the usual angular shape, and all were scrupulously clean and sweet. There are no bad smells about an Indian village, owing, perhaps, to the fresh, dry airs that blow over the sandy plains, where not a trace of vegetation is visible.
One of the redskin warriors, a tall, finely built man of keen, aquiline features and the usual Japanese type of eyes, conducted me to the hut of the chief. Excepting his beautiful long black hair, which fell in loose tresses to below his shoulders, he, like all other Indians of the tribe, had no hair whatever on any other part of his red body, which was as smooth and shiny as a billiard ball. They even pull out the hair of their eyebrows, as they consider it a blemish, and generally serve the eyelashes the same way. The chief, who was a man of about 50, was ill, and lying on a mat outside his residence, shielded from the hot sun by a light erection of palm leaves. His wife, a big, hearty-looking woman, was kneeling at his side, with her fists pressed into his stomach to afford relief of some kind. She showed real concern, and I regretted my inability to help the old chief, who was evidently suffering much pain. He spoke a little Portuguese, so we conversed together for some time, he immediately arousing himself and betraying great interest when I mentioned our desire to live and work for the Carajás. “Ah, yes,” he said, “we need it. They work for the Bororó and Caiapó, but nothing is ever done for the Carajá” (referring to the work of the Dominican and Franciscan monks). “Be sure,” he said earnestly in conclusion, “and tell me when and where it is to be, and do not deceive me.”
I then visited all the huts one by one, and found them as clean and pleasant as the chief’s, though so primitive. The interior of the hut is generally covered with artistic and cleverly manufactured spears, bows and arrows of all kinds, and Indian clubs, armlets, and feather ornaments of curious design.
Scattered around are numerous calabashes of all sizes and shapes, and earthen pots with strong concoctions of food, which it might be well not to taste, while one often sees little piles of cooked sweet potatoes here and there, as well as mandioca root. The only culinary utensils are earthen cooking pots, calabashes, and river shells, which serve in lieu of spoons.
Producing some fishhooks, I handed one to each of the Indians. These they received with eagerness and evident satisfaction. If you displease a Carajá by not being liberal enough with your gifts, you are soon made aware of it for they look at one another with a most solemn expression, and say, “Ebina, ebina” (It is bad, it is bad!). After visiting all the huts in succession and making myself at home on the proffered mats, I found it was time, to move on, so walked back to the canoe.
On reaching the igarité, I found it surrounded by huge Indians, among whom we seemed as pigmies. Some were squatting most unceremoniously on our canoe, others in the water, while the rest were gravely seated on the shore. They were very quiet, dignified, and self-respecting, but evidently expecting something. Most travelers carry tobacco for such occasions, and I was probably the first to venture down the Araguaya without it.
The sand retains its warmth for some hours after sunset, and we lay around our camp fire enjoying the cool air and moonlit waters of the Araguaya, while I had a long talk with Odidi, first about the moon and stars, and then about the Creator of the whole universe, and how He loved the Carajás also, and wanted them to be with Him in a better and happier world than this. He appeared to understand and appreciate all that I tried to say to him.
At daybreak next morning we continued our way, and after three hours’ paddling stopped for breakfast on a small island. While Sylverio was preparing the rice, Odidi started to explore, and hastily returned with the startling information that a group of the terrible Chavante Indians were breakfasting on the far side of the same island. I crawled cautiously a short distance in scout fashion, trying to keep well out of sight, and saw a group of red savages seated around a fire roasting fish; but, quick of eye and ear, they soon noticed my presence, and made off into the thicket, and I saw no more of them, for I cleared off just as quickly―in the opposite direction!
Paddling on, we passed several canoes full of Carajá Indians, who greeted Odidi with their musical cooing cries, but we did not stop. After a time we reached the small, decadent village of Sao Jose, the last solitary outpost of civilization.
There are about 20 odd houses in the village, forming three sides of a square around a small Roman Chapel, all in much need of repairs, with an air of poverty and lack of ambition over the whole place; while the thick undergrowth is allowed to accumulate to such an extent that the river is hidden from sight, although the village stands on a high bluff.
The people are only visited every few years by a friar, and they at once agreed to my suggestion to hold a meeting that night, the principal man of the place, Senhor Souza Lobo, offering his house for that purpose, and sending his sons out to invite the people to attend. We had a fine and inspiring crowd of about fifty people, who listened to the Gospel of grace with great quiet and attention. At the close of the meeting I invited questions or criticism, but as none responded, I asked them to prepare some queries embracing any doubts or suspicions that they might have as to our faith, and I would gladly reply to them a month hence on my return journey.
Immediately after the gathering we paddled another two miles to find a resting place for the night. The quiet of the nights on the Araguaya is sublime, and paddling by moonlight on this vast expanse of smooth water is most refreshing and romantic. There are, however, some hidden dangers for the night traveler, for although the river is completely free from dangerous rocks or cataracts of any kind, there are numerous stranded wrecks of trees and logs, which project at intervals along the river’s course. The danger is increased when these are hidden a few inches below the water’s surface, for there is always the risk of knocking a hole in the canoe on one of these snags. Our boat would not stand much of that, for it was already leaking, and needed constant bailing.
We passed the night between two small villages off the mouth of the Crichas River. Early next day we passed three other villages before breakfast, and continually met Indian ubás skirting the river’s edge, generally with a single stalwart occupant with a bow and arrow, seeking for fish, or for tartaruga (turtle) eggs.
We determined to make an effort to reach the Bananal Island that evening if possible.
The night was splendid and cool, with a full moon. A sharp look out had to be kept for snags, but Odidi, in common with his race, has most remarkable eyesight, and can see a projecting snag by moonlight long before I would suspect its presence. He can also detect the sunken ones by some all but unnoticeable movement of the river’s surface. Oftentimes he discovered and pointed out Indians on the shore ahead of us, or a ubá, some wild animal, or a crocodile, where I failed to detect anything, until we were a good deal nearer.
At last, however, well on into the night, we sighted the low-lying southern point of the island, with its broad bank of sand, and our arrival was greeted by a loud chorus from hundreds of birds, much resembling seagulls.
My satisfaction was extreme on landing upon this immense island, which is 300 miles in length, and I felt that at last I was really in the home of the Carajás. But the point of the island where we had landed did not prove suitable for our camp that night, so we pulled over to a dry bank on the Matto Grosso side of the river. We slept well, and when I awoke it was already broad daylight. Odidi and I crossed to the point of the island, and found that the right channel was dry. Its clean, sandy bed, which is about 100 yards wide, is fringed by dense forests, and presents a striking appearance, like some fine, broad highway of silvery sand, threading its way through the forests, and on and on through unexplored country, until it rejoins the Araguaya again, three hundred miles below.
Early the next morning I aroused the men, and we traveled for about two hours before sunrise. We encountered many ariranha seals and shoals of botos―a kind of dolphin which, first on one side of the canoe, then on the other, spurt and puff and wheeze, as if to provide us with a little amusement.
We pulled up at a specially beautiful sandbank that night, but it was marred by the presence of an impertinent crocodile, who refused to change his quarters, and came up quite close to Manoel while he was cleaning the rice for dinner. Happily he noticed the reptile in time, and drove it off with a pole.
During the night I awoke with a start, and saw Odidi, by the glimmer of our camp fire, with a firebrand in his hand, chasing one of these crocodiles, which had ventured out of the water to reconnoiter the sleepers, I kept my gun handy and the fire burning all night.
Towards evening we drew up about 150 yards from an Indian village, but finding that the igarité drew too much water to pull up close to the shore, I pointed to a high sandbank which could be seen lower down the river, with promise of deep water, and told my companions to leave me with the Indians and I would join them later on in an ubá. So they paddled the canoe down the river, leaving me with five stalwart redskins, who conducted me over the stretch of sand to their little village. Their huts were small and of a lighter construction than usual, some having no roof, but only a palm leaf shelter against the wind.
In one hut several women and children were seated on the usual mat, and invited me to sit down with them, which I was very pleased to do. One young woman brought me a piece of boiled fish in her hand, and another gave me a kind of yam, which I endeavored to eat. The men were the usual fine, tall, intelligent-looking Indians, with their lustrous and muscular bodies painted in the usual way. The women do not go in for so much fancy coloring, except perhaps the unmarried ones, who have designs on their faces, resembling the caste marks of the Hindu.
They invited me to spend the night with them, but on darkness setting in, I rose to leave, after one of the happiest experiences of my life.
Four Carajás paddled me down in their ubá to the place where our igarité had drawn up for the night, another canoe following us, filled with women. On arrival at our camp I treated them all to pieces of raw sugar brick, farinha, red handkerchiefs, fishhooks, and some little colored bags for the women. These and the children returned to their village, but the men lay all around us on the sands, intently watching us as we prepared our dinner of rice and dried salt meat. It was growing dark, and the light of our campfire lit up their fine interesting forms to good effect. When all was ready I gave them two big plates of rice between them, an agreeable change from their regular diet, which is almost exclusively fish, with an occasional turtle or chameleon. I invited one boyish young fellow named Una, whose body was stained black all over, as happens to all the uninitiated youths, to share my plate of food, so he sidled up at once, and we started in together.
The Indians lay around us till quite late that night, largely on Odidi’s account, who had many wonderful things to tell them of his experiences with us in Goyaz. He did most of the talking, his attentive listeners punctuating each sentence with a sonorous “Um―m” of varied tones and pitch, according to their degree of interest. Odidi also produced his spelling book and copy book, recited the alphabet, and spelled out a few words to them, to their evident surprise and amazement, Early next morning we reached the mouth of the Rio das Mortes (River of the Slain), which is separated from the Araguaya by a long spit of sand. Here we had a narrow escape from shipwreck. One of the perils of the Araguaya is the “banziera,” a very strong northerly wind that comes without warning. We were steering along in midstream, when suddenly the wind struck us full in the face, and in a few minutes the river assumed a stormy aspect. Big waves broke over the igarité in a most alarming fashion, while the boat pitched as if in a rough sea, threatening to go under. Another gallon or so of water would have sunk us, when we managed to pull under the lee of the shore, which protected us from the violence of the waves, and in ten minutes we were safe at the river’s edge. Praise God for the deliverance! We were very tired when we finally stopped for the night at a large Indian village of eight huts, and about 100 persons. The chief, an elderly, fatherly-looking man, visited us at once, and not icing that the sandbank was destitute of firewood, he immediately paddled off with his wife to fetch some from a neighboring forest. We had our usual pot of rice for dinner, the hungry Indians crowding around. Gathering boldness through Odidi’s presence and privileges, while I was talking to the old chief and his wife, the other Indians thrust their hands into the pot and made such short work of the contents that we all went hungry to bed that night. The Indians did not return to their huts, but spent the night with us, stretched out on the sand by our fire, along with the chief, with no bed covers between them―their customary sleeping arrangement.
We spent another night on the usual quiet sandbank, after catching enough fish for three meals, and salting what was left. At this time the moon rose late, and the nights were dark, though the starlight was bright enough to show the dark line of the Chavante shore, a mile away across the Araguaya. A forest fire, not far from the opposite edge of the river, threw a bright red glow across its waters, and, reflected in an overhanging cloud of smoke, made an impressive and awesome scene, all the More so because of our immediate surroundings. Above and below us on our side of the river are the Carajás, while just across the river is the land of the feared Chavantes, who but a few months previously had attacked and killed a few Carajás who had ventured to cultivate a small piece of ground on that side of the river. To the right of the Chavantes, and below us as far as the Tapirapé River, lives the tribe of that name, while directly behind us a few miles inland, is a branch of the Carajá tribe known as the Javahés, with several large villages.
We sighted Odidi’s village early in the afternoon of the thirteenth day out from Leopoldina, but long before we could see the place he had sounded his horn repeatedly and vigorously with the call peculiar to the Carajá tribe. He was visibly excited, and produced a linen collar, tie, and studs from his bundle, in which he arrayed himself, and with these and his black jacket he quite put me in the shade. On reaching the village we found that most of the men were away fishing, including the chief, Joao, but nevertheless Odidi had a great welcome, and was received with many expressions of joy and amazement. The men flung their arms round his neck, and some of the women did so, too, the rest chattering away with smiling faces, while the children jumped and whooped with delight, and then proceeded to examine his clothes carefully and critically.
His short hair was evidently not agreeable to them, but they tried to improve it, and trimmed it to their liking. I found the people much less grasping than in other villages, and it was therefore a greater pleasure to give to them.
Meanwhile, two ubás arrived, laden with fish of all sizes and shapes, all of which had been shot with the arrow, perhaps 500 fish in all. They also had on board a quantity of short, green sticks, with which they proceeded to build a rough stand about two feet high, and about eight feet by three in area, on which they laid all the fish, just as they were taken from the canoes, without cleaning them or taking off the scales. Firewood was then arranged beneath and lighted at one end, burning gradually from one end of the stand to the other, and roasting the fish as it did so, while the dripping oil aided the combustion and kept the fire bright. The supports of the rough table, being of green wood, did not burn. After being roasted, the fish is eaten just as it is, without salt.
One of the new arrivals was an old aunt of Odidi’s, who raised her voice and howled over him with great lamentation, and when she noticed my presence, she talked to me at a great rate. I felt rather embarrassed, not understanding the meaning of the demonstration. Perhaps it was a reproof for keeping Odidi away so long―or was it because of his bobbed hair?
We paddled away, with a strong current in our favor, and in a few hours had made such unexpected progress that, when I had just settled upon an excellent spot for our camp, Odidi, to my great surprise, pulled out his horn and began to blow, afterward explaining to me that we were already within earshot of the mouth of the Tapirapé. We had, therefore, almost reached the last Carajá village that I wished to visit; so we paddled on, and before long I could distinguish several ubás coming in our direction, and a little farther on the huts of a large village appeared. Another blast on the horn and the village was alive with redskins, while more ubás put out to meet us. The first man to reach us happened to be a, brother of Odidi, somewhat like him in appearance, but taller and broader, while a boy at the helm was Odidi’s nephew. They welcomed my Carajá most warmly, and the boy especially was delighted. Ere we reached the village the shore was crowded with men, women, and children, and the greeting was uproarious. We pulled up about a hundred yards from the village, which I found to be the largest yet visited, with nine huts and quite a hundred Indians.
To escape the crowd I left the canoe in charge of Sylverio and the boy, and strolled across to the huts. Walking was difficult owing to the quantity of fish bones and scales, which pierced my feet, while the sand itself was scorching hot with the sun’s rays.
On reaching the first hut, I found a woman engaged in rubbing some red ooracoom seed and oil between her hands, and then, with the finger of one hand used as a paint brush, she proceeded to adorn the face of her lord and master until she had worked a fancy design around his eyes and nose, which did not improve his appearance―at least, in my estimation.
As I approached the other houses the children ran away to hide, some bawling with fear and apprehension; even many of the women were frightened, in spite of the presence of some of their men, and the fact that I was alone, unarmed, and far from my boat. Sometimes, however, I was cordially invited to enter a hut and to be seated on the family mat. One old lady, with a very kind and motherly face, particularly interested me, beaming away as she talked to me in a most patriarchal manner.
On returning to the canoe my troubles began. About five or more Indians were squatted on board, including the chief, and a big crowd of them were standing around in the water. Some wanted this, and some wanted that, while a surly looking Indian who could speak a little Portuguese told me I was to show them all I had, and let them take their choice of a present. Others had brought bows and arrows and clubs to exchange for anything and everything they could get out of me. Finally, they were becoming so aggressively impertinent, especially the chief, that I jumped to my feet and ordered them all off the canoe. Odidi was away in the village, deaf old Sylverio was some distance off making a fire, and the Indians were all armed with bows and clubs, but they all obeyed me at once, excepting the sly old chief, who slipped on again at the back, where he could peep under the tolda and note all its contents. To mollify them I exchanged some of the proffered articles, bows, wristlets, and such like, for many times their real value, and also gave them some sugar and farinha.
I had now covered over 500 miles in the canoe, visited a considerable number of Indian villages, and obtained a fair amount of information concerning these interesting Indians. This, I hoped, would lead to the establishment of a Gospel mission in this very remote region, though the, difficulties and dangers would be many, so I now decided to descend the great river no farther―though there are many Carajá villages below this point―and it was not without some feeling of relief that I thought of returning to home and civilization on the morrow.
There is a vast difference between traveling downstream with the current and traveling upstream against it. This should be carefully borne in mind hi all prospecting work of this kind, and in determining the right spot for mission stations. Common strategy demands that however difficult the advance may be, the way of escape in case of sickness, danger, or hunger should always be downstream if at all possible, as the upstream travel is very laborious, may take several times as long, and in cases of flood seasons becomes absolutely impossible―a real peril.
After a rather uneasy night’s rest I awoke with the very first faint glow of the rising sun. All were wrapped in heavy slumber, but I quickly and quietly aroused the crew, and gave orders to embark without delay on the long and heavy upstream journey home.
Already some few Indians had crept up to us from the sleeping village, but the rest were quite unaware of our departure until we were out of sight in the dim, early light. I confess to having felt a sense of great relief, for although the Carajás are a fine race of savages, with morals and customs far above those of the average aboriginal Indian, yet they are still savages, and as such are capable, under certain circumstances, of attacking a small unarmed company such as ours was, especially with the tempting prospect of loot, or when worked up to some pitch of excitement by intertribal war and bloodshed.
Soon after we had lost sight of the village, I noticed a dark, figure accompanying us along the river bank, which we found to be Wirina, a cousin of Odidi’s, who wished to accompany us to Leopoldina, so I agreed to take him to help us pole up the river. By daylight his companions would probably have stopped him from going with us. My crew was thus increased to five, three Carajás and two white men.
The next day we were away two hours before dawn, and poled slowly by the light of the moon, for we had to use great caution owing to the numerous snags beneath the water’s surface. Manoel, the boy, found that he had been bitten by a vampire during the night, and, as usual, upon the big toe, which is the favorite spot for these bloodthirsty creatures. They do their work in such a scientific manner that the victim, be it man or animal, is absolutely unconscious of any pain.
About four hours’ travel brought us to the home of the Carajá who had accompanied us during the last four days. He left us here, receiving in exchange for his services a pocketknife, necklace, comb, some hooks, a brick of sugar, and some rice. He had proved a capable and reliable man. I took on in his place a strapping young Indian named Tchana, whose body was painted and striped like a zebra. For the rest of that day WE poled in the face of a heavy wind, which greatly hindered our progress. Every now and again, when one of the Indians would feel too hot, without warning he would drop his pole and plunge into the river. The canoe would continue on its way, and the Indian perhaps climb on board or else swim ashore, to join us from some projecting point higher up. Two other ubás kept us company here, and apparently expected to dine at our expense while doing so. So I bargained that they must supply us with fish and turtles. We passed the night within sight of the fires of an Indian village, and the number of my redskin companions was increased to six.
It is rather trying on one’s nerves to be alone among a crowd of these huge, naked, chattering, laughing savages, whose language you cannot understand, except that an occasional gorilla-like laugh or gesture, and the glances cast in your direction, indicate that the conversation concerns yourself. For a day or two you can manage to stand alone, but longer is very trying, and I do not think I shall travel again in this way, at least not with a deaf “camarada.”
I awoke very early next morning to find the blanket beneath me soaking wet, and springing up I found the canoe was full of water; so without waiting to awake the others, I set to work vigorously bailing it out before greater damage was done. Then I awakened the sleepy crew and we examined the cargo. The spare sack of farinha was badly wet, one of my bags was soaked through and some of the contents damaged, and nearly all the clothing was saturated with water. Not a very cheering outlook by the dim, cold moonlight! After a hasty cup of coffee, embarking our things as best as we could, I urged the men with paddle and pole until some three hours later, the sun gaining warmth, we pulled up for the day to dry out. We managed to dry the wet farinha, which is our principal article of food, as well as the other things affected, and then Sylverio tried to caulk the old boat with cotton and beeswax, which we hoped would keep us afloat for another three weeks’ travel.
Late that afternoon, while continuing our journey, I heard the men cry out, “Onca! Onca!” (“A tiger! A tiger!”), and springing from under my tolda, I saw, about one hundred yards away from the river, a big animal, perfectly black except for some white spots on his feet. It was walking quietly and majestically, along the inner edge of the shore, and had not noticed our approach. Stopping the canoe, I landed, and walking at a safe distance, I fired at it carelessly, not so much with a desire to kill as to see what it would do. It stopped, glared round at us, and without increasing its speed, turned off and with a few strides disappeared into the forest. The Indians are very much afraid of this kind of tiger, which is reputed to be very dangerous and brave. Not half an hour afterward we saw another spotted yellow and black variety on the opposite bank. We also sighted a number of deer careering over one of the sandy shores, and the Indians were soon after them with bow and arrows, but the nimble creatures were too quick for even an Indian hunter.
A couple of miles beyond Capitão Ercke’s village is the hill of Izabel do Morro, a sandhill about two or three hundred feet high, rising up rather abruptly from the river’s edge. I had heard that there was an Indian cemetery here, and though the sun was rapidly approaching the horizon, and the spot is said to be barred to the white man, I felt a strong desire to see the place. We stopped the igarité at a small clump of black rocks, from which Odidi pointed out a very narrow, sandy path, which went straight up the hillside, without a curve to ease the ascent. Jumping from the boat, camera in hand, I ran to the path indicated, and started climbing as fast as I could, fearing the sun might set ere I reached the summit. It was no easy climb owing to the loose, dry sand, which offered no secure foothold on that steep incline, and with each step I seemed to sink back half the distance or more. Several of the Indians, also curious to see the place, soon came scrambling up behind me, and arrived at the summit long before I did. I found that the view was entrancingly beautiful, probably the finest obtainable on the Araguaya. The magnificent, broad, winding river lay far beneath, eventually hidden from view above and below by the dense, dark forests that fringe its borders, and melt away on the horizon. I had little time to appreciate the view, and cast about to find the reputed cemetery. The Indians soon discovered it to the left of the hilltop, where the view was finest. Under the shade of a few overhanging trees were many earthen pans or urns, varying in size, but averaging about fifteen inches in diameter, some being black with age. Here lay the earthly remains of generations of bygone warriors, the earthen pans containing their bleached bones and skulls, where time had not already reduced them to powder, to be scattered far and near by the strong winds of the Araguaya. The spot was most impressively solemn to me, as I thought of the unknown history of this race, who hunted and fished and died on the banks of this great river before South America was heard of, and whose descendants still live the same primitive, savage life their fathers led within sight of these ashes. I thought, too, of the countless thousands of Indians represented by these bones and ashes, who in these enlightened days of Christian missionary endeavor have been allowed to drift away into Eternity having never heard the Gospel tidings, not one effort having been made to win some of them for the Kingdom of Jesus Christ. It is too late now to regret what might have been done for the dead past; God grant that we may not hold back from what can be done for the living present.
I could have spent much more time at this interesting spot, but the shades of night were coming on, and I had to hurry down the hill in order to reach our night camp ere darkness set in.
We poled away from our night quarters with the first peep of day, passing an Indian village about eight o’clock, and soon had several ubás in pursuit. They seemed to know that it was near breakfast time, but we succeeded in giving them the slip―our supplies were running out.
A little above this point we entered the Rio das Mortes, and headed our boat up those mysterious waters, the home of the Chavante. As we slowly poled up the river my Carajás showed themselves slightly apprehensive of their old enemies, and eyed the banks suspiciously. Suddenly one dropped his long pole in the river and plunged in himself, and I could see his red body gliding along at the river’s bottom through the crystalline water. What did it mean? Was he giving me the slip for fear of the Chavantes, or was it only a bath he wanted? No, here he comes back, describing a semi-circle under the water; now he is making straight for the boat, his head appears above the water close at hand, and in his embrace he holds a fine large turtle. We shipped the newcomer at once, and he kept another little turtle company until dinner time.
The ubá with the other two Indians still accompanied us, now ahead, now behind, on the look out for fish or other sport. My three Carajás were keen sportsmen, too, and twice this day they dived from the igarité, bringing up a turtle each time. We had four live turtles and about 200 eggs on board at this time. Sometimes when passing over a broad sandbank where the water was shallow, they would spy a big fish, some twenty or thirty yards away. Two of them would spring into the water at the same time, one with his pole and the other with bow and arrow, and then would commence an exciting chase. They would run hither and thither through the pool to head off from the deep water the fish, which dodged them in all directions in its endeavors to escape. Finally the fish (generally a barbado of about fifteen pounds weight), too tired for further exertion in the shallow water, would be easily captured by a shot from the bow or a blow on the head with the end of the pole.
I slept on the sand at night in preference to my usual bed under the tolda, mosquitoes not being so numerous, and the starry, clear sky overhead being very attractive. The Indians are very fond of gazing at the stars. They say that a long time ago a great spirit carried away many of their brethren to a lovely country in the skies, where they live happily, hunting and fishing all the time, and as night comes on the stars we see are really the camp fires of the far-away Carajás.
One night the dinner preparations presented a most barbarian aspect, and to see how an Indian prepares and eats his food is to realize what savages they really are. In addition to the food which I provided, and which was ample, the five Carajás ate four turtles, three chameleons, and two big fish―quite eight pounds each, not to mention the amount of sand they always swallow with their food. After dinner I walked out over the sands, away from the smoky camp fires, away from the noisy, chattering Indians and their never-ending feasts; alone under the bright stars I stretched out on the cool, soft sand, and gave myself over to reveries and dreams of the future, when those who live like gods yet die like beasts shall become sons of the Most High and jewels in the Saviour’s crown. Each night before returning to the camp I pray for the Carajás and the speedy spread of the Gospel among these forgotten tribes.
During that afternoon I shot another crocodile, and we landed Manoel, who with an ax cut off about three feet of its tail for dinner that night. Before turning in at night I tried my hand with the big line, and caught a sixty-pound pirara, and had to call for help to the Indians before finally landing him.
One Sunday we passed a restful day in an abandoned Indian hut, situated between two Carajá villages, which were about a mile apart. Visiting one of the latter, I found the men above the average intelligence, and I could converse freely with several in Portuguese. I had a long talk with one Indian on the need and means of salvation through Jesus Christ.
Early on Tuesday morning we reached Sao Jose, where the Brazilians seemed really glad to see me, and I soon found them to be eager for another Gospel meeting. The village schoolmaster was now in full agreement with all I said, and a night meeting was soon arranged.
As soon as it grew dark, Senhor Antonio’s house was crowded with men, women, and children, and I had much freedom in giving God’s message to a most attentive and sympathetic audience of about 60 people, among whom I noticed the bright red naked forms of some Carajá Indians, looking on in amazement, but, I fear, understanding very little of what was said. It was an impressive scene, all the more so perhaps because of the dim, uncertain light of the solitary taper of black beeswax, which threw a fitful gleam around on the upturned faces.
After singing a concluding hymn I invited questions, but none were forthcoming, several men saying they were satisfied with what they had heard, so I pointed out God’s promise in James 1:55If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. (James 1:5) as their sure safeguard against false doctrine, and safe guidance in the way of eternal life. Then, after prayer, I bade them all farewell collectively, and, hurrying down to the river, embarked my scattered crew, when we poled up a couple of miles to a friendly bank and passed a cool, agreeable night stretched out on the soft, clean sand, free from the terrible mosquitoes of Sao Jose.
In one Indian village I witnessed an exciting wrestling match, in which one of my crew took active part. The splendid physique and matchless forms of the Indians appeared to great advantage. The struggle was keen, and the men were well matched, and seemed to be expert wrestlers, as are most young Carajás. Everybody watched intently each turn, twist, and trick of the contenders, until suddenly both fell together, and the result was therefore not final. After a short rest the wrestling was renewed, and nobody could say who had the advantage, until after a sudden struggle Tchana lay on his back, and with a whoop the other returned to his place. These proceedings terminated, my Indian crew were conducted to the village, and food was placed before them on the reed mat.
While they were still eating, a shout was raised, and looking up I saw a redskin running like a deer over the sands. Reaching the water, he still ran on into a shallow, sandy bay, until, about 20 yards out, he sat down in the water and yelled for the rest to go and help. I ran with a few others, and found it to be one of the many ingenious ideas of the Indians to catch fish. On the deep edge of a sandbank they build up the sand with their hands, so as to form a wall encircling the bay, disguised by about an inch of water, and with one deep, narrow entrance from the outside river. Refuse food is occasionally thrown in to attract the fish, generally of a kind called pacú, which much resembles a small plaice, and which generally travels in large shoals. When any number of fish enter the trap, the surface of the water soon betrays their presence to the keen eye of some Carajá, in the village, who immediately makes a beeline for the narrow entrance, and sitting down in it, prevents the fish escaping, and with the help of others―generally the women and children―the fish are all caught by hand, sometimes several hundred at a time.
Dinner over and darkness rapidly succeeding, all at once the light of a big bonfire shone out across the sands from the “casa do bicho,” and a sound resembling a big rattle was heard. The “dança do bicho” was about to begin. Accompanied by several of the more elderly Carajás, I strolled over the sands in the bright moonlight to the hut, outside which a big fire was burning, and lying stretched out around the blazing logs were all the men and youths of the village, engrossed in silently watching a mechanical kind of song and dance, in which the chief performers were my two Indians, Daoori and Tchana, both completely hidden from sight by strange costumes and surmounted by very weird-looking feather helmets. The women are not permitted to see these dances under penalty of death.
Next morning we halted for breakfast at the mouth of Lake Cangas, which entering we found to be very extensive and deep, fringed by dark, dense forests, and evidently a favorite haunt of crocodiles, which float lazily on the water’s surface here and there, looking for trouble, though with only the point of their noses appearing in view. These caymen are often known to attack larger canoes than ours.
At different sections of our journey we were troubled at night by a very poisonous variety of mosquito called the “murisoca,” and the sandflies by day were hard to endure patiently; latterly therefore we traveled both day and night, keeping well in midstream to avoid these torments, and cooking on board.
Early one morning, soon after midnight, we rested for a spell while the crew indulged in “jacuba” and some hot tea I made for them as a special treat, after which we pushed on again. Suddenly I heard a cockcrow, and just ahead of us there loomed out the white buildings of a farmhouse which I had hoped to reach some hours later. Never did a cock crow so agreeably! So well had the men worked at their poles that we were within three hours of our journey’s end. Resting for the remainder of the night on a spit of sand stretching out to the center of the river, soon after daybreak we sighted the port of Leopoldina, announcing our approach by repeated blasts on the horn. Quite a crowd was at the water’s edge to welcome us back to civilization and home, though I had yet to traverse a hundred and thirty weary miles across country to Goyaz city, accompanied by the whole of my Carajá crew.
Thus ended my first journey into the home of the redskins. At the time I made the foregoing notes there was not one Gospel missionary working among the Indians of Brazilian Amazonia, whereas at the time of publication of this work, there are at least thirty young men, mostly Britishers, who now are bravely, in the face of tremendous difficulties, seeking to make known the Gospel message among “these other sheep also.”