A NATURALIST IN BRAZIL 



handsome, slender tree, the lower part of whose trunk is covered 

 with the stumps of the old leaves, while the fan-shaped leaves of 

 the crown wave overhead in the breeze. These palms yield the 

 inhabitants of the Sertao almost all they need to support and 

 shelter life : namely, timber for building, wood for furniture, palm- 

 cabbage and sago, syrup, arrack, and fruit. With the leaves they 

 thatch their roofs ; of their fibres hammocks and mattresses are made, 

 and a medicine is prepared from the roots. The Indians call this 

 palm the mother of the Sertoes. 



Now we see another of the trees of the Sertao ; at first rising above 

 the hedges of some farm, but later growing in the open (Fig. 8) . 

 It offers a surprising, even a grotesque appearance, for the stem is 

 enormously swollen between the roots and the crown, tapering 

 towards the top, where it puts forth a number of gnarled and 

 sparsely-leaved branches. It often looks like a gigantic radish, 

 balanced upon its tip. The Brazilians aptly call these trees Barri- 

 gudas, "big-bellies." 



A broad highway leads to Solidade, a place which seemed to 

 deserve its name. But this impression vanished when we entered 

 the comfortable house of the director of an agricultural station : a 

 pretty, airy building, where comfort was ensured by avoiding an 

 excess of furniture. We rocked ourselves to and fro in the customary 

 rocking-chairs, and drank a mixture of gin and vermouth. The 

 amiable Brazilian would gladly have kept us to breakfast, but we 

 had to go further. And now at last we came to the real Sertao 

 (Plate 20). 



The ground is covered with yellow sand. The hills far and wide 

 are silvery-grey with the leafless boughs of the bush-like forest. 

 An unbroken grey sea overspreads all the hills and undulations 

 of the ground, and the yellowish-green of such trees as still dare to 

 show their leaves gleams here and there like the foam of breakers. 

 There is an impressive vastness in this country, traversed by ranges 

 of hills with jagged and riven profiles, from which the naked rock 

 protrudes on every hand. The greyness has a lovely silvery tone, 

 and the little white clouds floating in the blue sky cast shadows 

 that glide incessantly across the hills, giving life and variety to the 

 scene. 



We have reached the summit of a hill. Beyond the hills before 



us rises a savagely serrated range, terminated in one direction by 



a sharp-pointed cone, the "Sugarloaf of the Sertao." A true desert 



range, such as I have seen beside the Red Sea, or at Aden. And like 



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