58 THE TOCANTINS AND CAMETA. Cuap. IV. 
rushed along with great rapidity, carrying us swiftly past the crowd of 
vessels which were anchored in the port. The canoe rolled a good 
deal. After we had made five or six miles of way the tide turned, and 
we were obliged to cast anchor. Not long after, we lay ourselves 
down all three together on the mat, which was spread over the floor of 
our cabin, and soon fell asleep. 
On awaking at sunrise the next morning, we found ourselves gliding 
upwards with the tide, along the Bahia or Bay, as it is called, of 
Goajara. This is a broad channel lying between the mainland and a 
line of islands which extends some distance beyond the city. Into 
it three large rivers discharge their waters, namely, the Guamé, the Acard, 
and the Mojti; so that it forms a kind of sub-estuary within the grand 
estuary of Parad. It is nearly four miles broad. The left bank, along 
which we were now sailing, was beautiful in the extreme ; not an inch 
of soil was to be seen ; the water frontage presented a compact wall of 
rich and varied forest, resting on the surface of the stream. It seemed 
to form a finished border to the water scene, where the dome-like, 
rounded shapes of exogenous trees which constituted the mass formed 
the groundwork, and the endless diversity of broad-leaved Heliconiz 
and Palms—each kind differing in stem, crown, and fronds—the rich 
embroidery. The morning was calm and cloudless; and the slanting 
beams of the early sun, striking full on the front of the forest, lighted 
up the whole most gloriously. The only sound of life which reached 
us was the call of the Serractira (Gallinula Cayennensis), a kind of wild 
fowl ; all else was so still that the voices of boatmen could be plainly 
heard, from canoes passing a mile or two distant from us. The sun 
soon gains great power on the water, but with it the sea-breeze increases 
in strength, moderating the heat, which would otherwise be almost 
insupportable. We reached the end of the Goajar4 about midday, and 
then entered the narrower channel of the Moju. Up this we travelled, 
partly rowing and partly sailing, between the same unbroken walls of 
forest, until the morning of the 28th. 
August 29th.—The Mojt, a stream little inferior to the Thames in 
size, is connected about twenty miles from its mouth, by means of a 
short artificial canal, with a small stream, the Igarapé-mirim, which 
flows the opposite way into the water-system of the Tocantins. Small 
vessels like ours take this route in preference to the stormy passage 
by way of the main river, although the distance is considerably greater. 
We passed through the canal yesterday, and to-day have been threading 
our way through a labyrinth of narrow channels, their banks all clothed 
with the same magnificent forest; but agreeably varied by houses 
of planters and settlers. We passed many quite large establishments, 
besides one pretty little village called Santa Anna. All these channels 
are washed through by the tides,—the ebb, contrary to what takes place 
in the short canal, setting towards the Tocantins. The water is almost 
tepid (77° Fahr.), and the rank vegetation all around seems reeking 
with moisture. ‘The country, however, as we were told, is perfectly 
healthy. Some of the houses are built on wooden piles driven into the 
mud of the swamp. 
In the afternoon we reached the end of the last channel, called the 
ea 
