Cuap. VIII. THE MAHICA INLET 197 
enters the Amazons about three miles below Santarem, where the clear 
stream of the Tapajos begins to be discoloured by the turbid waters of 
the main river. The broad, placid channel of the Mahica separates the 
Tapajos mainland from the alluvial low lands of the great river plain. 
It communicates in the interior with other inlets, and the whole forms a 
system of inland water-paths navigable by small vessels from Santarem 
to the river Curua, forty miles distant. The Mahica has a broad margin 
of rich level pasture, limited on each side by the straight, tall hedge of 
forest. On the Santarem side it is skirted by high wooded ridges. A 
landscape of this description always produced in me an impression of 
sadness and loneliness, which the riant virgin forests that closely hedge 
in most of the by-waters of the Amazons never created. The pastures 
are destitute of flowers, and also of animal life, with the exception of a 
few small plain-coloured birds and solitary Caracara eagles, whining from 
the topmost branches of dead trees on the forest borders. A few 
setilers have built their palm-thatched and mud-walled huts on the 
banks of the Mahica, and occupy themselves chiefly in tending small 
herds of cattle. They seemed to be all wretchedly poor. The oxen, 
however, though small, were sleek and fat, and the district most promis- 
ing for agricultural and pastoral employments. In the wet season the 
waters gradualiy rise and cover the meadows, but there is plenty of room 
for the removal of the cattle to higher ground. The lazy and ignorant 
people seem totally unable to profit by these advantages. The houses 
have no gardens or plantations near them. I was told it was useless to 
plant anything, because the cattle devoured the young shoots. In this 
country grazing and planting are very rarely carried on together, for the 
people seem to have no notion of enclosing patches of ground for 
cultivation. They say it is too much trouble to make enclosures. The 
“construction of a durable fence is certainly a difficult matter, for it is 
only two or three kinds of tree which will serve the purpose in being 
free from the attacks of insects, and these are scattered far and wide 
through the woods. 
In one place, where there was a pretty bit of pasture surrounded by 
woods, I found a grazier established, who supplied Santarem daily with 
milk. He was a strong, wiry half-breed, a man endowed with a little 
more energy than his neighbours, and really a hard-working fellow. 
The land was his own, and the dozen or so well-conditioned cows which 
grazed upon it. It was melancholy, however, to see the miserable way 
in which the man lived. His house, a mere barn, scarcely protecting 
its owner from the sun and rain, was not much better built or furnished 
than an Indian’s hut. He complained that it was impossible to induce 
any of the needy free people to work for wages. The poor fellow led a 
dull, solitary life; he had no family, and his wife had left him for some 
cause or other. He was up every morning by four o’clock, milked his 
cows with the help of a neighbour, and carried the day’s yield to the 
town in stone bottles packed in leather bags on horseback by sunrise. 
His wretched little farm produced nothing else. The house stood in 
the middle of the bare pasture, without garden or any sort of planta- 
tion ; a group of stately palms stood close by, to the trunks of which 
he secured the cows whilst milking. Butter-making is unknown in 
