EASTERN BRAZIL—-CHASE 389 
against both rock walls. From here the whole mass falls into a 
second plunge basin, with spray which shoots up in spires, rising 
higher than the top of this lower fall, and obscuring all but the 
summit, as in Horseshoe falls at Niagara. There is a deep vibrating 
roar with a high continuous clashing above it, like endlessly shatter- 
ing glass. 
The river below is the wildest clash of waters, the bed slanting 
downward probably 15 to 20 meters to a sharp turn where the end 
of the island and the high wall of the left bank approach, forming a 
whirlpool and cutting far into the wall. At the head of this recess, 
several meters up the cliff, is an enormous cave and down the side 
falls the water of the stream crossed by the trolley. The cave is 
about 150 meters in depth with a lofty ceiling at the entrance. The 
floor toward the back is covered thick with manure from bat roosts. 
In front of it are piles of driftwood. The river here makes a sharp 
turn to the right. Following the wall to the south, the falls called 
Agua de Venta on the Bahia side of Secret Island can be seen. 
I never saw any region so nearly devoid of vegetation. It is 
astonishing how the cliffs can keep so dry and bare with so much 
mist rising from the falls. The perpendicular wall of the canyoa 
was dark-brown rock, smooth and polished. In clefts were a few 
small trees and shrubs and an entire-leaved fern. On the opposite 
cliff (the face of Secret Island) is a vertical zone of verdure where 
the spray waters it, with scrub and cactus and bare rock on either 
side. JI explored the channels crossed by the trolley and then struck 
up river. All was bare rock, smooth and polished or black and 
cindery, without even a lichen, and hot to the touch in the blazing 
sun. Back from the river in a desert of loose dry sand was sparse 
scrub, the shrubs mostly leafless but some in bloom. A woody 
Bignoniaceous vine (a species of Arrabidaea) clambering over a low 
tree bore gorgeous yard-long sprays of large rose-purple flowers. 
Parrots flew screaming and hawks and vultures wheeled and soared. 
Doves were common, as everywhere in the more arid sertao. 
From Garanhuns I went to Maceio, Alagoas, and took a Brazilian 
boat for Bahia. The boat left at night, so I had a day in the low, 
wooded, sandy region back of the mangrove zone. 
The city of Bahia is on the inside of a small peninsula between the 
bay and ocean. Towns in Brazil, like plants with us, have frequently 
an official and a common name. The city of Pernambuco is called 
Recife (for the reefs which form a breakwater) ; Bahia is Sao Sal- 
vador, and the bay is Bahia dos Todos Santos; but both the city 
and the bay, as well as the State, are called Bahia. 
The peninsula is a succession of hills and hollows, and my field 
book began to fill rapidly. This was what I had expected of Brazil. 
