90 JUNGLE PEACE 



had passed up and down and left no trace. 

 Only by this tidal road could one reach the 

 mouth of tributaries. And now the sacred isola- 

 tion of this great tropical river was forever 

 gone. The tiny scar along which we had 

 bumped marked the permanent coming of man. 

 And his grip would never relax. Already ca- 

 pillaries were spreading through the wilderness 

 tissues. Across the river from our woodpile 

 were two tiny Portuguese houses — those petty 

 pioneers of today whose forefathers were world- 

 wide explorers. Around us, scarcely separable 

 from the bush, was the coffee plantation of one 

 Senor Serrao. He and his mother greeted us, 

 and with beaming courtesy we were led to their 

 wattled hut, where a timid sister gave us grape- 

 fruit. I talked with him of his work and of 

 the passing of the animals of the surrounding 

 forest. Tapir were still common, and the wild 

 pigs and deer waged war on his vegetables. 

 Then a swirl drew our eyes to the brown flood 

 and he said, " Perai." 



And this was the end of the tropical trail 

 which had started out as a road, with its begin- 

 ning, for me, in the matter of Ram Narine. 

 Along its route we had passed civilization as 



