284 VOYAGE UP THE TAP A J OS 



put all the groceries and other perishable articles in tin 

 canisters and boxes, having found that this was the only- 

 way of preserving them from damp and insects in this 

 climate. When all was done, our canoe looked like a 

 little floating workshop. 



I could get little information: about the river, except 

 vague accounts of the difficulty of the navigation, and the 

 famito or hunger which reigned on its banks. As I 

 have before mentioned, it is about a thousand miles in 

 length, and flows from south to north ; in magnitude it 

 stands the sixth amongst the tributaries of the Amazons. 

 It is navigable, however, by sailing vessels only for about 

 1 60 miles above Santarem. The hiring of men to navi- 

 gate the vessel was our greatest trouble. Jose was to be 

 my helmsman, and we thought three others hands would 

 be the fewest with which we could venture. But all our 

 endeavours to procure these were fruitless. Santarem 

 is worse provided with Indian canoe-men than any other 

 town on the river. I found, on applying to the trades- 

 men to whom I had brought letters of introduction and 

 to the Brazilian authorities, that almost any favour 

 would be sooner granted than the loan of hands. A 

 stranger, however, is obliged to depend on them ; for it 

 is impossible to find an Indian or half-caste whom some 

 one or other of the head-men do not claim as owing him 

 money or labour. I was afraid at one time I should have 

 been forced to abandon my project on this account. At 

 length, after many rebuffs and disappointments, Jose 

 contrived to engage one man, a mulatto, named Pinto, a 

 native of the mining country of Interior Brazil, who knew 

 the river well ; and with these two I resolved to start, 

 hoping to meet with others at the first village on the road. 



We left Santarem on the 8th of June. The waters were 

 then at their highest point, and my canoe had been 

 anchored close to the back door of our house. The 

 morning was cool and a brisk wind blew, with which we 

 sped rapidly past the white-washed houses and thatched 

 Indian huts of the suburbs. The charming little bay of 

 Mapiri was soon left behind ; we then doubled Point 

 Maria Josepha, a headland formed of high cliffs of Taba- 

 tinga clay, capped with forest. This forms the limit of 

 the river view from Santarem, and here we had our last 

 glimpse, at a distance of seven or eight miles, of the city, 

 a bright line of tiny white buildings resting on the dark 



