DESCENT OF THE TAPAJOS 331 



long pent up : the mountainous coasts, the gray distance, 

 the dark waters tossed by a refreshing breeze ! Heat, 

 mosquitoes, insufficient and bad food, hard work and 

 anxiety, had brought me to a very low state of health ; 

 and I was now anxious to make all speed back to San- 

 tarem. 



We touched at Aveyros, to embark some chests I had 

 left there and to settle accounts with Captain Antonio : 

 finding nearly all the people sick with fever and vomit, 

 against which the Padre's homoeopathic globules were of 

 no avail. The Tapajos had been pretty free from epi- 

 demics for some years past, although it was formerly a 

 very unhealthy river. A sickly time appeared to be 

 now returning : in fact, the year following my visit 

 (1853) was the most fatal one ever experienced in this 

 part of the country. A kind of putrid fever broke out, 

 which attacked people of all races alike. The accounts 

 we received at Santarem were most distressing : my 

 Cupari friends especially suffered very severely. Joa5 

 Aracu and his family all fell victims, with the Exception 

 of his wife : my kind friend Joao Malagueita also died, 

 and a great number of people in the Mundurucu village* 



The descent of the Tapajos in the height of the dry 

 season, which was now close at hand, is very hazardous 

 on account of the strong winds, absence of current, and 

 shoaly water far away from the coasts. The river towards 

 the end of September is about thirty feet shallower than 

 in June ; and in many places, ledges of rock are laid 

 bare, or covered with only a small depth of water. I had 

 been warned of these circumstances by my Cupari friends, 

 but did not form an adequate idea of what we should 

 have to undergo. Canoes, in descending, only travel at 

 night, when the terral, or light land-breeze, blows off the 

 eastern shore. In the daytime a strong wind rages from 

 down river, against which it is impossible to contend, 

 as there is no current, and the swell raised by its sweeping 

 over scores of miles of shallow water is dangerous to small 

 vessels. The coast for the greater part of the distance 

 affords no shelter : there are, however, a number of little 

 harbours, called esperas, which the canoe-men calculate 

 upon, carefully arranging each night-voyage so as ta 

 reach one of them before the wind begins the next mornings 



We left Aveyros in the evening of the 21st, and sailed 

 gently down with the soft land-breeze, keeping about a 



