A TRAGIC SCENE 
I would certainly let him go back the next morning. He 
would then also receive pay, according to the time he had 
been with me. Miguel went back near the fire, where he 
cried for some time. Accustomed to deal with Brazilians, 
I perceived that Miguel thought my promises too good 
to be true. 
When leaving the last camp I had improvised for 
myself a kind of hammock with some straps and a water¬ 
proof canvas sheet which I had cut out of one of my tents. 
I was lying in that hammock, thinking, when I saw 
Miguel get up, and, screening his eyes with his hand, look 
fixedly my way. I pretended to be asleep. 
Miguel — who, by the way, was a Christian — took 
the dagger from his waist and walking to a large tree 
scratched a cross upon its bark. Then, sticking the knife 
with force into the tree, he clasped his hands over its 
handle, and bent his head over it, muttering some prayers. 
Twice — perhaps thinking he was being observed — he 
turned round towards me, and when he did so the ex¬ 
pression on his face, lighted by the flickering flame, was 
really ghastly. 
He prayed for some ten minutes, then, with the dagger 
in his hand, he walked cautiously towards my hammock. 
He was within three metres of me when I jumped up, 
seizing Filippe’s rifle, which I had placed by my side in 
the hammock. With the butt I struck the Indian a 
violent blow in the chest. 
He stumbled back, dropped his knife, and went down 
on his knees, touching my feet with his trembling hands 
and begging my pardon. Again came more sobs and 
tears; again more entreaties to be discharged. I got up 
and confiscated his rifle and all his cartridges, as well as 
the knife, then sent him to his hammock to sleep. The 
next morning I would see what I could do. 
I saw clearly that it was useless to take a man like 
that, who added to my other trials somewhat of a mental 
vol. ii. —17 257 
