ACROSS UNKNOWN SOUTH AMERICA 
after crossing over several swampy, troublesome stream¬ 
lets, we suddenly emerged into a marvellous, undulating, 
grassy plain with numerous fat cattle grazing upon it. 
In the distance, upon the hillside, four or five farm-sheds 
could be perceived. We had stopped at one farm on the 
way in hopes of getting food, but they could sell us only 
some feijao — beans soaked in lard — so that it was with 
some haste that we directed our mules to the more 
imposing building, in expectation of finding there at least 
some rice and eggs. We hurriedly crossed the plain and 
then the stream, and halted at the Cachoeira Grande 
(Grand Rapid) farm, 2,950 feet above the sea level. A 
pure negro was in charge of the place, whose wife was 
also as black as the ace of spades. Curiously enough, 
they possessed a child much lighter coloured and with 
golden hair and blue eyes. Such things will happen in 
the best regulated countries. The black man swore it 
was his own child, and we took — or, rather, did not take 
— his word for it. 
We went on 13 more kilometres that afternoon, when 
we were overtaken by a hurricane and torrential rain 
which drenched us to the marrow of our bones. We halted 
for the night at the farm of Lagoa formosa (Beautiful 
Lagoon), 3,000 feet above the sea level. 
On April twelfth we proceeded to climb the dividing 
range between the waters flowing south into the Parana- 
hyba (afterward called the Parana) River, and those 
flowing north eventually into the Amazon. This range of 
mountains was by some called Serra de Sta. Rita, by 
others Serra Dourada. It was not possible to ascertain 
the real name from the local people, who could tell me 
the names of no place, or mountain, or stream, and hardly 
knew the names of their own homes. 
On a flat expanse some 13 kilometres from Lagoa 
Formosa we came upon a small lake. We travelled 
mostly across campos (or prairies), with waters from 
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