MARCHING TO SURE PERDITION 
cold was relatively severe during the night, the ther¬ 
mometer registering a minimum of 48° Fahrenheit. 
We were travelling entirely by prismatic compass. 
My men, who had no faith whatever in what they called 
the agulha (compass), swore that we were going to sure 
perdition. 
44 How can that agulha ” said they, 44 possibly tell you 
where we can find beans ( feijao ), lard ( toucinho ), and 
sugar bricks ( rapadura ) ? ” 44 It is the invention of some 
madman!” said one. 44 It will bring us to our death,” 
sadly reflected another. 44 If I had only known that we 
should be entrusting our lives all the time to that agulha/ J 
murmured a third, pointing contemptuously to the com¬ 
pass, 44 1 should have never come. Oh, my poor mother 
and wife! And my dear little daughter six months old! 
Oh, shall I ever see them again! . . . shall I ever see them 
again? ” Here followed a stream of bitter tears, wiped 
with the ragged sleeve of his shirt. 
I thought that a cold bath would do them all good. 
I ordered them to take all the animals and baggage across 
the stream. It was a job of some difficulty, owing to 
the very swift current. A rough bridge had to be con¬ 
structed over the most dangerous part. The water was 
freezingly cold. 
On leaving the river we at once rose again over an¬ 
other great dome (elevation 2,850 feet), from which we 
obtained a most glorious view of other grassy domes, 
smooth-looking and well-rounded, with a fringe of forest 
in the depressions between. Down below we could see the 
Rio das Mortes we had left behind. It came at that spot 
from the southeast, and after describing an angle, turned 
to the northeast. From the northwest, at an elevation of 
2,800 feet, descended the Taperinho, a small tributary 
which entered the Rio das Mortes. 
We went over another domed mount, where I found 
a spring of most delicious water emerging in a gurgle 
SOT 
