Up to the morning of the 30th of June there had been nothing
particular to distinguish the voyage. Occasionally they met a few
vessels gliding along by the banks attached one to another in such a
way that a single Indian could manage the whole–_”navigar de
bubina,”_ as this kind of navigation is called by the people of the
country, that is to say, “confidence navigation.”
They had passed the island of Araria, the Archipelago of the Calderon
islands, the island of Capiatu, and many others whose names have not
yet come to the knowledge of geographers.
On the 30th of June the pilot signaled on the right the little
village of Jurupari-Tapera, where they halted for two or three hours.
Manoel and Benito had gone shooting in the neighborhood, and brought
back some feathered game, which was well received in the larder. At
the same time they had got an animal of whom a naturalist would have
made more than did the cook.
It was a creature of a dark color, something like a large
Newfoundland dog.
“A great ant-eater!” exclaimed Benito, as he threw it on the deck of
the jangada.
“And a magnificent specimen which would not disgrace the collection
of a museum!” added Manoel.
“Did you take much trouble to catch the curious animal?” asked Minha.
“Yes, little sister,” replied Benito, “and you were not there to ask
for mercy! These dogs die hard, and no less than three bullets were
necessary to bring this fellow down.”
The ant-eater looked superb, with his long tail and grizzly hair;
with his pointed snout, which is plunged into the ant-hills whose
insects form its principal food; and his long, thin paws, armed with
sharp nails, five inches long, and which can shut up like the fingers
of one’s hand. But what a hand was this hand of the ant-eater! When
it has got hold of anything you have to cut it off to make it let go!
It is of this hand that the traveler, Emile Carrey, has so justly
observed: “The tiger himself would perish in its grasp.”
On the 2d of July, in the morning, the jangada arrived at the foot of
San Pablo d’Olivença, after having floated through the midst of
numerous islands which in all seasons are clad with verdure and
shaded with magnificent trees, and the chief of which bear the names
of Jurupari, Rita, Maracanatena, and Cururu Sapo. Many times they
passed by the mouths of iguarapes, or little affluents, with black
waters.
The coloration of these waters is a very curious phenomenon. It is
peculiar to a certain number of these tributaries of the Amazon,
which differ greatly in importance.
Manoel remarked how thick the cloudiness was, for it could be clearly
seen on the surface of the whitish waters of the river.
“They have tried to explain this coloring in many ways,” said he,
“but I do not think the most learned have yet arrived at a
satisfactory explanation.”
“The waters are really black with a magnificent reflection of gold,”
replied Minha, showing a light, reddish-brown cloth, which was
floating level with the jangada.
“Yes,” said Manoel, “and Humboldt has already observed the curious
reflection that you have; but on looking at it attentively you will
see that it is rather the color of sepia which pervades the whole.”
“Good!” exclaimed Benito. “Another phenomenon on which the _savants_
are not agreed.”
“Perhaps,” said Fragoso, “they might ask the opinions of the caymans,
dolphins, and manatees, for they certainly prefer the black waters to
the others to enjoy themselves in.”
“They are particularly attractive to those animals,” replied Manoel,
“but why it is rather embarrassing to say. For instance, is the
coloration due to the hydrocarbons which the waters hold in solution,
or is it because they flow through districts of peat, coal, and
anthracite; or should we not rather attribute it to the enormous
quantity of minute plants which they bear along? There is nothing
certain in the matter. Under any circumstances, they are excellent to
drink, of a freshness quite enviable for the climate, and without
after-taste, and perfectly harmless. Take a little of the water,
Minha, and drink it; you will find it all right.”