It was not until the last quarter of the sixteenth century that missionaries penetrated the forests to the east of Peru, following down the River Ucayali and entering the Caupolican of what is now Bolivia. Except for the ill-fated expedition of Gonzalo Pizarro in 1541, organized exploration of the forests did not commence until about 15 60, and even then was undertaken spasmodically and with little worthwhile result. The conditions in the forests under the Andean foothills were utterly different from those found by the Portuguese in the low-lying and more populated region of the Atlantic coast. As the historian says:

"Easy as it was to conquer the Empire of the Incas, this was not so as regards the region east of the Andes (known commonly by the designation of 1m Montana) owing to the impenetrable forests which cover its surface. There these men of iron had to struggle against obstacles such as an almost impenetrable growth, aided at times by human beings as barbarous as Nature herself. Wide and rapid rivers, torrents capable of destroying anything which resisted them; hungry wild beasts; gigantic and poisonous reptiles; insects no less dangerous and more troublesome than the reptiles; inaccessible mountains, on whose slopes every pace carried its risk, now of going over the precipice, now of being bitten by a venomous serpent or by one of the millions of equally poisonous ants, should any plant be seized to save a fall; limitless forests, immense lagoons, swamps; torrential rains, inundations of enormous extent; constant damp, and consequently fevers which attack a man in a thousand forms; and boils painful and dangerous. To all this add an absolute lack of food. But even these circumstances were incapable of stopping men so audacious."

In one important respect the historian exaggerated. Between Cuzco and the south of Peru there were four recognized trails constructed by the Incas for military purposes. Over these, narrow and difficult though they were, the early explorers crossed the Cordilleras and descended to the forests with large trains of saddle and cargo animals. In the Caupolican province of Bolivia was a paved road ten feet wide, now long overgrown, leading from Carabaya to the Beni margin of the Plains of Mojos. On the Plains of Polopampa—as Apolobamba was called—travelling was easy, but before and beyond them the trails must have been narrow—

adequate for an Indian on foot, but extraordinarily difficult for animals. Even today the Andean trails, improved though they have been, are mostly suitable for pedestrians and agile mules only, and always with some considerable risk. Away from the trails the historian's description is not exaggerated—and the forests have changed little in 400 years.

Fired by an Indian slave's account of the riches of the Kingdom of Ambaya, Hernando Pizarro sent Pedro de Candia on the first of the forest expeditions in 1535. The next was that of Pedro Auzures, who in 1539 entered by way of Camata with considerable cavalry, came up against the Maquires in the Plains of Mojos, and lost most of his men before finally beating a retreat to the Altiplano through Cochabamba.

These efforts were followed by innumerable attempts to find the Kingdom of the Musus, and under its various appellations of Ambaya, Paititi, Emln, or Candir6, its reputed wealth continued to arouse Spanish avarice. Though the ventures failed to win fabulous riches and found only disaster, yet as a result of them missions were established and some knowledge of the geography of Peru's hinterland was gained. In 1654 Fray Tomds Chavez revived waning enthusiasm by reporting that he had been taken from Mojos in a hammock carried by Indians for a march of thirty days, followed by twelve days of canoe travel, and then twenty-one days by land, to Paititi, where the fame of his medical knowledge had reached the Emperor of the Musus. He stated that it was more thickly populated and richer in gold than Peru and all the Indies I

Similar tales of its wonders were told by a Portuguese named Pedro Bohorques in 1630, and in 1638 by an obscure person called Gil Negi "In the province of Paititi are mines of gold and silver, and great store of amber," they said. It may well be that these men were merely gratifying their vanity by claiming as personal knowledge the stories heard from the Indians.

However much romance may have coloured the tales, the fact remains that the legendary existence of a highly civilized remnant of an ancient people persisted amongst the indigenes of the continent; and these traditions can be heard today from the Indians of the remote places rarely visited by a white man. There is a remarkable similarity in the accounts, which makes it reasonable to conclude that there is a basis of truth in them.

In 1679 tne Spanish Government officially protested against the expenditure of so much money on an objective that since Pizarro's time had been attempted by seventeen expeditions, not counting those equipped by private enterprise. But it needed time and constant failure to shake the belief in the story—and meanwhile it was proving a potent factor in the exploration of the Amazon basin.

Exploration of the Madeira River by the Portuguese commenced in 1716, and of the Guapore in 1760. These joined up with the limits of

Spanish penetration, and the two nations arranged a recognized demarcation of the spheres of their respective influence. To preserve Portuguese interests and to protect a garrison from the attacks of the Araras, Pacaguaras, and other hostile tribes which swarmed in the open forests of this section, Fort Principe de Beira was built in 1783 near the confluence of the Guapor£ and Mamore Rivers, ^t still stands intact, and there is some talk of reoccupying it.

While adventurers were seeking the elusive El Dorado, more practically minded colonists of Peru were taking advantage of the abundant slave labour to operate the rich placers of Carabaya and the Altiplano, and the numerous mines that supplied the Incas with the bulk of their treasure. The immensely rich silver mountain of Potosi attracted much attention, and it is said that over one hundred million pounds sterling worth of silver formed the Royal Fifth in a single century. At Puno, on Lake Titicaca, rich silver mines were also worked. So plentiful was the metal that even the Indians possessed feeding utensils made of it, and for the shoes of horses it was found cheaper than iron. 1 Lima, capital of His Most Catholic Majesty's possessions in the New World, was fabulously wealthy by the end of the seventeenth century. I quote an eighteenth-century chronicler:

". .. But to give some idea of the wealth of that city, it may suffice to relate what Treasure the Merchants there exposed about the Year 1682, when the Duke de la Plata [Marquis de la Palata.— Ed.] made his entry as Viceroy: They caused the Streets called de la Merced, and de los Mecadores [Mercaderes.— Ed.], extending thro* two of the Quarters (along which he was to pass to the Royal Square, where the Palace is) to be paved with Ingots of Silver, that had paid the Fifth to the King: they generally weigh about 200 Marks, of eight Ounces each, are between twelve and fifteen Inches long, four or five in Breadth, and two or three in Thickness. The whole might amount to the Sum of eighty Millions of Crowns."

The immense treasures of the Incas looted in Cuzco and elsewhere, and the huge production of the mines under slave labour, created the Buccaneers of the Spanish Main and Pacific. Up to the time of the Wars of Independence, when the yoke of Spain was thrown off in the third decade of the nineteenth century, the Pacific coast was never free from semi-piratical brigs, ultimately hard-headed 'Down-Easters* masquerad-

1 But not so good! During World War II it came within the province of the editor, then a locomotive engineer in Peru, to find, for use in bearing metals, a substitute for tin, scarce because all supplies were being shipped to the U.S.A. Tests were made with silver—not as a substitute, but to see what could be done with it industrially—and the conclusion reached was that while it looked pretty when made into plates and dishes, or even in the locally popular form of chamber pots, in the field of railroad engineering it was valueless. A pity, because 'here was so much of it.— Ed.

ing as respectable raiders under letters of marque, or else making no pretence of disguising their intentions. The people of these countries had no illusions about the adventurers—they had suffered too frequently in the past from raiders such as Drake, Spilberg, Jacob the Hermit, Bartholomew Sharp and Dampier. Even our venerated Lord Anson is classified by them as nothing more than a pirate. It is interesting to note that the last Armada, or treasure fleet, left the Peruvian port of Callao in 1739 bound for the Isthmus of Panama, where treasure would be taken overland for reshipping on the Atlantic side. Anson's raid on the Pacific coast frightened the treasure ships into the Guayas River and up as far as Guayaquil, where they stayed for three years before returning to Callao with the bullion still on board.

So rich were the goldmines beyond the Cordilleras that no trouble was taken to extract the metal except in a most primitive way. Fine gold was ignored. In 1780-81, during the Indian rising led by Jose Gabriel Condorcanqui—Tupac Amaru—every Spaniard and employee east of the Andes was massacred, trails were destroyed, and every possible trace of the mines obscured. In the archives are records of the names and production of these mines, few of which have been rediscovered. Indians may know of their whereabouts, but nothing will make them talk; for in their hearts they cherish the belief that one day the Inca will return to claim his hidden treasure and his ruins, when the last vestige of Spanish rule has disappeared from the continent.

In the power of their conquerors the lot of the Indians fell from bad to worse. Under the system of Repartimientos they became slaves to be sold together with the lands where they lived. The Peonage system left them little better off, even if nominally free—they still changed hands with the land. But the Aymaras of Bolivia are of different stuff from the docile Quechuas; they are more independent, and even walk with a truculent air. It is not wise to enter without their consent some of the Aymara villages east of Lake Titicaca. Today there are 800,000 Indians in Bolivia, as against 700,000 cholos (mixed Indian and Spanish b! and the same number of whites—and the Government keeps a respectful eye on them. The Aymara of the mountains is physically rather a tine man. Even under the rags and humility of the Quechua smoulders a later.: and in spite of his apparent zeal for the Catholic Church he preserves his ancient ceremonies, conducting them in secret in the mountain fastiu The beautiful emblem of the Sun still appeals to him more than the hypocrisy of the priests and the sanguinary images in the adobe churches. Not that all the priests are hypocritical; for while many of those to be found in out-of-the-way villages are ignorant half-castes or even Indians, greedy and vice-ridden, there are also men of the highest type, especially amongst the members of the French missions and the virile, abnegating Franciscans.

With the suppression of the Jesuits in 1760 the status of the Indian

in Brazil became that of an animal, and he was hunted for the value of his labour. The importation of large numbers of Negro slaves and the acquisition of a growing army of Indians produced an extraordinary number of half-castes. It was the same on the western side of the continent. Portuguese and Spanish colonists of the best blood mixed freely with both, and the Negro in turn mixed with all the different tribes of the civilized indigenes. A very difficult social problem was created when slavery was abolished and the half-castes were placed on a level with the free population.

Brazil is by no means homogeneous except in its intense patriotism. The Negro is not regarded as an equal by the whites, and while there is freedom and a measure of camaraderie among all classes, there is below the surface as much class distinction as in any other part of the world. Indian blood is tolerated, and in some cases considered a matter for pride, just as in the U.S.A. The result is curious and interesting. Every Negro woman is so conscious of her colour bar that she spares no pains to disguise it, and when she can will mate with someone lighter in complexion than herself. This, and the selective preferences of the well-to-do classes, are breeding out the Negro, while preserving his valuable immunity to tropical diseases. More and more Europeans come to the country, marry locally, and produce—in the upper classes, at any rate—very good-looking children. Eventually there will be a fine and vigorous race free from the inherent weaknesses of inbred nations.

In the seventeenth century Brazil suffered much from lawless and independent communities of escaped Negro slaves, who were either joined by women of their own race or obtained them by raiding Indian tribes. These communities destroyed settlements and estancias, and were guilty of appalling atrocities—for under the influence of the liquor known zspinga the Negro, and particularly the Negro-Indian mestizo, becomes a wild animal.

Not many years ago, in the Leneois district of Bahia, an Englishman was unwise enough to knock down one of the Caboclos, or half-castes, for some trifling offence. The man said nothing, but went to his shack and sharpened the faca> or triangular-bladed stiletto with which insults are unhesitatingly avenged. He openly acknowledged the intention of knifing his patrao —and he did; and not even the certainty of thirty years' imprisonment could stay him. He had been struck, and that was enough 1

Although many thousands of Negroes live in both Bolivia and Peru, they are a negligible element in the population. For the most part the half-castes in these republics are the product of the European and the Indian, though it is hard to find just where black blood ceases. These half-castes are capable of even worse excesses than the full-blooded Indians, if driven by the maddening cane alcohol called chacta in Peru, kachasa in Bolivia, and pinga in Brazil.

Except in the capitals and big towns—where a cosmopolitan element produces a certain general aloofness—there is not a dwelling or village, however poor, in any one of these countries that does not dispense the unstinted hospitality I met with so often in my journeys in the interior. This is particularly the case in Brazil, where it may be counted on if the ordinary rules of courtesy be observed. No people possess less racial prejudice, or are more kindly disposed towards the stranger. But Spanish and Portuguese alike attach great importance to etiquette; and it is desirable for the foreigner to know the language. Some say these languages are easy to learn. To acquire a smattering of grammar-book talk may not be difficult, but that is not enough. Nor is it enough to reach the point of understanding either language rapidly spoken by a provincial. The necessary standard is the ability to tell a good joke, make witty remarks, and discuss philosophy and the arts. How many foreigners take the trouble to aim at that objective? The staccato and slangy pronunciation acquired by a child may be beyond the powers of an adult, but South Americans ignore the lack of this, and even shortcomings in grammar, so long as conversation is witty and intelligent. Conversation is the breath of life to them, and fifteen minutes of 'chawing the fat' with a peon about Plato or Aristotle will do more to build up mutual esteem than years of good intentions without the ability to express them. It is always a matter of surprise to Americans and Europeans to find how profound can be the conversation of even the humblest South American. 1 On the other hand, as elsewhere, the conversation of high and low can be woefully uninformed about elementary matters, as we shall see in a moment.

What annoys the people is a suggestion of superiority—and who can blame them? It is difficult to keep a straight face when an educated lady asks, as I was once asked in Bolivia, "Did the setior come from England in a canoe or on muleback?"

"No, seiiora? was my reply; "I came in a steamer carrying about a thousand people."

"Oish!" exclaimed she. "Was there no danger from currents and rapids?"

A dignitary at San Ignacio, Bolivia, hearing of the Titanic disaster, said to me out of the maturity of his river experience:

"Heavens, man! Why don't they keep near the bank? It's far safer. Those big canoes in mid-stream are always dangerous!"

A gentleman in the same village took much pride in the possession of a horrible oleo-lithograph representing a storm, a lighthouse, and a

1 1 can vouch for this being no exaggeration. The greatest mistake a foreigner can make in these countries is to insist on hustle and bustle without ever taking time out to chat with the workmen under his authority. I myself learned to converse with them because I likeJ them, and my reward was a priceless store of tales, legends and titbits of knowledge, to say nothing of the pleasure derived at the time. Besides the need to learn the colloquial language, it is worth while stressing the importance of abundant reading in that language, the ability to write it well, and—sooner or later it will be necessary—to make a speech in itl— Ed.

fantastically rough sea. lie was frequently asked if it was the Cachuela Esperanza, a well-known rapid in the Beni.

Once when I asked the postmaster in a provincial town in Peru what was the postage to England, he took the envelope, turned it upside down and sideways, scrutinized it with the most ludicrous attention, and then asked, "Where's England?" I explained to him as best I could. "Never heard of it," he said. I explained in more detail, and tried a different approach. Finally light dawned. "Oh! You mean London. England's in London, then? Why didn't you say so at first, senor?"

It sounds terribly ignorant, no doubt, but what about the society lady in London who asked if Bolivia was 'one of those horrid little Balkan states'? Another titled lady, who is now a big figure in politics, asked me in all seriousness if the people in Buenos Aires were civilized and wore clothes! Apparently she imagined that the people of one of the world's iinest cities were wild Indians—with perhaps here and there a gaucho, armed to the teeth, galloping along unpaved streets and lassoing turbulent cattle! Even the passport official of a great bank slipped up badly when in 1924 my youngest son, about to leave for Peru, applied for a passport. He enquired whether Peru might be in Chile or Brazil 1

Many parts of the interior, in all these countries, are isolated from the world by weeks of atrocious mule trails, and consequently there is no check to inbreeding and superstition. In San Ignacio, for instance, the people when ill cover up mouth, ears and nose, so that the spirit may not escape. Nearly everywhere more faith is placed in the miraculous power of wax images than in expensive medicines. There are villages where inbreeding has practically wiped out the men, but it is interesting to note that the women seem to improve in physique by it. When men from outside visit these places they have to be careful, for there is no feminine modesty!

Many foreigners consider the Indian an animal, incapable of any feelings beyond instinct. Even after four centuries of utter debasement and cruel treatment as serfs, I have always found them readily responsive to kindness, and I know them to be highly capable of education. There are Indians who have enriched themselves and become important national figures. They have started as peons, and in spite of almost insurmountable obstacles have risen to become owners of land, mines, ranches and businesses. I have met many such men in the course of my wanderings. In the countries they inhabit direct taxation is practically non-existent, indirect taxation is low, and personal liberty is unchallenged by over-legislation.

The curse of the Indian is kachasa —too often the only means of temporary escape from hopeless servitude—and he can obtain it on credit. The Indian is not the only one to drink himself into stupor; practically everyone in the interior, including the European, does so. It debases a man physically and morally, and accounts for nine-tenths of

what crime there is—which isn't very great. I am not blaming them and am certainly not going to repeat teetotal dogma. Some people fated to live under similar conditions would prefer suicide!

I hope these chapters will have made clear what I am looking for, and why. The failures, the disappointments, have been bitter, yet always there has been some progress. Had I still had Costin and Manley as companions it is possible that instead of writing an uncompleted manuscript I might now be giving to the world the story of the most stupendous discovery of modern times.

There has been disillusionment too. After the Gongugy expedition I doubted for a time the existence of the old cities, and then came the sight of remains that proved the truth of at least part of the accounts. It still remains a possibility that 'Z'—my chief objective—with its remnant of inhabitants, may turn out to be none other than the forest city found by the Bandeira of 1753. It is not on the Xingu River, or in Matto Grosso. If we ever reach it we may be delayed there for a considerable time—an unsuccessful journey will be a rapid one.

Our route will be from Dead Horse Camp, u° 43' south and 54 0 35' west, where my horse died in 1921, roughly north-east to the Xingu, visiting on the way an ancient stone tower which is the terror of the surrounding Indians, as at night it is lighted from door and windows, Beyond the Xingu we shall take to the forest to a point midway between that river and the Araguaya, and then follow the watershed north to 9 0 or io° south latitude. We shall then head for Santa Marfa do Araguaya, and from there cross by an existing trail to the Rio Tocantins at Porto Nacional or 'Pedro Afonso'. Our way will be between latitude io° 30' and 11 ° to the high ground between the States of Goyaz and BahJa, a region quite unknown and said to be infested by savages, where I expect to get some trace of the inhabited cities. The mountains there are quite high. We shall then follow the mountains between Bahia and Piauhv to the Rio Sao Francisco, striking it somewhere near Chique-Chique, and, if we are in fit condition to do so, visit the old deserted city (that of 1753) which lies at approximately n° 30' south and 42 0 30' west, thus completing the investigations and getting out at a point from which the railway will take us to Bahia City. 1

1 This is the route my father set out to follow in 1925. Experts in Brazil maintain it i< impossible to do it, and inasmuch as he never returned they may be right. The area where he believed 'Z' to lie has in recent years been regularly flown over by domestic airlines, and no trace of an ancient city has been reported. Moreover, this part of the country is not unknown— and I can hardly believe it was unexplored at the time he wrote. It is true that remains of incalculable age have been found thereabouts—on the borders of Goyaz an cs— but no city. But for over a century one has been known in the state of Piauhy, and culcd ' Uk Cidades', from its seven citadels.

I have personally investigated the bearings be gives for the 17j * <. i I tatively that it is not there.— Ed.

I have talked with a Frenchman who for some years occupied himself with tracking down the legendary silver mines, associated indirectly with the deserted city (for it was in looking for these Lost Mines of Muribeca that the 1753 Bandeirantes found it). He claims to have been all over the region I propose visiting, and states that it is populated by civilized settlers wherever there is water—that there is no real forest in that area— that no ruins can possibly exist there! He asserts that he discovered a peculiar, weather-worn formation of sandstone which from the distance looked very much like old ruins, and that this is what the Bandeirantes of 1753 actually saw, inventing the rest of their tale in the fashion of those days. When I told him of the recorded inscriptions (he had neither seen nor heard of the document left by 'Raposo') he had no answer—and in any case, various essential points did not tally with his arguments. The inscriptions on the ruins, and the 'jumping rats' (jerboas) cannot surely have been a mere invention.

Frankly, I have little confidence in the Frenchman. To have been all over such a region is hardly possible. There are sandy areas devoid of water; cliffs bar the way; even a single valley may remain hidden for centuries, for exploration has never been systematically carried out, although the lure of diamonds in this region has in the past disclosed the safe and accessible places. My impression is that there is an inner area bordered by a waterless belt that has discouraged expeditions. The Frenchman had an alcoholic breath, and I cannot consider drinkers fully reliable. I was told, too, that he had never been away for more than two or three weeks at a time—far too short a period for prolonged investigation. 1

The late British Consul at Rio, Colonel O'Sullivan Beare, a gentleman whose word I would not have dreamed of doubting, gave me as nearly as the wretchedly inaccurate maps of the region would allow the location of the ruined city to which he was taken by a Caboclo in 1913 (mentioned in Chapter I). He never crossed the Sao Francisco—his city was well east of it, twelve days' travel from Bahf a. The Sao Francisco has been associated with legends of White Indians for centuries, and it is possible that the two clothed whites seen by 'Raposo's' advance party were somewhere between the mouth of the Rio Grande and Chique-Chique. Since then, encroaching civilization may have kept them in their valley beyond the dry belt.

There are curious things to be found between the Xingu and the Araguaya, but I sometimes doubt if I can stand up to that journey. I am growing too old to pack at least forty pounds on my back for months on end, 2 and a larger expedition costs a great deal of money and runs

1 Nevertheless, from what I myself have seen, I believe the Frenchman was right. I have heard much in Bahia about this Frenchman's travels, and he really did penetrate unknown regions of the state.— Ed.

* He was fifty-seven when he wrote this in 1924.— Ed.

greater risks—besides, all the men who go must be picked men, and there is probably not more than one in a thousand who is fit for it.

If the journey is not successful my work in South America ends in failure, for I can never do any more. I must inevitably be discredited as a visionary, and branded as one who had only personal enrichment in view. Who will ever understand that I want no glory from it—no money for myself—that I am doing it unpaid in the hope that its ultimate benefit to mankind will justify the years spent in the quest? The last few years have been the most wretched and disillusioning in my life—full of anxieties, uncertainties, financial stringency, underhand dealing and outright treachery. My wife and children have been sacrificed for it, and denied many of the benefits that they would have enjoyed had I remained in the ordinary walks of life. Of our twenty-four years of married life only ten have been spent together. Apart from four years in the Great War, I have spent ten in the forests, yet my wife has never complained. On the contrary, her practical help and constant encouragement have been big factors in the successes so far gained, and if I win in the end the triumph will be largely due to her.

EPILOGUE

by Brian Fawcett

Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre?

Have I kept one single nugget—(barring samples)? No, not II Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker.

But you wouldn't understand it. You go up and occupy.

Rudyard Kipling.

THROUGH THE VEIL

IT seemed in 1924 as though funds for the final expedition would never be forthcoming. Disappointment followed disappointment, while ever just beyond reach was the glowing image of the Great Objective—the ancient cities of Brazil. Funds were low—so low that it was a problem how the family could keep going in even a modest way—yet it was necessary to preserve an attitude of preparedness and be ready to move at a moment's notice.

Ever since his return to England late in 1921 my father's impatience to start off on his last trip was tearing at him with ever-increasing force. From reticent he became almost surly—yet there were also times when this dark mantle was laid aside, and he was again a jolly companion to us children.

We—that is, my mother, my brother, my younger sister and myself —who in 1920 set out for Jamaica, never, as we thought, to return to England, were back again in under two years. Disillusionment hastened our departure from Jamaica. The island was not, as had been hopefully expected, like Ceylon; living conditions were difficult for the white minority and educational standards were poor, and so there was another frenzy of packing and an exodus to California, which had for many years been a sort of dream Mecca. Several reasons, not the least of them the high cost of living, necessitated our departure from Los Angeles after only a year, and in September 1921 we landed at Plymouth, where a month later we went to meet my father on his arrival from Brazil.

A house was rented in Exeter for a while, and then we moved out to a dilapidated but roomy place at Stoke Canon, in the direction of Tiverton.

*75

Here we stayed till the family broke up. I was the first to go, leaving for Peru on a railway appointment. My father and brother were the next to leave. Plans had suddenly come to a successful conclusion, and off they went to New York. My mother and sister left for Madeira, where they stayed for some years before going to reside on the French Riviera, and then in Switzerland.

It was during our stay in Stoke Canon that the present book was written, and from my father's lips I heard many of the anecdotes and ideas he records. I realized too late that had I shown more interest I might have been told much more that now I would give anything to know. That's usually the way of it. At the time my enthusiasm was concentrated on locomotive engineering to the exclusion of everything else.

My father would get up at an ungodly hour of the morning to make breakfast for me before I set off on a bicycle to the engineering works in Exeter, where I was serving a grimy but interesting apprenticeship as moulder's helper in a foundry. He could turn out as good a breakfast as anybody, and his acceptance of the task with silent humility only became significant to me years later when I recalled the circumstances of that period. He did it to ensure more rest for my mother, and because he would not consider my doing it for myself.

Though the time spent in Stoke Canon must have seemed to him like a jail sentence, there were bright moments too. Cricket, ever his joy, took him and my brother—both exponents of the game up to county standards—far afield in the season, for they were much in demand.

I saw him for the last time in March of 1924, when the Liverpool train pulled out of St. David's station, Exeter, and his tall figure was lost beyond view from the carriage window. As I was whisked northwards on the first stage of the long journey to Peru I fully expected that we should meet again in a few years in South America.

"I was up in London for a week on expedition matters," he wrote in May 1924, "and it may be that things are now fixed up satisfactorily. Probably the whole business will be done in the U.S.A., and if so the results will go there too. But the Royal Geographical Society has unanimously endorsed the expedition, so at least it has scientific backing.

"Jack and I may go via New York in June, where Raleigh will join us. He is as keen as mustard. It will be a comforting feeling that we are all in the same continent."

But it was not yet to be. Arrangements took much longer to make, and in the meantime he and Jack 'went into training'. Rudiments of the Portuguese language and some experience with theodolite work were instilled into Jack; and they went vegetarian in preparation for what might make an otherwise hungry expedition less difficult to bear. Physically there was little training required. Jack's six feet three inches were sheer bone and muscle, and the three chief agents of bodily degeneration

J'.PILOGUR

*77

—alcohol, tobacco and loose living—were revolting to him. Jack made a cult of physical fitness, and the only domestic chores he never complained of doing were those requiring an exercise of strength.

At school it was always Jack who distinguished himself in games, in fights, and by standing up to the severe canings of the headmaster. In his scholastic work too he could excel when the subject interested him. I, three years his junior, followed him in my humble way, true member of the unimportant but not contemptible rank and file. Bullied into a stupor during my first term, it was Jack's ready fist that ultimately brought me respite—but thereafter he made me fight my own battles and only took part when the odds weighed too heavily against me.

At home it was Jack who formed and led the gang—Jack who kept a log book in which to record all the mischief that could truly be classed as anti-social. His able and willing lieutenant was Raleigh Rimell, son of a Seaton doctor. Raleigh was with us most of the time during these school years at Seaton. He was a born clown, perfect counterpart of the serious Jack, and between the two there sprang up a close friendship which led to the Adventure of 1925.

During the Great War (of 1914-18) we were too young to be drawn into the army, but not too young to get hold of a horrifying assortment of firearms, with which we made so free that the authorities honoured us by nominating a special constable to follow our trail and bring us within reach of the lawl I'm afraid we led the poor man a miserable life, and it ended up by our trailing the constable with intent to work mischief on him. The police never pounced; we continued to shoot inoffensive starlings off the roofs of the town's houses, and even made targets of the enamelled collection-plates on pillar-boxes. Raleigh was summoned on this charge and made to replace a broken plate at the cost of ten shillings. Whenever he passed that pillar-box he would polish the plate with his handkerchief and say, "This is mine, you knowl"

When we went to Jamaica, Raleigh was already there, working for the United Fruit Company on a coconut estate at Port Maria. Jack was employed as a cow hand on a big cattle ranch up in the Montego Bay area, on the other side of the island, but occasionally they met. Raleigh went to California ahead of us, but we saw nothing of him there, for when we arrived he had moved on. Jack, between intervals of doing nothing, worked as a chainman to a Riverside surveyor and as an orange picker. A clever but untutored draughtsman, he also did some art work for the Ij>s Angeles Times. The glamour of the movies bit him for a time—as it does most of the impressionable people who visit Hollywood—and he made perfunctory attempts to land extra parts under Betty Blythe and Nazimov.i, two stars whose names are no longer familiar but who at that time were at the height of their fame. He might have broken in, for he lacked none of the necessary looks, but a friend who was acting as technical director in

the making of an exotic picture that never saw the light— Omar Khayyam — warned him off before the celluloid octopus grasped him in its fatal rentacles. Actually, the nearest he ever came to the movies was when a property-man hired his cricket bat, because of its authentic appearance, for Mary Pickford to use in Little Lord Fauntleroy. Apart from the cash received, he was awarded a letter' of thanks and a signed photo from the star.

Towards the end of 1924 arrangements for financing the expedition were made, and a friend of my father's went off to New York in advance to raise the money and have the business concluded by the time he and Jack arrived there. When the two of them landed in the U.S.A. it was to find that this 'friend* had squandered in a glorious drunk lasting six weeks $1,000 of my father's and $500 of Mrs. Rimell's (which he got hold of from Raleigh's mother on the plea of a wildcat mining syndicate). Needless to say, he had not succeeded in raising a cent, and only £200 were recovered of the funds entrusted to him.

My father now set to work to raise enough for the expedition; and this he managed to accomplish in a month by arousing the interest of various scientific societies, and by the sale of newspaper rights to the North American Newspaper Alliance, which nominated him a special correspondent.

"We are going to have a thoroughly good time going out, and in Brazil until we vanish into the forests for three years or so," my father wrote me in September 1924, before leaving England. "I fancy Jack and Raleigh will enjoy it. On the expedition, no one else will be with the party, except two Brazilians up to a certain point only."

Then, towards the end of January 1925, he wrote from on board S.S. Vauban, of the Lamport and Holt Line:

"Here we are, with Raleigh, approaching Rio. Personally I find the

voyage rather tiresome, but Jack is thoroughly enjoying it They were

very hospitable and sympathetic in New York, but the position was of course difficult. However, we are now in the same continent with you and on the way to Matto Grosso, and with at least forty million people already aware of our objective.

"Given facilities at Rio in the Customs, etc., we shall leave for Matto Grosso in about a week, and Cuyaba about April 2. Thereafter we shall disappear from civilization until the end of next year. Imagine us somewhere about a thousand miles east of you, in forests so far untrodden by civilized man.

"New York tried us badly. It was extremely cold, under a foot of snow, and the winds were bitter. Jack haunted cinemas—which were on the whole very poor—and chewed masses of gum. All three of us took our meals at an Automat."

Now Raleigh speaks in a letter to me from Rio:

"On the voyage down I became acquainted with a certain girl on board, and as time went on our friendship increased till I admit it was threatening to get serious—in fact, your father and Jack were getting quite anxious, afraid I should elope or something! However, I came to my senses and realized I was supposed to be the member of an expedition, and not allowed to take a wife along. I had to drop her gently and attend to business. I sympathize with you if you get sentimental once in a while.

"Jack said to me the other day, 'I suppose after we get back you'll be married within a year?' I told him I wouldn't make any promises—but I don't intend to be a bachelor all my life, even if Jack does I . . .

"I have wished several times that you also were coming on this trip, as I believe you would help to make it even more interesting and cheerful. I am looking forward to the actual start of the expedition into the forest, and I think Jack shares the same feeling. With an objective like ours, it requires too much patience to remain long in one place. The delays in New York were almost more than we could bear. ..."

While in Rio de Janeiro they stayed at the Hotel Internacional, and did the rounds of sightseeing and sea-bathing. Jack was not greatly impressed, and wrote:

"I would not live in Rio or any other town here if I had a million a year, unless I could come for only a month or two at a time! I don't care about the place, though of course the surroundings are magnificent. Brazil seems frightfully cut off from the world somehow. I must say the people are awfully decent everywhere, and help in every way."

Expedition kit was tried out in the 'jungle' of the hotel garden and found satisfactory, and in February 1925 they set off, going first to S2o Paulo. From Corumba Jack wrote a lively account of the trip as seen through the eyes of an enthusiastic youth of twenty-one:

"We have spent a week in the train from Sao Paulo to Porto Esperanca, fifty miles down from Corumba, and are glad to get this far at last. The train journey was interesting, in spite of the sameness of the countr passed through, and as we were lent the Line Official's private car, pr was ours all the way. In this respect we were lucky, for from Rio to Slo Paulo, and from there to Rio Parana, we had the private car of the President of the railroad.

"Most of the way was through scrubby mato forest and grazing land, with a good deal of swamp near the river. Between Aquidauana and Porto Esperanca I saw some quite interesting things. In the cattle country were numerous parrots, and we saw two flocks (or whatever you call them) of young rheas about four to five feet high. There was a glimpse of a spider's web in a tree, with a spider about the size of a sparrow sitting in the middle. In the River Paraguay this morning there were small alligators, and we are going out to shoot at them.

"On account of the passports left behind in Rio we might have been

held up when we landed here this morning, but apparently there will now be no bother, and we sail for Cuyaba tomorrow on the Iguatemi, a dirty little launch about the size of a naval M.L. There will be a large crowd of passengers, and our hammocks will be slung almost touching one another.

"Mosquitoes were pretty bad from Bauru to Porto Esperanca, but last night on the Paraguay there were none at all. The food is good and wholesome here, and much more sustaining than in Rio or Sao Paulo. One eats rice, beans—big black ones—chicken, beef, and a sort of slug-slime vegetable, something like a cucumber in texture, egg-shaped and the size of a walnut. Then comes Goiabada (guava cheese), bread and cheese, and the inevitable black coffee. Macaroni is also a favourite dish. All this is consumed at one meal.

"The heat is pretty stifling here at present, but not so bad inside the hotel. We are fed-up with these semi-civilized towns, amiable though the people are, and want to get through our time at Cuyaba as quickly as possible so as to start off into the forest. When Raleigh and I are unusually fed-up we talk of what we will do when we revisit Seaton in the spring of 1927, with plenty of cash. We intend to buy motor-cycles and really enjoy a good holiday in Devon, looking up all our friends and visiting the old haunts.

"Our river trip to Cuyaba takes about eight days, and we shall probably have all our mules ready for fattening by the middle of March. We leave Cuyaba on April 2, and it will take us six weeks, or perhaps two months, to reach the spot Daddy and Felipe got to last time. To reach 'Z' will probably take another two months, and it may be that we shall enter the place on Daddy's fifty-eighth birthday (August 31).

"Aren't the reports of the expedition in the English and American papers amusing? There is a lot of exaggerated stuff in the Brazilian papers too. We are longing to start on the real journey, and finish with these towns, though the month in Cuyaba will probably pass fairly quickly. One thing I only realized today is that we have crossed Brazil and can see Bolivia from here—and the places where Daddy was doing much of his boundary delimitation work.

"We had a fine send-off from Sao Paulo by a number of English people, including members of the diplomatic and consular corps. Before we left there we visited the Butantan snake-farm, where Senhor Brasil, the founder, gave us a talk on snakes—how they strike, how much poison they eject, the various remedies, and so on. He presented us with a whole lot of serum. An attendant entered the enclosure where the snakes are kept, in beehive huts, surrounded by a moat, and with a hooked rod took out a bushmaster. He placed it on the ground, reached down, and caught it by the neck before it could do anything. Then he brought it over and showed us the fangs, which are hinged, and have

spare ones lying flat with the jaw in case the principal ones arc broken. Senhor Brasil let it bite on a glass saucer, and a whole lot of venom squirted out.

"Last night saw the end of Carnivals, and all the inhabitants were tearing up and down in front of the hotel, on the only bit of good road. They made the deuce of a row, and were all in home-made fancy dress, some costumes being quite pretty. The custom during Carnivals is to squirt scent at you—or ether, which gets in the eyes and freezes them. The heat is awful today, and we drip with sweat. They say that in Cuyaba it is cooler. This morning we were talking to a German just in Cuyaba, and he told us they have over a hundred Ford cars there now— not bad for a place two thousand miles up river 1 He also said he came down on the Iguatemi, the boat we go up on, and that the food is good, but the mosquitoes are bad. I hear that in the new park they have a couple of jaguars in captivity, so I think I'll go and see them.

"The lavatory arrangements here are very primitive. The combined W.C. and shower-room is so filthy that one must be careful where one treads; but Daddy says we must expect much worse in Cuyaba.

"We have been exceedingly lucky to get passages, and to have all our luggage put on board the Iguatemi intact. It will be terribly cramped, but no doubt interesting going up river. The country we have seen so far has a dreadful sameness about it, though not in this respect as bad as the Mississippi.

"We have decided not to bother about shaving between here and Cuyaba, and already I have two days' growth on me. Raleigh looks like a desperate villain, such as you see in Western thrillers on the movies."

February 25, 1925. "We are now nearly two days out of Corumba, and reach Cuyaba next Monday evening, if we haven't died of boredom before then! The boat is supposed to carry only twenty people, but fifty passengers are crowded on board. We travel about three miles an hour, through rather uninteresting swampy country, but today the monotony was broken by the sight of hills. We sleep on deck in hammocks, and it is quite comfortable except for the mosquitoes, bad enough up to now, but expected to get worse tonight when we enter the Sao Lourenco R The first night was so cold that I had to get up to put on two shirts, socks and trousers. The monotony is appalling, and there is no room for exercise of any sort. Cuyaba will seem like Heaven after this! . . .

"Most of the passengers are 'Turks' (which means here a citizen of any of the Balkan countries) and run small shops in Cuyaba. Their women jabber incessantly, and whenever a meal is imminent gather round like vultures. The smells on board are pretty bad. Every now and then we stop at the bank to take on wood fuel for the boiler, counting with great care every stick as it comes in overside.

*82 EPILOGUE

"At present the banks of the river are scrubby mato with in the background some rocky hills about eight hundred feet high. There are a few alligators to be seen, and everywhere along the edge of the river any amount of cranes and vultures. Owing to the congestion on board it is out of the question getting the guns out to shoot at the alligators."

February zj. "Daddy says this is the dullest, most boring river journey he has ever made; and we are counting the hours of the three more days yet to be spent before Cuyaba is reached. We are still in swamp country, though no longer in the Paraguay River, for we entered the Sao Lourenco the day before yesterday, and the Cuyaba River last night. The Sao Lourenco is noted for its mosquitoes, which breed in the extensive swamps, and on Wednesday night they came aboard in clouds. The roof of the place where we eat and sleep was black—literally black—with them! We had to sleep with shirts drawn over our heads, leaving no breathing-hole, our feet wrapped in another shirt, and a mackintosh over the body. Termite ants were another pest. They invaded us for about a couple of hours, fluttering round the lamps till their wings dropped off, and then wriggling over floor and table in their millions.

"We saw some capibara today. One of them stood on the bank not eighteen yards away as we went past. It is a tragedy that the whole of this country for hundreds of miles is absolutely useless and uninhabitable. We go up river at a walking pace—so slowly that today we were overhauled by two men in a canoe, who were soon out of sight ahead.

"There is no entertainment in staring at the river bank, for it has altered in no way since we left Corumba. There is a tangle of convolvulus creeper and wild banana-like dock leaves—with onfa (jaguar) holes, worn bare with use, coming out to the edge of the water. Behind, and towering above, are thick trees of various sorts, extending about twenty yards back, and then the swamps begin, stretching as far as the eye can see, broken only by isolated clumps of swamp trees like mangroves. Occasionally there is to be seen a foetid pool, lurking-place of anacondas and nursery of mosquitoes. Sometimes the swamp comes right up to the river and there is no bank at all. There are many vultures and diving birds like cormorants, with long necks which make them resemble snakes when swimming. The jacares (alligators) live only where there is bare mud or sand where they can bask.

"Heavy rain has fallen today and the temperature has dropped to about the same as an English summer. The weather is supposed to grow cooler now anyway, as we are nearing the dry season. Daddy says he has never been in this region in the really dry season, and thinks it probable that the insects will not be as bad as they were in 1920.

"A new pest has come aboard today. It is the mutaca, a sort of h< fly with a nasty sting. We smashed many, but Daddy and Raleigh were stung. All of us are of course covered with mosquito-bites.

"What we miss a good deal is fruit, and none can be obtained till wc reach Cuyaba. Otherwise the food is good. Lack of exercise is annoying, and in Cuyaba we intend to make up for it by having a good long walk every day. As a matter of fact, we have had almost no exercise since leaving Rio, except for a fairly long hike up the railway track while we were held up for a day or two at Aquidauana. I do 'press-ups' whenever I can, but so crowded are we that even this is not easy.

"Raleigh is a funny chap. He calls Portuguese 'this damn jabbering language', and makes no attempt to learn it. Instead he gets mad at everyone because they don't speak English. Beyond fa% favor and obrigado he can say nothing to them—or is too shy to try. I can now keep up a fair conversation provided the person I am speaking to answers slowly and distinctly. They mix it with a lot of Spanish here, owing to the proximity of Bolivia and Paraguay."

March 4. "Cuyaba at last—and not so bad as I had been led to expect! The hotel is quite clean, and the food excellent. We are feeding up now, and I hope to put on ten pounds before leaving, as we need extra flesh to carry us over hungry periods during the expedition. The river journey took eight days—rather a long time to be cooped up on a tiny vessel like the Iguatemiy and confined to the same spot on the same bench. Yesterday we went for a walk in the bush, and joyed at the freedom to take exercise. Today we go shooting for the first time—not at birds, but at objects put up for practice.

"We called on Frederico, the mule man, but he is away until Sunday. His son says there will be no difficulty about getting the twelve mules we require. The sertanista ('guide* is near enough) Daddy wanted has died; and Vagabundo has gone into the sertao with someone else, which is a great pity, for I've heard so much about that dog that I wanted to see him. There is an American missionary here who has a lot of back numbers of the Cosmopolitan and other magazines, and we are going along tonight to swap books with him. ..."

March 5. "Yesterday Raleigh and I tried out our guns. They are very accurate, but make a hell of a row 1 We expended twenty cartridges, which leaves us 180 for future practice.

"I hear that on leaving Cuyaba we have scrub country for a d travel which will bring us to the plateau; then small scrub and grass all the way to Bacairy Post; and about two days beyond that wc will get our first game. In the first day or two we may be able to photograph a gorged sucuri (anaconda) if anyone can direct us to one in the vicinity. . . ."

April 14. "The mail has come in—the last we shall get, for on the 20th we leave. The heat here is something like Jamaica at its very hottest, but Raleigh and I go out daily to a stream on the Rosario road and stay in the water for an hour or so. It's not very refreshing, for its temperature is about the same as the air, but the evaporation in drying off afterwards cools us down.

"I have tried to get some sketching done here, but the subjects are so commonplace that I can't put any pep into them, and the result is they are not worth a damn! What I am always looking for is a really good subject, and then possibly something worth while will be produced. When we reach the place where the first inscriptions are to be seen I shall have to sketch, for all those things must be carefully copied.

"You would be amused to see me with a fortnight's growth of beard. I shall not shave again for many months. We have been wearing our boots so as to break them in, and Raleigh's feet are covered with patches of Johnson's plaster, but he is keener than ever now we are nearing the day of departure. We seem to be a hell of a time waiting for animals, but it is all the fault of Frederico and his lies. It was hopeless trying to get anything done with him, so we are now dealing with another chap called Orlando. I think the mules arrived today. The two dogs, Chulim and Pastor, are getting very bravo, and rush at any visitor who dares tap at the door.

"There was some rather bad shooting at Coxipo, a league distant. A fellow named Reginaldo with six companions, all of whom we saw leave Gama's Hotel here in the morning, were waylaid by a gang with a grudge against them. There had been a quarrel over gunplay and drink in the Casamunga diamond fields, and they met at Coxipo and shot it out. Reginaldo and one of the bandits were killed, and two others seriously wounded. The police went to work on the case after a few days, and over a cup of coffee asked the murderers why they did it! Nothing more has happened. ..."

Extracts from my father's letter of April 14:

"We have had the usual delays incidental to this continent of mananas, but are due to get away in a few days. We start with every hope of a successful issue. . . .

"We are all three very well. There are two dogs rejoicing in the names of Pastor and Chulim; two horses and eight mules; a polite assistant named Gardenia, who has an unrestrained appetite for advances—or providencias, as they euphemistically call them here—and a hard-working negroid mougo who answers to everyone's call. These two men will be released as soon as we find traces of wild Indians, as their colour involves trouble and suspicion.

"It has been abominably hot and very rainy, but things are settling down now into the cool and dry season.

"Jack talks a fair amount of Portuguese, and understands a modicum of what is said to him. Raleigh cannot acquire a blessed word!

"A ranching friend of mine told me that since a boy he and his people have sat in the verandah of their house, six days north of this, and listened to the strange noise coming periodically out of the northern forests. 1 Ic describes it as the hiss, as it were, of a rocket or great shell soaring into the air and plunging again into the forest with a 'boom-m-m-boom-m\ 1 Ic has no idea what it might be, but I think it is probably a meteorological phenomenon connected with high volcanic areas, such as my* people at Darjeeling, where discharges of artillery were heard between monsoons. Other parts of this lofty region give out 'booms' and snoring sounds, to the terror of the people who hear.

"My ranching friend tells me that near his place there is in the River Paranatinga a long rectangular rock pierced with three holes, the middle one being closed and apparently cemented at both ends. Behind it, somewhat carefully concealed, is an inscription of fourteen strange characters. He is going to take us there to photograph it. An Indian on his ranch knows of a rock covered with such characters, and this we also propose to visit.

"Another man, who lives up on the chapada —the high plateau just north of this, which was once the coastline of the old island—tells me he has seen the skeletons of large animals and petrified trees, and knows of inscriptions, and even foundations of prehistoric buildings, on the same chapada. It is, of course, the border of our region. One wide grassy plain near here has in its centre a great stone carved in the shape of a mushroom —a mysterious and inexplicable monument.

"The intermediate building between 'Z' and the point where we leave civilization is described by the Indians as a sort of fat tower of stone. They are thoroughly scared of it because they say at night a light shines from door and windows 1 I suspect this to be the 'Light that Never Goes Out*. Another reason for their fear of it is that it stands in the territory of the troglodyte Morcegos, the people who live in pits, caves, and sometimes in thickly foliaged trees.

"Some little time ago, but since I first drew attention to Matto Gr by my activities, an educated Brazilian of this town, together with an army officer engaged in surveying a river, were told by the Indians about a city to the north. The offer was made to take them there if they dared face the bad savages. The city, said the Indians, had low stone buildings with many streets set at right angles to one another, but there were also some big buildings and a great temple, in which was a large disc cut out of rock crystal. A river running through the forest beside the city fell over a big fall whose roar could be heard for leagues, and below the fall the river seemed to widen out into a ^reat lake emptying itself thev had

no notion where. In the quiet water below the fall was the figure of a man carved in white rock (quartz, perhaps, or rock crystal), which moved to and fro with the force of the current.

"This sounds like the 1753 city, but the locality doesn't tally with my calculations at all. We might visit it on the way over, or, if circumstances permit, while we are* at *Z\

"My rancher friend told me he brought to Cuyaba an Indian of a remote and difficult tribe, and took him into the big churches here thinking he would be impressed. 'This is nothing!' he said. 'Where I live, but some distance to travel, are buildings greater, loftier, and finer than this. They too have great doors and windows, and in the middle is a tall pillar bearing a large crystal whose light illuminates the interior and dazzles the eyes!'

"So far we are getting a lot of rain and it is very hot. I don't remember perspiring so much for many years—yet it is only 80 degrees in the shade "

Jack takes up the tale again:

Bacairy Post, May 16, 1925. "We arrived here yesterday after a rather strenuous journey from Cuyaba. We left on April 20, with a dozen animals; the horses in fairly good condition, but the mules thin. It seems that the place where they were sent to be fattened up had half-starved them instead, so as to make a few extra milreis 1

"At the start we went very slowly on account of the animals, and camped the first night about two leagues from Cuyaba. During the night an ox collided with Raleigh's hammock, but apart from pitching him out no harm was done. The second night we camped three leagues on, and bathed in quite a good stream. The third night was spent in the higher chapada country, where we were in terror of the Saube ants eating our equipment. Next day we lost the way for the first time, having to retrace our steps some distance and camp on a side trail. Fortunately we cut the main one next day, and on reaching the house of a morador —a man who lives on the trail—we asked the distance to the Rio Manso. He told us four leagues, so we decided to make it that day—but it was about seven leagues, and darkness had fallen before we reached there.

"Daddy had gone on ahead at such a pace that we lost sight of him altogether, and when we came to a place where the trail forked we didn't know which to take. I spotted some marks made by a single horse on the larger trail, so we followed it and eventually arrived at the Rio Manso in pitch dark, to find he was not there! I discargoed at once and sent out Raleigh and Simao, one of the peons, to fire shots in the hope of getting a reply. Meanwhile we camped and made tea in the pitch dark, and when the others returned without him we thought he must have put up for the night with a morador. Next morning we sent out more signals but they were

unanswered; then, as we finished breakfast, he rode in after spending the night on the ground.

"We stayed in camp next day to rest ourselves and the animals, but were plagued v/ithgarapata ticks the whole time. Ticks of all sizes swarmed on the ground, and Raleigh was bitten so severely that his foot was poisoned. Next day we crossed the river on a batalao and camped in a deserted place where a morador had lived, finding there any amount of oranges.

"To cut things short, we missed the way again, and Raleigh gloomed all the way to the Rio Cuyaba, which we found impossible to cross owing to rapids and the weak condition of the animals. A fording-place was found higher up, and we had to unload the animals and make them swim across, sending over the cargo in a canoe we found there. Raleigh could do nothing because of his bad foot, so Daddy and I attended to the cargo, while the.peons looked after the animals. After a difficult passage we finally reached the house of Hermenegildo Galvao, where we stayed five days to feed up. I found that between Cuyaba and here I had gained seven pounds in weight, in spite of far less food. Raleigh has lost more than I gained, and it is he who seems to feel most the effects of the journey.

"Five days after leaving Senhor Galvao's place we reached the Rio Paranatinga, only to find that the Bacairy village was deserted and the canoe on the other side of the river. Someone had to swim over and get it, so I went—though I was scared stiff of things in the river, and felt rather like that time in Jamaica when Brian and I were chased by a shark. We camped in the village, and next day swam the animals over, and did the cargo in the same way as on the Cuyaba River. One league beyond we had to do it again, to cross a boggy stream; one league beyond that the whole back-breaking business had to be repeated. By this time we were absolutely fagged out, so we camped, and came into Bacairy Post yesterday morning.

"It is nice and fresh here, and just beyond the hills—about four miles away—is absolutely unexplored country. The schoolhousc has been put at our disposal, and we get our meals from the head of the Post, a decent fellow named Valdemira.

"Shortly after we arrived, about eight wild Indians from the Xingu —stark naked—came in to the Post. They lived about eight days down the river, and occasionally visit this place for the sake of curiosity and for the things they are given. There are five men, two women, and a child, and they are living in a hut by themselves. We gave them some guava cheese yesterday, and they liked it immensely. They are small people, about five feet two inches in height, and very well built. They eat only fish and vegetables—never meat. One woman had a very tine necklace of tiny discs cut from snail shells, which must have required tremendous patience to make. We offered her eight boxes of matches,

some tea, and some buckles, and she readily swapped. The necklace will be sent to the Museum of the American Indian in New York."

May 17. "Today we took some photos of the Mehinaku Indians which will of course go to the North American Newspaper Alliance. The first showed four of them with their bows and arrows, standing near a small stream by a strip of jungle. I am standing with them to show the difference in our heights. They just come up to my shoulder. The second picture shows them preparing to shoot arrows at fish in the water. The bows are bigger than the ones we had in the house at Seaton, and are over seven feet long, with six-foot arrows; but as these people are not so powerful, I can easily draw the bows to my ear.

"Last night we went to their hut and gave them a concert. I had my piccolo, Valdemira his guitar, and Daddy his banjo. It was a great success, though we were nearly choked with smoke.

"These Mehinakus tell us by signs that four hard days' travel to the north live the Macahirys, who are cannibals, and not over five feet tall. They may be the Morcegos, but I doubt it, as they use arrows, which the Morcegos have not yet come to.

"About three weeks' journey from here we expect to strike the waterfall mentioned by Hermenegildo Galvao, who heard about it from the Bacairy Indian Roberto, whom we visit tomorrow. It is entirely unknown to anyone, and Roberto was told of it by his father, who lived near there when the Bacairys were wild. It can be heard five leagues away, and there is to be seen an upright rock, protected from the waters, which is covered with painted pictures of men and horses. He also mentioned the watch tower, supposed to be about half-way to the city."

May 19. "A nice fresh day for my twenty-second birthday—the most interesting I have had up to now!

"Roberto came over here, and after being primed with Vinbo de Cajo told us some interesting things. He says it was the ambition of his life to go to this big waterfall where the inscriptions are, and settle there with his tribe, but now it is too late. Also, there are Morcegos and Caxibis there, and he is scared of them. We obtained the location from him together with a description of the country. The waterless desert is only one day's journey from end to end, and after that we come into grass country with no mato at all. His uncle talked about the cities, and he alleges that his very ancient ancestors made them. We leave here the day after tomorrow, and five days will see us in unknown country. I shall be glad when the peons leave us, as we are getting sick of them.

"You may be interested to hear what we eat while on the trail. At half past six in the morning we have one plate of porridge, two cups of tea, and one third of a cup of condensed milk; then, at half-past five in

the evening we have two cups of tea, two biscuits, goiabaaa or sardines, or one plate of cbarque and rice. Here we have been able to buy any amount oijarinha and sweet potato to help out the rice, and I do the cooking of it. We are also able to get some bones and a little mandioca. There are plenty of cows belonging to the Post, so fresh milk is obtainable in the mornings.

"We have clipped our beards, and feel better without them. I must be even heavier here than I was at Hermenegildo's, in spite of the journev, and I have never felt so well. Raleigh's foot has nearly healed, and Daddy is in first-rate condition. What we now look forward to is reaching Camp 15 and getting rid of the two peons.

"By the way, they say the Bacairys are dying off on account of fetish, for there is a fetish man in the village who hates them. Only yesterday a little girl died—of fetish, they say!"

May 20. "The photographs for N.A.N.A. have just been developed and there are some very good ones of the Mehinaku Indians, and of Daddy and myself. It is hard to develop successfully here as the water is so warm, and we were lucky to find the temperature of one stream as low as 70° Fahrenheit.

"Raleigh's other foot is swollen. He rubbed it or scratched it one morning, and in the afternoon when he took his sock off to bathe the skin came off with it, leaving a raw place. Now it has started to swell— and he has a raw place on his arm, too. What will happen when we really meet insects I don't know! There will be plenty of walking in about a week, and I hope his feet will stand it. Brian could have stood it much better, especially as we have had no hardships. 1 Daddy was saying today that the only ones he has had with him who were absolutely fit all through were Costin and Manley. Both of us are feeling damn good.

"Next time I write will probably be from Para—or 'Z' maybe!"

To Jack it was a grand adventure—the very thing he had been brought up to do, and kept himself fit for. My father's letters were more matter of fact. To him it was routine stuff, and his eyes were focused on the objective lying ahead of them. He speaks again:

Bacairy Post, Nlatto Grosso, May 20, 1925. "We reached here after rather unusual difficulties, which have given Jack and Raleigh an excellent initiation into the joys of travelling in the sertao. We lost our way three times, had endless bother with mules falling in the mud ot streams, and have been devoured by ticks. On one occasion, being too tar ahead, 1 missed the others. Returning to look for them, I was overtaken by the dark and forced to sleep on the open campo with saddle fi>r pillow,

1 Big-brother stuff! He may have been the most muscular, but I was ever the stronger constitutionally.— Ed.

thereby being covered with minute ticks which gave me no rest from scratching for over two weeks.

"Jack takes it well. He reached here stronger and fatter than he was in Rio. I am nervous about Raleigh's being able to stand the more difficult part of the journey, for on the trail the bite of a tick developed into a swollen and ulcerous foot, and of late he has been scratching again till great lumps of skin have come away.

"To Jack's great delight we have seen the first of the wild Indians here, naked savages from the Xingu. I have sent twenty-five excellent photographs of them to N.A.N.A.

"I saw the Indian chief Roberto and had a talk with him. Under the expanding influence of wine he corroborated all my Cuyaba friend told me, and more. Owing to what his grandfather had told him, he always wanted to make the journey to the waterfall, but is now too old. He is of the opinion that bad Indians are numerous there, but committed himself to the statement that his ancestors had built the old cities. This I am inclined to doubt, for he, like the Mehinaku Indians, is of the brown or Polynesian type, and it is the fair or red type I associate with the cities.

"The Bacairys are dying out like flies of fever and fetishism. Every malady is the work of a fetish! Without question it is the finest opportunity for a missionary if only one with medical experience would come, for he could contact the wild Indians and tame them.

"Needless to say, I was cheated over mules and pretty well everything else. It was unfortunate that the man supposed to provide them failed me, forcing me to get them at very short notice from another—and in Cuyaba commercial honesty is not dreamed of! They turned out to be so bad that it was necessary to buy mules on the way, and for this purpose—as well as to cure Raleigh's foot—we stopped five days at the/agenda of my friend, Hermenegildo Galvao. The peons are useless too, and, on account of the wild Indians, are terrified at the prospect of continuing north.

"Jack is pretty good at Portuguese now, but Raleigh still has only two words. I prefer Spanish, but Portuguese is more important for Brazilian developments, and of course I am pretty fluent.

"A letter will be sent back from the last point, where out peons return and leave us to our own devices. I expect to be in touch with the old civilization within a month, and to be at the main objective in August. Thereafter, our fate is in the lap of the gods!"

Finally comes the last word from him, dated May 29, 1925, and sent back with the peons. After this not another thing was heard from them, and to this day their fate has remained a mystery.

"The attempt to write is fraught with much difficulty owing to the legions of flies that pester one from dawn till dark—and sometimes all

through the night! The worst are the tiny ones smaller than a pinhead, almost invisible, but stinging like a mosquito. Clouds of them are always present. Millions of bees add to the plague, and other bugs galore. The stinging horrors get all over one's hands, and madden. Even the head nets won't keep them out. As for mosquito nets, the pests fly through them!

"We hope to get through this region in a few days, and arc camped here for a couple of days to arrange for the return of the peons, who are anxious to get back, having had enough of it—and I don't blame them. We go on with eight animals—three saddle mules, four cargo mules, and a madrinha, a leading animal which keeps the others together. Jack is well and fit, getting stronger every day even though he suffers a bit from the insects. I myself am bitten or stung by ticks, and these piums, as they call the tiny ones, all over the body. Raleigh I am anxious about. He still has one leg in a bandage, but won't go back. So far we have plenty of food, and no need to walk, but I am not sure how long this will last. There may be so little for the animals to eat. I cannot hope to stand up to this journey better than Jack or Raleigh, but I had to do it. Years tell, in spite of the spirit of enthusiasm.

"I calculate to contact the Indians in about a week or ten days, when we should be able to reach the waterfall so much talked about.

"Here we are at Dead Horse Camp, Lat. u° 43' S. and 54 0 35' \\'., the spot where my horse died in 1920. Only his white bones remain. We can bathe ourselves here, but the insects make it a matter of great haste. Nevertheless, the season is good. It is very cold at night, and fresh in the morning; but insects and heat come by mid-day, and from then till six o'clock in the evening it is sheer misery in camp.

"You need have no fear of any failure. . . ."

Those last words he wrote to my mother come to me like an echo across the twenty-six years elapsed since then. "You need have no fear of any failure. . . ."

THE NEW PRESTER JOHN

IT was in 1927, when I was stationed up in the Mountain Section of the Central Railway of Peru, that a call came from Lima saying that there had arrived in town a French civil engineer named Roger Courteville, who claimed to have come across my father in the state of Minas Gerais, Brazil, a month or two earlier.

I rushed down to Lima and met M. Courteville, who told me that he and his wife had crossed from Atlantic to Pacific by car, via La Paz. When coming through the sertSo of Minas Gerais, he said, they met seated by the wayside an old man, ragged and sick, who on being questioned replied that his name was Fawcett.

"Did he say anything else?" I asked.

"He seemed confused, and not all there—as though he had come through terrible hardships."

M. Courteville was anxious to persuade me to contact the North American Newspaper Alliance, raise funds for an expedition, and return to find the old man.

"I didn't know anything about Colonel Fawcett till I reached here," he explained. "Had I known we could have brought him with us. Anyway, it shouldn't be hard to find him if we go back—there are very few Gringos in that district."

I was sceptical, but reluctant to dismiss the story in case it might be true. After all, it could 'be! However, N.A.N.A. thought otherwise, and no funds were forthcoming. It was not yet the heyday of the big, well-

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financed, and top-heavy 'rescue' party, with movie apparatus and two-way radio.

The following year N.A.N.A. organized a big expedition led by Commander George Dyott (whom I met in Peru in 1924) to investigate my father's fate, and it left Cuyaba in May, 1928. They made across country to the Kuliseu River, coming to a village of the Nafaqua Indians. In the hut of the chief, Aloique, Commander Dyott saw a metal uniform case, and the chief's son wore round his neck a string with a brass tag bearing the name of the maker of this trunk, Silver & Co. of London.

Aloique said the trunk was given to him by a Caraiba (white man) who had come with two others, younger, and both lame. The three had been taken by Aloique to a Kalapalo Indian village on the Kuluene River, after which they crossed the river and continued east. For five days the smoke of their camp fires was seen, and then no more.

The Dyott expedition returned with no proof of anything—not even that the Fawcett party had been there, for while the uniform case, identified by the maker, had belonged to my father, it was one discarded by him in 1920. It was Commander Dyott's belief that my father had been killed; but I have given the evidence, and leave it to the reader to judge. We of the family could not accept it as in any way conclusive.

The next expedition to solve the mystery was led by a journalist, Albert de Winton; and in 1930 it reached the same Kalapalo village where de Winton believed the Fawcett party was wiped out. He never came out alive, and nothing was proved.

There was a sensation in 1932 when a Swiss trapper named Stctan Rattin came out of Matto Grosso with a tale that my father was a prisoner of an Indian tribe north of the River Bomfin, a tributary of the Sao Manoel River. He claimed to have spoken with him, and this was his statement:

"Towards sunset on October 16, 1931, 1 and my two companions were washing our clothes in a stream (a tributary of the River Iguassu Ximary) when we suddenly noticed we were surrounded by Indians. I went up to them and asked them whether they could give us some chicha. I had some difficulty in communicating with them as they did not speak Guarany, though they understood a few words. They t us to their camp, where there were about 250 men and a large number of women and children. They were all squatting on the ground drinking chicha. We sat down with the chief and about thirty others.

After sunset there suddenly appeared an old man clad in skins, with a long yellowish-white beard and long hair. I saw immediately that he was a white man. The chief gave him a severe look and said something to the others. Four or five Indians left our group and pot the old man to sit down with them a few yards away from us. Eic

looked very sad and could not take his eyes off me. We sat drinking all night, and at dawn, when most of the Indians, including the chief, were sleeping heavily, the old man came up to me and asked me if I was English. He spoke English. I answered, 'No—Swiss/ He then asked, 'Are you a friend?' I said, 'Yes/ and he went on. 'I am an English Colonel. Go to the English Consulate and ask them to tell Major Paget, who has a coffee farm in the state of Sao Paulo, that I am a captive here.' I promised I would, whereupon he said, 'You are a gentleman,' and gave me a handshake.

The old man enquired whether I had any paper, and took me to his tent. Several Indians who were watching him followed us. He showed me four blocks of wood on which he had made rough sketches with a sharp stone. I copied these as best I could. I then noticed that the backs of his hands were badly scratched and I sent one of my companions to get some tincture of iodine which we had brought with us. He put some on his hands, and when the Indians saw this they took it away from him and started to paint themselves with it.

The chief and most of the others were still fast asleep and I was able to ask the old man whether he was alone. He said something about his son sleeping, and began to weep. He did not mention anyone else, and I dared not ask more questions. He then showed me a gold locket which he wore at the end of a chain round his neck. Inside was a photograph of a lady wearing a large hat, and two small children (about six to eight years old). He wore four gold rings; one with a red stone, one with a green stone and a lion engraved on it, one very thin one with a small diamond, and a snake ring with two red eyes. He is a man of about sixty-five, approximate height five feet eleven inches, and powerfully built. He has bright blue eyes with a yellowish tinge, chestnut eyelashes and a small scar over the right .eye. He looked very depressed, but appeared to be in full possession of his faculties. He seemed to be in good health—neither too fat nor too thin.

Soon after sunrise we got back to our two mules and left the camp. About fifty Indians followed us until noon. I did not like to ask questions, but I tried to find out from them what the old man was doing there. All they said was, 'Poschu demas, y which apparently means 'bad man'. We travelled for six days in a southerly direction and ... I made my way to Barreto via Goyaz. . . .

I never heard of Colonel Fawcett until I arrived at Barreto."

The above is the official declaration made to the British Consul General in Rio de Janeiro; and later Rattin was cross-examined by the Brazilian authorities.

Credence was given to the report principally because of the mention of 'Major Paget'; but this to me was unconvincing. My father's mat friend was Sir Ralph Paget, at one time II.B.M.'s Ambassador to Brazil, but Sir Ralph had long been back in England, and before I left for Peru I remembered my father visiting him at Sittingbournc, Kent. I believe Rattin was speaking substantially the truth, but the identity of the old man I cannot accept.

My father's beard would be mousy-grey, not yellowish-white, and if he had long hair it had grown surprisingly on a head remarkable for its baldness from an early age. Why should he speak English to Rattin— who knew so little of it that the above declaration was made in German ? The logical thing would have been to converse in Portuguese, in which both were presumably equally fluent. The old man said his son was 'sleeping', and wept. Both the remark and the emotion are utterly unlike my father. I don't think he ever had a locket like the one Rattin describes —certainly he never wore such a collection of rings. The height given is short. My father was well over six feet—but the statement is not positive anyway. His eyes were not blue; they were steel-grey, and at times almost greenish. His eyelashes were not chestnut; they were mouse-coloured. When he left England he had no scar over either eye. And why—why did the old man not tell his name?

The regions bordering on civilization, where the 'degenerate tribes' —as my father calls them—live, are often visited by white men—prospectors, hunters, fugitives, naturalists, botanists, and so on. Rattin himself was wandering there! It is quite possible that some white man was indeed held prisoner by these Indians, but there are many reasons for doubting that it was P.H.F.

Rattin made no financial demands, nor sought publicity. He discouraged any attempts to organize an official rescue expedition, and set off himself to bring back the old man. "The English Colonel will reward me afterwards," he said.

He was never heard of again—but on his way in he passed by the ranch of Senhor Hermenegildo Galvao, my father's friend. On July 8, 1932, Senhor Galvao writes to my mother, referring to the 'top-heavy' expeditions I have previously mentioned :

"These expeditions are considered as scientific ones, but are composed merely of adventurers who, while saying that tl looking for your husband, make it a sort of picnic and do not take it seriously. In such a case is the Swiss trapper Rattin, who, arriving recently in Cuyaba and advised of the direction in which Colonel Faucetti went, took an entirely different direction, leaving Cuyaba via Rosario, then Diamantino; and from this last city of Matto < he left for the Arinos River, where he embarked in a canoe with his

two companions. This river is a tributary of the River Joruena, which is the principal tributary of the great Tapajos, which is itself a tributary of the Amazon. This expedition can in no way give any true notice about your husband. . . .

Colonel Faucetti . . . when he was about to make this last expedi tion . . . informed me of the course he was to follow, and as I have observed that all who come here to look for him do not follow that route, and that when they do follow it do not make any attempt to find out the real truth—nor try to find out from the Indians of these regions anything about it—I have resolved to place myself at your disposal to take charge of an expedition to find the whereabouts of the party. ..."

In June 1933, the Secretary of the Royal Geographical Society delivered to my mother a packet containing a compass belonging to a theodolite, identified by the makers as being part of an instrument supplied to my father in Devonshire on February 13, 1913. The compass was in a very well-made case of some South American wood, and inside the lid was a note with these words:

"Theodolite Compass. Found near the camp of the Bacairy Indians of Matto Grosso by Col. Aniceto Botelho, late deputy of that State, and given by him to the Inspector of Indians, Dr. Antonio Estigar-ribia, who presented the same to Frederick C. Glass (missionary), on April 14, 1933. The case was made by Dr. Estigarribia."

Mr. Glass sent the compass to Mr. A. Stuart McNairn, of the Evangelical Union of South America, resident in London, and so it came into the hands of the Secretary of the Royal Geographical Society.

Now the significance of this find lies in the fact that there is no record of P.H.F.'s having been in contact with the Bacairys until the last trip, when as you will remember he spoke with Roberto, a Bacairy Indian, about the waterfall where the inscriptions are. Roberto told him that his tribe lived Very far to the north', possibly on my father's intended route.

The compass was in perfect condition and obviously had not been exposed to the weather for any length of time. There were also indications that it had been in the possession of someone who understood these instruments. The conclusion reached by my mother was that P.H.F. himself placed this compass in the path of Colonel Botelho, whom he knew to be in the vicinity, with the object of its being found and identified. The message intended to be conveyed to her was that the work was done and P.H.F. was ready to come out with his proofs—possibly a

great slab of stone with inscriptions—and needed a small escort to help him. He discussed such a possibility with my mother in 1924.

My own opinion is that it was left in the region on the return in 1920, when the death of cargo animals forced the jettisoning of all but essential things. It might have been left as a gift at one of the posts where hospitality was given to my father and Felipe, or it might have been found by curious Indians examining the recently abandoned camp sites.

In July 1933 there came the narrative of an expedition to the Kuluene River by Virginio Pessione. It was sent to the President of the Royal Geographical Society by Monseigneur Couturon, Administrateur Apostolique, of the Salesian Mission in Matto Grosso.

"... We arrived at the ^Rancharia' estate, situated on the left bank of the Rio Sao Manoel, an affluent of the River Paranatinga, where we spent the night. Here we learned of the existence of an Indian woman of the Nafaqua tribe of the Cuycuru, accompanied by her son and another Indian of the Kalapalo tribe who had been staying at the estate for about a year.

We were informed by the owners of the house that this Indian woman, after learning a few words of Portuguese, made it understood that she wished to tell of the existence, for several years, of white men in the midst of the Aruvudu tribe, one friendly to her own. Next morning we had the opportunity of listening to this woman's story, she making herself understood by signs, and with the help of a Bacairy Indian employed on the property, who spoke Portuguese.

Before her son was weaned, she said, there came down the River Kuluene by canoe to the village of her tribe, three White Men. One of them was old, tall, with blue eyes, bearded and bald; another a youth whom she gave us to understand was the son of the first; and the third a white man of greater age. We saw the woman's son, said to be still at the breast at the time of the arrival of these men at the village, and judged him to be about nine or ten years old. Touching our hands, and by signs and half-formed words, she gave us to understand that the eldest of the white men wore on the right hand a large ring—very large—and another slender ring on the index finger. He whom she called the son of the eldest wore on his head a colonial helmet similar to the ones we were wearing; and the old man—Father Carayba, as she called him—wore a felt hat like Senhor Becerra's (the owner of the house). She said she saw them constantly, whenever she visited the Aruvudu tribe, and about a year ago they were alive and well.

The white men spoke all the languages of the friendly tribes, and the Carayba —he with the long white beard—is now chief of

the Aruvudus, and his son married to the daughter of the chief Jeruata. When she last saw them, said the woman, the son's wife was carrying a male child, completely naked, and still quite small, with blue eyes (she pointed to the blue jeans of one of the persons present) and hair the colour of maize (she indicated some maize which hap-paned to be in a corner of the foom).

The Caraybas, she went on, spend their time on a small piece of arable land, and hunt and fish. In particular, they go from one village to another, and are in the habit of gathering together the children and drawing pictures on the sand. This last information reminded us that in the neighbourhood of the rapids where the Kuluene flows past spurs of the Serra Azul we had seen marks cut on the trees as though with a stone implement—marks which resembled letters of the alphabet, and which looked as if they had been carved about two years previously. She said the Carayba chief and the other white men were greatly esteemed by the tribe, and well looked after. When asked why the white men did not escape, she replied vaguely that there were no more bullets for their guns, and added more intelligently that where they lived there were very fierce tribes in the neighbourhood—Suyas and Cayapos—and that even the friendly Indians would kill them if they attempted to leave, for they were always watched and followed wherever they went. ..."

The woman was then asked how civilized people could best reach them, and replied with a lengthy explanation accompanied by much pantomime. It was necessary to pass through many tribes before reaching the Aruvudus. The narrative concludes:

"Explaining and making signs in this way, she beat her foot on the ground and declared impetuously that the white men were in safety, and still remained there. Each of us in turn made her repeat it several times, and each time she gave the same precise information, particularly at the point when she insisted that the white men were still with the Aruvudu tribe. ..."

There are points about this report that certainly indicate that these white men might be my father, Jack and Raleigh. 'Gathering together the children and drawing pictures on the sand' would not only be the easiest form of expression for two artists, as were my father and brother, but I well remember Jack's inability to pass over a clean stretch of sand without finding a twig or a splinter and scribbling on it! Their taking to a canoe might have been forced on them by the persistence of Raleigh's lameness after the last of the animals had been given up. In the description of them given by the woman are two discrepancies. My brother did not have a

sun-helmet—all three of them wore Stetsons. Also, Raleigh was not of 'greater age' than Jack, though prolonged sickness could have made him appear so. Anyway, these discrepancies are not of much moment. It is too much to expect perfect accuracy from the woman, and there is room for misunderstandings in communication carried on mainly by signs.

I have heard it said that the wild Indians like to hold a white man captive. It enhances their prestige in the eyes of neighbouring tribes, and the captive, usually well treated but closely guarded, holds a position similar to that of a mascot. White travellers usually have a fair working knowledge of medicine, which is of service to the tribe. Also, a man of strong personality might persuade the Indians to regard him in due course as their leader. I knew such a case in Peru, where an Englishman became almost a local king, with authority over a wide area. Naturally, the Indians are unwilling to allow their mascot, doctor and leader to leave I

Mr. Patrick Ulyatt returned from Matto Grosso in 1935, and in a letter to my mother said:

"While I have yet no proof and do not desire that you should feel that I have, I still maintain the belief that one of your husband's party is alive. I am only going by vague informations garnered in the Matto Grosso. I cannot support anything and for the moment I prefer to keep my own counsel. To which my brother is in agreement. It is interesting to add, however, that I believe even more firmly now in your husband's Lost City than ever before. . . .

"2 must go back. Perhaps it is hard to understand. We went through much misery, but 1 must go back, even if I go alone. ..."

He and his brother Gordon set off up the Jamari River, a tributary of the Madeira, and worked over towards the Rio Machadinho. They nearly walked into a camp of Boca Preta Indians; and then found themselves surrounded by savages, who refused to allow them to pro farther, and let them escape only after the Ulyatts had given them all their packs and had departed with nothing but rifles, carried reversed as a sign of peace. These savages were concerned with preventing the Ulyatts from passing through them. Why? After many adventures were lucky enough to emerge once more, and even resolved to go back. Mr. Ulyatt said that the rubber gatherers, who were bushmen, knew quite a lot about my father, though they did not know who he was, and that the area where he was believed to be was ringed round with unfriendly Indian tribes.

On February 13, 1944, I received a long-distance telephone call from Sao Paulo. At the other end of the cracking, Splattering wire was Scnhor

Edmar Morel, journalist of the Agenda Meridional, who told me that he had with him an Indian boy named Dulipe, in reality a white boy, and son of my brother Jack. I was in Lima, Peru, at the time, and what with the noise on the wire, due to bad weather, and the dim sound of Senhor Morel's unfamiliar Portuguese, I found it most difficult to understand all that was said to me, but what I did get was that the boy was all ready to be put on the next 'plane to Peru as soon as I accepted him! He had brought the boy out from the Kuicuro tribe in the Xingii region, where definite proof had been obtained of the wiping out of my father's party.

I was not at all ready to swallow this, for it was not the first I had heard of Dulipe. In 1937 my mother received a long letter from Miss Martha Moennich, a missionary just arrived out from the Xingii, who sent a batch of excellent photographs of a 'white boy* named Duh-ri-pe with the Kuicuro tribe.

"In the spring of 1925 the party of three started for the Xingii headwaters from Cuyaba," wrote Miss Moennich (she was talking of my father's party). "They made their way over the Central Plateau to the Kuliseo River via the Paranatinga. By canoe they continued their nine days' river journey down to the first Indian village—the Nafaquas. Here the Colonel left his army pack trunk with Chief Aloique, and travelled overland, northward to the Kuikuro Indians on the Kuluene River, taking only bare necessities along with him. . . .

Raleigh Rimell died soon after entering the Xingu from fever and insect bites. The Colonel and Jack stayed with the Kuikuro tribe a year, and the Indians treated them well (as far as could be expected by so primitive a people who had nothing to offer). In the meanwhile a little son arrived in the jungles, and though the Indian mother and Jack have passed away, the little offspring was being taken care of by his Indian foster-father and jungle relatives as best they could.

After that the Colonel and Jack determined to go on to the 'River of Death' (Rio das Mortes) in a last search for their objective. Leaving the Kuikuros they walked over to the Kalapalos south-eastward where a group of Indians escorted them some days beyond the Kuluene River. When their food supply of mandioca and beans ran out the Kalapalos begged the two men by signs to return to their village, indicating that it was a hopeless effort to venture into a region that would mean inevitable death. They, too, had become emaciated and couldn't go on. However, still dauntless in spirit and in spite of their weakened condition through untold privations, father and son went on—no food, no medical aid, no replenishing of clothes, etc. Then came the fatal moment. I, and my three friends, discerned by the dramatic demonstration of our Waura Indian that the murderous deed was not enacted in a spirit of treachery (as it would have been had the

savage Cayapos and Caxibis handled the situation) but due to a sentiment of mingled pity and provocation; of pity, the Indians realizing that death inevitably awaited them, and of provocation because they did not comply with their well-meaning appeal.

Our party of four have been with the Kuikuros and some of us have walked over to the Kalapalos. In fact, we contacted nine of the eleven tribes. We walked where the Colonel walked, sat where he sat. . . .

As to the little boy: he is pure white and ruddy. His body is frail and his blue eyes have suffered from the strain of the tropical sun. In his dual nature there are conspicuous traits of British reserve and of a military bearing, while on his Indian side, the sight of a bow and arrow, or a river, makes him a little jungle boy. . . .

Rev. Emil Halverson first discovered the little boy in 1926 when he was a baby in arms. In 1934 we saw him again. . . ."

In the photographs Miss Moennich enclosed the boy certainly looks like the son of a white man, but the screwed-up eyes and colourless brows are those of an albino. Albinos do exist amongst the savage tribes—and, according to P.H.F., so do 'white* offspring with blue eyes and auburn hair. However, Dulipe may be half-white, his father one of the white wanderers who roam these semi-civili2ed areas. Why should Jack be the father? It is in any case by no means certain that he could have been, the point depending, of course, on when the child was born. Remember, Jack was absolutely virgin and not in the least interested in women, either civilized or savage. It has lately become usual to credit him with the behaviour of a sex-hungry soldier, the people who are now spreading these stories apparently regarding that attitude as an inevitable characteristic of man 1

The account of Aloique and the uniform case is similar to Commander Dyott's report, and can be dismissed for reasons already given.

My father distinctly stated that he was not going in the direction of the Rio das Mortes, for it was not unexplored and had no irv him, yet many of the reports insist on tracing him in that direction. The suggestive name of the river seems to make it irresistible 1

Senhor Morel's telephone communication did not take me unawares. My opinion at the time was that, whoever the boy Dulipe might be, it was a thoughtless act to bring him away from his home with the tribe and condemn him to the curses of civilization. But the boy had been brought out—the damage was done—and the embarrassing problem ot his future welfare would be conveniently solved if I could be induced to accept him as a nephew. I foresaw the possibility of this wild boy's being put on the International 'plane and sent over to my care without so much as a by-your-leave; so with the help of friends in diplomatic circles I

forestalled this risk. Meanwhile, my emphatic denials of kinship were published in the Brazilian press, and when the temporary flutter had died down I heard no more of poor Dulipe. I hope for the boy's sake he was returned to his tribe and the life he knew. 1

About the same time it was reported that a Brazilian army officer had found a compass, and an annotated book with my father's name in it. I asked a friend of mine to try to obtain these for identification, having expected to hear some day of P.H.F.'s log-book of the last trip being found. Fortunately, my friend was able to do this, and I received the two things for inspection. The compass was a toy, such as a boy might play with, or a man wear on his watch chain; and the book contained religious matter scribbled over in pencil. What was alleged to be my father's name was nothing of the sort. My own opinion was that the book had belonged to a missionary; it had certainly nothing to do with any of the three members of the Fawcett party. I returned them with these observations; but they are still referred to as belonging to Colonel Fawcett 1

From time to time there have been other expeditions, as well as isolated reports of skeletons and shrunken heads found. To mention all the attempts—genuine or merely alleged—to clear up the *Fawcett Mystery' would occupy too much space, even if I had the records of them available, which I haven't. Suffice it to say that those not mentioned here are of little if any importance, and of some my opinion is expressed adequately in Senhor Galvao's words.

The latest report was published in the European press in April, 1951, but dates back six months before, when Senhor Orlando Vilas Boas of the Central Brazil Foundation won a 'confession' from Izarari, chief of the Kalapalos, dramatically delivered on his deathbed, to the effect that he, Izarari, had clubbed Fawcett and his two young companions to death. The three whites came with Aloique, chief of the Nafaquas, he said, and the old man's son consorted with one of his, Izarari's, wives. Then, next day, the old one demanded carriers and canoes to take them on their journey, and this request being refused on the grounds of intertribal strife, he slapped Izarari's face! The enraged chief picked up his war club and beat out the brains of the old white man. At once the two young whites attacked him, but in a moment that doughty club had laid them dead on the ground beside the other.

Izarari had a son, Yarulla, in his early twenties, called by his com-

1 It was in February 1952, after the above was written, that the truth about Dulipe was published in Diario da Noite and O Jorna/, two of the largest Rio de Janeiro newspapers, under the title "Twilight of the Gods". The boy is indeed an albino. His parentage is known, and there is no white blood in him. The physical defects usual to albinos made him useless to the Kuikuros and the other friendly Xingu tribes, and, unwanted and despised, he was seized upon for the purpose of a journalistic hoax.

The erstwhile 'White God of the Xingu' is living in Cuyaba, and the latest news of him states that he has taken to bad ways—is a bad lot—worthless!

panions 'Carayba'. His complexion was lighter than that of the others—it was as though he had white blood in his veins. Ah!—the answer was obvious—he was Jack Fawcett's son! 1

Comatzi, who became chief on Izarari's death, was after much persuasion induced to disclose the grave of the murdered explorer, and bones were dug up that have now been examined. The bodies of the younger ones were thrown in the river, said Comatzi. At all events, they have not been found.

The bones were examined by a team of experts of the Royal Anthropological Institute in London, and were pronounced not to be those of my father. To whom they belonged has not been discovered, and there is a certain amount of doubt whether they are a white man's. The 'Fawcett Mystery* continues, and the reader, who has the whole background if he has read this far, can form his own opinion. Mine can be given briefly.

One possibility that could have induced the party to make for the Kalapalo territory, in the opposite direction to the intended route, is this. Let us suppose that, after leaving Dead Horse Gimp, Raleigh's bad leg failed to heal—or was freshly infected by the continued attacks of insects. After a week or two the animals could go no farther for lack of food, and the party shouldered packs and went on towards the Xingu on foot. Shortly before reaching the river Raleigh went down with blood poisoning, at best a brief step from any superficial infection in tropical South America, as I know only too well. There was one slight hope of saving him, and that was by getting him out in time. To return by way of Dead Horse Camp and Bacairy Post was impossible, for Raleigh was unable to walk, and could only move supported by the others. Fortunately they were not far from the Xingu, and after great difficulty the trio reached its banks. Fortune was again kind; a party of Bacairys was found. They had several canoes, and traded one for the only equipment the party could afford to lose—the scientific instruments.

The Xingu River is joined by the Kuluene, and the Kuluene reaches farther south—and nearer Cuyaba—than any of the other affluents. To get up the Kuluene might not be possible for only two men with the burden of a sick companion, but if it could be accomplished half the distance back to civilization might be covered—and as Raleigh could not be carried, a canoe was the only way. Had they done this the journey would have brought them to the Kalapalos, at the junction of the Kuluene and Tanguro Rivers. . . .

Or it may be that Raleigh recovered after leaving Dead Horse Camp, and the three went on in the intended direction, only to find that the dreaded Morcegos were impossible to pass. After repeated attempt * to

1 Izarari had white blood in him, I am told. His son, Yarulla, a shy, handsome youth, it quite the pick of the Kalapalos. When 1 asked Snr. Vilas Boas if he believed that Yarolla was my 'nephew', the great sertarjsta replied that he knew he was not

get through they were forced to give up. If able to procure a canoe, they might have decided to return by way of the river. . . .

Another possible explanation is that they made valuable finds at the waterfall—so valuable that the urgency of disclosing them swallowed up the immediate intention of reaching *Z\ There could then have been cause for them to come out by way of the river and the Kalapalos....

What I am searching for, you see, is an explanation of their possible presence in the Kuluene district. That they were there I am not yet prepared to accept. It would be far more reasonable to suppose that if Indians wiped them out, it was some savage and unfamiliar tribe such as the Morcegos, and not the half-tame Indians of the rivers, through whose villages missionaries and explorers find no difficulty in passing. Of course, if my brother was in the habit of seducing chiefs' wives, and my father of slapping chiefs' faces, there would be grave risk for them from any Indian tribe, however tame. Such tales as these, manifestly ridiculous as they are, may arise from jealousy. A man so utterly opposed to violence towards the Indians as to allow himself and his party to be shot at with poisoned arrows for a considerable time, and refuse to retaliate, is not the one deliberately to offer a mortal insult to a chief!

There is yet another possibility. They may have managed to penetrate the barrier of savage tribes and reach their objective. If that were so, and if the tradition is true that the last remnants of the ancient race had indeed protected their sanctuary by ringing themselves round with fierce savages, what chance would there be of returning—thus breaking the age-long secrecy so faithfully preserved?

Up to the time of writing these words the fate of my father and the two others is as much of a mystery as it ever was. It is possible that the riddle may never be solved; possible also that before this book is in my readers' hands it will be a mystery no longer. He knew the risks they faced better than any other civmzed man, and admitted that there were tremendous odds against their returning.

"If we should not come out," I remember him saying, "I don't want rescue parties to come in looking for us. It's too risky. If with all my experience we can't make it, there's not much hope for others. That's one reason why I'm not telling exactly where we're going.

"Whether we get through, and emerge again, or leave our bones to rot in there, one thing's certain. The answer to the enigma of Ancient South America—and perhaps of the prehistoric world—may be found when those old cities are located and opened up to scientific research. That the cities exist, I know. ..."

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

293,

29, 163,

Abuna, River, 18-19, 53, 59, 63, 81-5,

88,110 Acre, River, 18-19, 44, 52-5, 59, 61, 64,

67,69-71. 73-5,78,80-1,83-4,109-10,

165 Adobe, clay-like earth from which sun-dried bricks are made Africa, 13,16,152, 223, 238, 256-7 Aguape, Hills of, 117,125 Alameda, avenue Aloique, Chief of the Nafaquas,

300-2 Altamarani, 45-6, 48 Altiplano, high Andean plateau,

33-4, 43-4, 107, 151, 154, 156,

166,173,191,240,243,263-4 Alvarez, Diego, 1-2, 256 Amazon, River, 18, 38, 45, 48, 50, 59,

71, 84, 240, 246-8, 250-4, 259, 261,

263, 296 Amazons, 246, 259 Anaconda (largest of the constrictor

snakes), 9, 46, 58, 61, 71, 82-3, 85-6,

114, 120, 131, 173, 179, 196, 215, 231,

282-3 Andes, the, 19, 27-8, 75, 79, 141-2, 155,

159-60, 169, 172, 187, 227, 239-40,

244, 252-3, 262, 265 Antas, tapirs, 70-1, 150, 181, 196,

216 Antofogasta (Chile), 119, 176 Antofogasta-Bolivia Railway, 24, 187 Ants, 60, 81-2, 87, 90, 165, 167, 180,

262, 282, 286 Apolo (Bolivia), 107, 159, 162-3, 171,

179-80 Araguaya, River, 86, 218, 261, 269-70 Arawaks, or Aruacs, 247, 254 Arequipa (Peru), 25-6, 107, 173 Argentina, 19, 110-11, 137, 154 Aricoma Pass, 141 Arriero, drover of draught animals Aruvudu Indians, 297-8 Astillero, 50, 142-5, 150-2 Asunci6n (Paraguay), 111 3, 126,

137 Asuriama, 163, 177-8 Atlantis, 14, 249

Atrocities (practised on Indians), 49,

56-9, 71, 96-7, 104, 107-8, 117, 230,

257 Autochthons (of America), 11, 242, 246,

250-1 Aymara Indians, 155, 244, 265 Aymore, or Botocudo, Indians, 225,

236, 250, 256

B

Bacairy Indians, 287-90, 296-7, 303

Bacairy Post, 283, 286-7, 289, 303

Bahia (Salvador) City and State, 1-2, 10, 222-4, 236-7, 241, 256, 262, 266, 269-70

Balsa, raft. Balseros are raftsmen

Banados, areas of land periodically inundated

Bandeirante, member of a BaruUira, 270

Bandeiras. Literally 'Flags'. In early Colonial Brazil, exploration and slave-raiding parties, 3-4, 256-8, 261, 269

Barbados, River, 118,130-1, 195

Barbaros (see Savages)

Barraca, literally Shed

Bateldn, a clumsy river-boat. Battlae in Brazil

Bats, 7, 9, 15, 118, 169

Bees, 121,124,217, 291

Beni, River, 18, 31-3, 36, 40, 44, 46, 48-53, 56-7, 71, 88, 91, 96-8, 108,110. 151,164,176,262,268

Beriberi, a kind of dropsy, 41, 54-5, 62-3, 90

Bichu, a bug or any creature of a particularly unpleasant kind

Bingham, Prof. Hiram, 164

Biologist, th<-, 163, 166-7, 169-72.

Black Arts, the; voodoo (called Siaamk* in Bahla), 14, 223-4

Boa Nova, 226-30

Bolaebas, the big balls of cured rubber

Bolivia, 16, 18-19, 27-8, 34, 39, 43-4, 51, 59, 61-2, 67, 69, 77, 88, 91 105, 108, 110, 113, 115-7. 119, 125, 127, 138, 143, 154-5. 159. 174 184, 187-8, 192, 204, 230. 244. 246 251-2,258.261 2,265 8.280,283

Bororos Indians, 128

Bravo, wild

Brazil, 1-2,4,11-12,14,19, 55-6,59,61, 67, 77, 80, 84, 88, 108, 112, 114, 127, 192, 194, 199, 208-9, 222-3, 226, 230, 237-8, 240-2, 244, 247, 250-1, 255-61, 266-9, 275, 278-80, 292, 295

Brazilian Boundary Commission, 86,114| 125-6, 130-1, 195

British Commission, 32, 51, 108, 115, 117,125,134,137

British Consul (O'Sullivan Beare), 10,270

British Museum, 12, 28

Buenos Aires, 109-11,126,137, 268

Bu/eo, a mammal of the manatee species, 85,120

Bulls, wild, 180-2,184

Butantan Snake Farm, 212, 280

Butterflies, 118,164

CalabuayaSy the (witch doctors of the

Andes), 157-8 Ca/amina, corrugated iron Callao (Peru), 23-5,140, 265 CallapOy a kind of raft Candiru y a small eel-like fish, 50, 58 Cannavieiras, 236-7 Cannibals, 1, 66, 95,128, 197, 200, 204,

207, 246-7, 250, 256, 288 Capatara (on the Acre), 59, 81 CapataZy foreman CapibaraSy large rodents about the size

of a dog, 70-1, 282 Caraiba, white man Caribs, 243, 247, 250-2, 254 Cataclysm, 8, 28, 215, 225, 241, 243, 246 Cateana Indians, 70-1 Catinga, low scrub, 226-7 Caupolican (a forest region in Bolivia),

176, 248, 258, 262 Central Railway of Peru, 23-4, 75, 186,

292 Centro y a rubber-collecting station Ceylon, 16, 275

Chaco, the, 19,77,112,140,143,152,205 Chacray smallholding Challana, 39, 106

Chalmers, 20-1, 33, 40, 74, 79-80, 83 Chalotuiy sun-cured mutton Chapaddy desert region with low bush,

226, 285-6 Characters, inscribed, 8,12, 285 CharqiUy salted, sun-dried meat Chichdy maize beet

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

Chile, 16,112,119, 207, 244, 253, 268 Chiquitana Indians, 127, 194, 246 ChirimojaSy custard apples Choky Choky a half-breed of mixed

Indian and Spanish blood Cho^cty hovel

Chuncho Indians, 76, 143, 145, 152 ChuiiUy a staple food in the AltiplanOy

made from small frozen potatoes Cities, ancient and lost, 10-12, 14, 222-3,

225, 227-9, 235, 246, 260, 269, 270,

275, 285-6, 288, 290, 304 Ciudad de los Cisares y 253 Civilization, Ancient, 11,113,164,172-3

215, 242-3, 263, 290 Cobija (on the Acre), 52, 61-5, 77, 80, 94 Coca. Sacred plant of the Incas. From the

leaves cocaine is extracted Cochabamba, 185, 187-8, 190-2, 207,

247, 252, 263 Cojata, 156, 171 Colombia, 29, 241, 245, 251 Conan Doyle, 122 Condors, 156 Conquest (of S. America by Europeans),

11, 20, 22, 27-9, 161-2, 241, 244-7,

250-1, 253 Conquista, 222, 226, 228 Copa, cup

CordilleraSy the Andes (q.v.) Corregidofy Headman Corumba, 18, 114-6, 126-9, 133-4, 212,

218, 279, 281-2 Costin, H. J., 139,142,144,146,149-54,

160, 163, 165-7, 170-1, 173, 176-81,

184,186,198,201-2,206,209,269,289 Couro d'Anta (mountain), 229, 234 Courteville, Roger, 292 Crocodiles and alligators, 58, 71-2, 85,

131, 181, 195-6, 206, 279, 282 Cuyaba, 119, 128, 133, 212-6, 218-9,

221-2, 278, 280-2, 286-7, 290, 293,

295, 300, 302-3 Cuyaba, River, 215, 282-3, 287 Cuzco, 5, 7, 26-8, 164, 172-3, 253-4,

262, 264

Dan, 58, 60-1, 65, 74, 79-80, 83, 86-7,

94,101 Dead Horse Camp, 269, 291, 303 Delimitation or Demarcation of Frontier

or Boundary, 19, 32, 88, 108, 115-6,

121, 125, 132-3, 138, 140, 151, 155,

171-2, 196, 264, 280

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

307

Dtsayuno, breakfast

Descalvados, 116-7, 125, 128-9,134

Diamantino (Matto Grosso), 115, 128,

213, 295 Diamonds, 177, 213, 228-9, 235-8, 241,

258, 270, 284 Dias, Robcrio, 2

Disease and plague, 19, 25, 37, 41, 55, 63, 69, 77, 80-1, 92, 98, 108, 118, 151, 157, 168, 192, 213, 217, 221, 237, 251, 254, 258, 266 Doctor, the (1906), 37, 40, 48, 53 Doctor, the (1910), 140,146,148-9,152-3 Document of 1754, 9-10, 164 Dogs, 123-4,131,144,155,181, 216-7 Double-nosed Andean Tiger Hound, 183 Drink, 38, 45, 53, 56, 60, 63-5, 74, 80-1, 88, 91-4, 97-101, 103, 105, 107, 115, 117, 127, 129, 136-7, 141, 163, 183, 188, 193, 213, 258, 266, 268, 278, 284 Dulipe, 300-2 Dyott, Coram. George, 293, 301

Fawcctt, Jack, 15, 20, 108-9, 222, 242,

275-9, 285, 289-91, 298-301, 303-4 Fawcett, Mrs. Nina A., 16, 20, 43, 108-9

119, 139-40, 208, 271, 275-6, 291, 299 Feiticeiro, witch doctor 'Felipe', 213-4, 216-9, 221-3, 225, 227

230, 232-7, 280, 297 Fever, 21, 23, 38, 55, 58, 61, 88, 104, 131,

170, 223-4, 262, 290, 300 Fiesta, literally Feast. A celebration Fisher, 109, 116, 120-3, 132-5, 140 Fishing, Indian method of, 147 Floggings, 53, 56-9, 95-6, 100, 129, 180 Flower (of Apolo), 163, 171, 179 Franciscan Order, 247, 261, 265 Franck, Carlos, 156-9, 171 French Commission for Boundary, 172 Frontier Dispute of 1903 between Brazil

and Bolivia, 59, 61-2, 84

Earth-eaters, 98, 151, 205

Earthquakes, 8, 10, 14, 173^, 193, 236,

240 Echocas Indians, 150-1, 166-7, 169-71 Ecuador, 215, 241, 244 Egypt, 10, 14, 176 'El Dorado', 253, 264 Embarcadero, landing-stage England, 16, 43, 56-8, 84, 97, 108, 119,

121, 139^K), 147, 152, 154, 189, 206,

208-9, 245, 254, 267-8, 275, 278,295 Espundia, a kind of leprosy, 41, 60, 63,

162, 173 Estancia, ranch Estopa, roughly Oakum Estrada, area worked by a rubber picker Ethnology, 11, 173^, 200, 239, 244, 254 Exploration, 11, 19, 108, 112, 116, 125,

138, 172-3, 200, 208, 211, 238, 258,

260, 262-3, 270

GaMo, Col. Hermenegildo, 215, 287-90,

295, 302 Garapatas do cb&o, lit. 'Ticks of the

Ground', 132-3, 184,216,287,289-91 Garimpeiros, diamond washers Geology, 174, 239 Ghosts, 115, 158, 186, 203-5, 233 Goiabada (Brazil), guava cheese Gold, 39, 40, 64, 106, 118, 120-1, 133,

142, 160-1, 178, 184, 187-8, 194, 213,

225, 253, 258-9, 263, 265 Goma, rubber. Also called caiubo Gongugy, River, 2, 222, 225-7, 229, 230,

233-4 269 Goyaz, State of, 213, 222, 250, 269, 294 Greece, and Greek, 7, 259 Guapore, River, 18, 96, 116, 118,

122, 124, 131, 133, 196-7, 203.

250, 261, 263-4 Guarana, a herb from which a kind of

tea is made, 71 Guarayo Indians, 49, 50, 71, 104, 144-6,

148-9 Guayaquil (Ecuador), 22-3, 239, 265

H

Falkland Islands, 111, 137, 207

Farinha, flour made from mandioca, or

its 'domestic' equivalent, aipim Fawcett, Brian, 20, 108, 268, 287, 289

Harvey, the Texan gunnun, 41. 1' Heath, River, 19,

151, 164, 166,168-9,172 Herbs, 114, 168-9

Hospitality, 162, 193, 206, 214, 235, 267 Huanay, 39-40, 105-6, 176 Hurricanes, 165-6, 169

Igarite, a small river-boat

Ilheos, 222, 226, 231, 234, 256

Image, Stone, 12, 14

Inambari, River, 106, 142, 161

Inca Mining Company, 140-1

Incas of Peru, 5, 7, 22, 25-7, 34, 77, 113, 161, 164, 169, 172-3, 187, 200, 223, 242-5, 247, 251-5, 262, 264-5

Incomunicado, solitary confinement

Inquisivi, 188, 190, 261

Inscriptions, Old, 11, 113, 222, 242, 259, 270, 284-5, 288, 296-7

Intendente, military governor

Ixiamas, 164, 177, 180

Izarari, Chief of the Kalapalos, 302-3

J

Jaguars, 41-2, 46, 86, 116, 196, 204, 281,

282 Jararaca, a poisonous snake common in

Brazil Jauja (Peru), 158-9 Jauru, River, 125, 133, 247 Jequie, 224, 226

Jequitinhonha, River, 226, 229, 235-6 Jesuits, 10, 112, 188, 190, 194, 235, 251,

256-7,259,261,265 Juliaca (Peru), 26,154-5

Kachasa, cane alcohol, 39, 55, 89, 101,

159, 194, 266, 268 Kalapalos Indians, 293, 297, 300-1,

303-4 Kuikuro Indians, 297, 300-2 Kuluene, River, 293, 297-8, 300, 303

La Paz (Bolivia), 20, 28-30, 32-3, 43-4, 58, 97, 101, 106-8, 113, 134, 138,

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

140, 143, 152-4, 161, 163, 171, 173,

175-6, 185-7, 191-3, 207, 258, 292 Leigh, H., 139,144,149,151, 153 Lemanha, Comm., 131-3 Lencois, 237-8, 241, 266 'Lights that never go out', 215, 234,

269, 285 Lima (Peru), 23-4, 29, 34, 57, 140, 264

292, 300 Lobo, a species of otter, 72, 120 London, 19, 24, 43, 53, 108, 119, 122,

173, 189, 211, 223, 268 Lost Mines of Muribeca, 3, 270 'Lost World', the, 117, 122

M

Machete^ a broad-bladed hacking-knife Machupicchu (Peru), 164, 172, 252, 254 Macumba, voodoo (see Black Arts) Madeira-Mamore Railway (the 'Mad

Mary'), 89 Madeira, River, 18, 50, 58, 80, 88, 90.

247, 263, 299 Madidi, River, 49-51, 102,104,113, 148,

173, 177 Madre de Dios, River, 18, 49, 52, 59, 69.

94-5, 138,143-4, 150, 252 Magellan, Straits of, 137 Malaria, 41, 177 Maldonado, 69, 143, 152 Malta, 16, 23, 140 Mamore, River, 18, 89-92, 182-3, 247,

264 Mariana, tomorrow Mandioca, a root forming an important

part of forest diet Manley, 154, 156, 160, 163, 166, 170-1,

173, 191, 193, 198, 201-2, 206, 209,

269, 289 Mapiri, 38-9, 41, 43, 88, 105, 107 Mapiri Trail, 34, 37, 107 Maricoxi Indians, 200, 205-4 Mariguis, sand flies {see Pium) Marte Barraca, 150-1, 166, 168, 170-1 Martirios, Lost Mines of, 115 Mastodons, 180 Mato, forest Matto Grosso, 11, 113, 115, 118, 127,

133, 196, 212, 222, 238, 247, 261, 269,

278, 285, 289, 295-7, 299 Matto Grosso City (also called Villa

Bella), 117-9, 122,124,131,133,195-6 Maxubi Indians, 199,200,202-4,242,254 Mayordomo, labour foreman or overseer

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

309

Mehinaku Indians, 288-90

Mercacbiflero, pedlar

Mestizo, a mixture of European with

Indian and/or Negro blood Mexico, 3, 10, 105, 241-2, 244-5, 247,

251, 255 Minas Gerais, 228, 241, 245, 256, 262,

292 Mines and Mine Workings, 9, 105, 142,

160-1, 177, 181, 187-8, 190, 194,

229, 257, 261, 264-5, 268, 270 Misti (Volcano), 25-6 Mitla, an unclassified mammal, 173 Moennick, Martha, 300-1 Mojos, 159-60 Mojos, Plains of, 41, 51-2, 95, 174, 180,

262-3 Mollendo (Peru), 25, 137-8 Monkeys, 47, 71-2, 86, 103-4, 120, 171,

196, 204, 231, 234 Monsters, 72, 113, 122, 173, 181, 244 Montana, a term for the western forest

region of Bolivia and Peru Monte, scrub forest Monteria, a small craft with deck Montes, General, President of Bolivia,

108 Morador, settler Morcegos (bats) Indians, 115, 194, 215,

218, 246, 285, 288, 303-4 Mordant for softening stone, 76-7, 252 Morel, Edmar, 300-1 Moreyra, Melchior Dias {see Muribeca) Moqp, labourer. Moufo in Brazil Muribeca, 2, 4

Musus (ancient form of 'Mojos'), 247 Musus, Emperor and Empire of (also

called the Grand Paititl), 248, 252-3,

258, 263

N

Nafaqua Indians, 215, 293, 297, 300 New York, 20, 207, 276, 278-9 Nordenskiold, Baron Erland, 197, 207 North American Newspaper Alliance, 278, 288-90, 292, 293

Occultism, 13, 157 Oil, 77, 174, 177, 224, 230 Oliveira, Commander, 131, 133 OUantaytambo, 113

Orient, the, 12, 242 Orinoco, River, 247, 253 Orton, River, 52, 56, 58-9, 95 Ox-carts, 180, 184

Pacaguaras Indians, 50, 83-4, 92-4, 264 Pacheco, 127, 129, 131, 133^*, 137 Pacific Ocean, 28, 119, 136,' 154 207

240, 243-5, 264-5, 292 Paget, Sir Ralph, 210, 295 Palo Santo tree, 81, 86-7 Pampa, plain Panama, Isthmus of, 20-2, 29, 105 140

265 '

Pando, General, 44, 49, 51, 53, 60, 64,

124 Paraguassu, the Pocohontas of S.

America, 1, 256 Paraguassu, River, 10, 237, 241, 256 Paraguay, 19, 111-4, 134, 247, 283 Paraguay, River, 86, 108, 112-4, 133,

212, 240-1, 252, 279, 280, 282 Parana, River, 112-3, 212-3, 240, 250,

255, 279 Pardo, River, 226, 228, 234 Parecis Indians, 133 Parecis, Serra dos, 197 Patajoz Indians, 222, 226, 234 Patio, yard Patrdn, employer or boss. Patrdo in

Brazil Peanuts, 200, 204 Pearson, of the Beni, 45-6 Peccary (species of jungle fpig), 41,

70,72 Pelechuco, 156-9, 171 Peon, labourer Peru, 3, 7, 10, 16, 18-19, 23-5, 28, 32.

44, 52, 76, 97, 100, 107, 112-3, 140,

142, 154-5, 158, 161-2, 168, 171, 173-

4, 193, 200, 204, 239, 244, 250-2.

258, 261^, 266, 268, 276, 295, 299-300 Peruvian Commission on Boundary,

159, 164-5 Pessoa, Dr., President of Brazil, 209-10 Photography, 73-4, 85. -88-90

Piraria, a small flesh-eating fish, 58, 60,

100,104,112,128-9,134,136 Pirurucu, a large catfish Pisco, the town (Peru) and the liquor, 25,

252 Pium, a tiny, biting sand-fly, 49, 59, 70,

10^ 3,217,291

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

Pizarro, Francisco, Spanish Conqueror

of Peru, 22, 24, 252 Placido de Castro, Col., 81-4 Plqya, beach Pla^a, square, place Polynesia, 244, 290 Poncho, a square, blanket-like garment

with a hole in the centre for the head Pongo, a word with several meanings, but

as far as this book is concerned, an

Indian servant Portugal, Portuguese, 1, 2, 5, 242, 246,

250-1, 253-7, 262-4, 266-7, 276, 283,

285, 290, 295, 297, 300 Porvenir (on the Tahuamanu), 52-3, 61,

64,69 Posada, inn

Pottery, ancient, 11-12, 28, 48, 222 Priests, and Priesthood, 8-9, 13-14, 64,

161, 177, 188, 212-3, 219, 243, 265 Province of Charcas (Bolivia), 28, 160 Psychometry, 12, 14 Puerto Bastos, 118, 131, 196 Puerto Murtinho, 135 Puna, high Andean plain. Another name

for the Altiplano (q.v.) Puno (Peru), 26, 264 Puraque, electric eel, 50 Purus, River, 48, 62, 66-7, 69, 71, 77 Putumayo, River (Peru), 44, 58, 66

Revolutions, 112, 126, 134-7

Reyes, 41, 98, 180

Rheas (the S. American ostriches), 181,

279 Riberalta (Bolivia), 43-4, 46, 50-3,

55-8, 60-1, 78, 83, 89, 92, 94-9,101-2,

104, 114, 176 Riber6n Rapid, 90

Ricardo Franco Hills, 117, 122, 131-2 Rimell, Raleigh, 15, 276-8, 280-1, 283-7,

289-91, 298-300, 303 Rio das Mortes, 300-1 Rio de Contas, 224, 226, 241 Rio de Janeiro, 3, 10-11, 191, 208-12,

214, 218, 221-3, 236-7, 240, 256,

278-80, 283, 290, 294, 302 Rio de Ouro, 230-2, 234 Rio Negro, 84-5 Road Project, Cochabamba to Sta. Cruz,

191 Rondon, General, 211, 213 Roosevelt Expedition (to the Rio

Duvida), 11, 211 Royal Geographical Society (R.G.S.),

18-20, 208, 276, 296-7 Rubber, 19, 32-3, 37-8, 40-1, 44, 51, 54,

56-7, 59, 62, 64, 66-71, 77-8, 80, 88,

91, 107, 143, 151, 166, 177, 183, 197

199, 205, 258, 299 Rurenabaque (Bolivia), 31, 41, 43-6,

48-9, 51, 64, 99, 103-6, 114, 164

176-7, 179-80,185

Queara (Bolivia), 159

Quebracho, a tree the bark of which is

used in tanning, etc., 135, 137 Quehrada, a deep mountain cleft Quechua Indians, 155, 245, 265

R

Railway projects, 53, 64, 94, 191, 213

Ramalles, Col., Governor of Beni Province, 41, 44

Rapids, 40, 45, 73, 87-92, 105, 120, 144, 148-9,151-2, 178-9, 267

Rapirran, River, 18, 83-4

Raposo, Francisco, 3—4, 5-10, 14, 164, 223, 257, 270

Rattin, Stefan, 293-5

Rattlesnakes, 4, 46, 129-30,162, 212, 226

Reilly ('Butch'), 211-4, 216

Resguardo, Custom House

Sacambaya, 188-90

Sacsahuaman (Peru), 6-7, 27, 113

Samaipata, 187, 252

San Antonio Barraca, 38

San Carlos Barraca, 151, 163-6, 168-71

Sandia, 151, 164-5, 171

San Ignacio, 194-5, 206, 267-8

San Luis de Caceres, 133, 213

San Matias, 116-8,129-31,195

Santa Ana, 55, 180, 182

Santa Cruz de la Sierra, 34, 50, 55-6, 95,

116,176,180,183-5,187,191-3,205-6,

247, 252 Santo Domingo Mine, 106, 142, 152 Sao Francisco, River, 2, 10, 226, 262,

269-70 Sao Paulo (Brazil), 211-2, 238, 255, 279-

80, 294, 299 Sapo Chino, a device used in flogging

prisoners, 97

tNDEX AND GLOSSARY

311

Saurian Remains, 74, 241, 285

Savages, 15, 19, 46-7, 49, 55, 64, 68-70,

73, 75, 84, 87, 89-90, 92, 96, 105,

118, 120, 123, 127, 131-2, 138, 141,

143, 146, 149-51, 168, 170, 172-3,

197-8,200-2,215,222,227,233,241-2,

254, 260, 269, 299, 301, 304 Schultz (of Sorata), 35-6, 39-40 Seringero (seringueiro in Brazil), rubber

picker, 59, 64, 74, 77, 80, 84, 113, 121,

143, 147, 150-1, 197, 204-6, 251 Serrania, mountain range SertZio, roughly 'busl\', more accurately

wilderness, 3, 283, 289, 292 Sierra, mountain country generally—but

the Brazilian Serra may mean ground

only slightly elevated Silver, 118, 161, 177, 186, 222, 253, 259,

263-4 Slavery and slaving, 49-50, 55-9, 64, 69-

70, 90, 94-6, 108, 183, 223, 236, 256-

7, 261, 264-6 Snakes (poisonous), 9, 46, 60, 82, 99,100,

115-6, 130, 132, 181-2, 194-6, 212,

231, 242, 262, 280 Sorata, 27, 33, 35-6, 40, 58,106-7 Soroche, Mountain Sickness, 30, 156 Source of R. Acre, 73 Source of R. Tambopata, 159 Source of R. Verde, 121-2, 125, 132-3 Southern Railway of Peru, 25,154 Spain, Spaniards, 5, 22-3, 28, 107, 185,

242, 248, 251, 253, 256, 259, 263-7 Spiders, 34, 46, 68, 132, 221, 279 Starvation, 110, 122, 150, 182, 259 Stingrays, 51, 58, 60, 71, 104, 120 Suarez (Suarez Hermanos), 52, 62-3, 82,

91 Sudd {Camelote), 120, 130, 206 Sundial, 98, 99 Surgery, 129, 160-1, 165 Surucucu, or Pocaraya, Bushmaster snake,

46,115-6,177-8,183,212, 215-6, 230-

1,280 Surusu, a cold S. or S.-W. wind, 46, 52,

98,102-3, 107,132 Survey work, 19, 122,155,159, 172, 204,

234, 276-7 Sututus, grubs which burrow under the

skin, 149, 166-7, 169-70

Tahuamanu, River, 61, 69, 83

Tambo, rest-house

Tambopata, River, 50, 142-4, 150-2, 159

161, 163-4, 172, 177 Tapajoz Indians, 234 Tapajoz, River, 247, 261, 296 Tapir {see Anta)

Tapuya Indians, 2, 5, 245-7, 250-1, 254 Tartaruga, large tortoise Temples, 8, 13 Thunderbolt, 103

Tiahuanaco (Bolivia), 27-8, 113, 243-4 Tibet, 30, 245 Tipuani, River, 39-40, 106 Tirapata, 140 Titicaca, Lake, 19, 26, 28, 34-5, 140

154-5, 207, 240, 264-5 Tocantins, River, 86, 261, 269 Todd, Gunner, 140-1, 143, 145-8, 150

152-3, 176-80, 185-6, 191 Toldetas, cloth shelters for hammock* Toltecs, 241-3, 245, 247, 251 Toromonas Indians, 51, 96 Totora, 187, 192 Tracaya, small tortoise Trails, Andean, 37, 141-2, 159, 171, 262-

3,265 Treasure, 9-10, 23, 28-9, 33, 120-1, 130,

186-91, 248, 264-5 Trincomalee (Ceylon), 16 Trujillo (Peru), 23 Tuiche, River, 160, 163, 177-8 Tumupasa, 176, 179-80 Tumupasa Indians, 48, 58, 61, 83-4, 90 Tupac-Amaru (Incan revolutionary), 160,

265 Tupi-Carib, 229, 250-1, 257 Tupinambas, Cannibal Indians, 1, 256 Tupis, the, 113, 244, 246-7, 250-2, 254

U

Ulyatt, Patrick and Gordon, 299 United States of America, 121, 136, 232,

257, 264, 266, 275-6, 278 Urquhart, 116, 120, 122-3

Tabatinga, River, 69, 215, 218 Tatuara, a thorny bamboo, 121, 170, 195, 201

Valparaiso, 137, 239, 252 Vampire bats, 150, 169 Vargas, Capt., 140, 145 Verde, River (Bolivia), 110, 116, 119, 120. 125, 131, 133, 190

Verruga, 226, 229, 234-5

Vilas Boas, Orlando, 302-3

Villa Bella (Matto Grosso) {see Matto

Grosso City) Villa Bella (Bolivia), 18, 88-91 Villazon, Dr., President of Bolivia, 138,

140 Viscacho, an Andean rodent, 156 Volcanos, 13-14, 239, 241

W

War Office, the, 19,138 Wasps, 121, 163-5, 167, 216-7 Waterfalls, 9, 73, 152, 179, 285, 288,

290-1, 296, 304 West Coast (of S. America), 22, 23, 105,

172,176, 242 West Indies (Jamaica, etc.), 51, 254, 257,

275, 277, 284, 287 Whirlpools, 91,179 White Indians, 67, 83,115, 270 Willis, the cook, 38, 61, 64, 68, 72-4, 83,

87, 94, 101, 176 Winton, Albert de, 293

INDEX AND GLOSSARY

Xapury (Brazil), 59, 80, 94 Xingu, River (Matto Grosso), 215, 242, 269-70, 287, 290, 300, 302-3

Yacu, River, 69

Yalu, River, 68

Yanaiguas Indians, 193

Yaravi y a form of Incan music played or

sung con sentimento Yarulla, 302-3 Yaverija, River, 70, 74 Yorongas (on the Acre), 70-4 Yungas, the warm valleys of Bolivia, 29,

38-9,166

'Z* (the objective), 246, 269, 280, 285-6 289, 304