e of
Cabello-Cocha on the right bank--she put in at the rising ground of the
mission of Cocha. This was the country of the Marahua Indians, whose
long floating hair, and mouths opening in the middle of a kind of fan
made of the spines of palm-trees, six inches long, give them a cat-like
look--their endeavor being, according to Paul Marcoy, to resemble
the tiger, whose boldness, strength, and cunning they admire above
everything. Several women came with these Marahuas, smoking cigars, but
holding the lighted ends in their teeth. All of them, like the king of
the Amazonian forests, go about almost naked.

The mission of Cocha was then in charge of a Franciscan monk, who was
anxious to visit Padre Passanha.

Joam Garral received him with a warm welcome, and offered him a seat at
the dinner-table.

On that day was given a dinner which did honor to the Indian cook. The
traditional soup of fragrant herbs; cake, so often made to replace bread
in Brazil, composed of the flour of the manioc thoroughly impregnated
with the gravy of meat and tomato jelly; poultry with rice, swimming in
a sharp sauce made of vinegar and _"malagueta;"_ a dish of spiced herbs,
and cold cake sprinkled with cinnamon, formed enough to tempt a poor
monk reduced to the ordinary meager fare of his parish. They tried all
they could to detain him, and Yaquita and her daughter did their utmost
in persuasion. But the Franciscan had to visit on that evening an Indian
who was lying ill at Cocha, and he heartily thanked the hospitable
family and departed, not without taking a few presents, which would be
well received by the neophytes of the mission.

For two days Araujo was very busy. The bed of the river gradually
enlarged, but the islands became more numerous, and the current,
embarrassed by these obstacles, increased in strength. Great care was
necessary in passing between the islands of Cabello-Cocha, Tarapote, and
Cacao. Many stoppages had to be made, and occasionally they were obliged
to pole off the jangada, which now and then threatened to run aground.
Every one assisted in the work, and it was under these difficult
circumstances that, on the evening of the 20th of June, they found
themselves at Nuestra-Senora-di-Loreto.

Loreto is the last Peruvian town situated on the left bank of the river
before arriving at the Brazilian frontier. It is only a little village,
composed of about twenty houses, grouped on a slightly undulating bank,
formed of oche