space in front of me
stretching over a square mile of ground. To the right was Coronel
da Silva's house, already described, and all about, the humbler
_barracaos_ or huts of the rubber-workers. In the clearing, palm-trees
and guava brush formed a fairly thick covering for the ground, but
compared with the surrounding impenetrable jungle the little open space
deserved its title of "clearing." A few cows formed a rare sight as
they wandered around nibbling at the sparse and sickly growth of grass.

By-and-bye the sun was fully up; but even then it could not fully
disperse the mists that hung over the landscape. The birds were waking
and their calls filled the air. The amorous notes of the inamboo were
repeated and answered from far off by its mate, and the melancholy
song of the wacurao piped musically out from the vastness of the
forest. Small green paroquets flew about and filled the air with
their not altogether pleasant voices. These are the same birds that
are well-known to the residents of New York and other large cities,
where a dozen of them can often be seen in charge of an intrepid
Italian, who has them trained to pick cards out of a box for anyone
desiring his fortune told for the sum of five cents. Here they must
provide by their own efforts for their own futures, however. Even at
this hour the howling monkey had not left off disturbing the peace
with its hideous din.

Gradually the camp woke up to the day's work. A tall pajama-clad man
spied me and was the first to come over. He was a very serious-looking
gentleman and with his full-bearded face looked not unlike the artist's
conception of the Saviour. He bade me welcome in the usual generous
terms of the Brazilians and invited me into the house, where I again
met Coronel da Silva. This first-mentioned grave-looking man was Mr. da
Marinha. The kindness with which he welcomed me was most grateful;
especially so in my present physical condition. I noticed what had
not been so apparent on my first meeting with him, that recent and
continuous ravages of fevers and spleen troubles had reduced him,
though a fairly young man, to the usual nerve-worn type that the
white man seems bound to become after any long stay in the upper
Amazon region.

Not knowing where I might stop when I left Remate de Males, I had
brought with me a case of canned goods. I only succeeded in insulting
the Coronel when I mentioned this. He gave me his best room and
sent for a new hammock