hey
are immediately devoured by a small but voracious fish called the
_candiroo-escrivao_. This whole operation is carried on inside the
house, in the back-room, as long as the land is flooded.

It must be remembered that during the rainy season an area equal in
size to about a third of the United States is entirely submerged. There
is a network of rivers that eventually find their way into the Amazon
and the land between is completely inundated. In all this immense
territory there are only a few spots of sufficient elevation to be
left high and dry. Remate de Males, as I have explained, is at the
junction of the Itecoahy and the Javary rivers, the latter 700 miles
in length, and thirty miles or so below the village the Javary joins
the Amazon proper, or Solimoes as it is called here. Thus we are in
the heart of the submerged region. When I first arrived in February,
1910, I found the river still confined to its channel, with the water
about ten feet below the level of the street. A few weeks later it
was impossible to take a single step on dry land anywhere.

The water that drives the rubber-workers out of the forests also drives
all animal life to safety. Some of the creatures seek refuge in the
village. I remember that we once had a huge alligator take temporary
lodgings in the backyard of the hotel after he had travelled no one
knows how many miles through the inundated forest. At all hours we
could hear him making excursions under the house to snatch refuse
thrown from the kitchen, but we always knew he would have welcomed
more eagerly a member of the household who might drop his way.

And now a few words about the people who lived under the conditions
I have described, and who keep up the struggle even though, as they
themselves have put it, "each ton of rubber costs a human life."

In the first place I must correct any erroneous impression as to
neatness that may have been formed by my remarks about the animals
being kept in the dwellings during the rainy season. The Brazilians
are scrupulous about their personal cleanliness, and in fact, go
through difficulties to secure a bath which might well discourage
more civilised folk.

No one would dream, for an instant, of immersing himself in the
rivers. In nine cases out of ten it would amount to suicide to do
so, and the natives have bathhouses along the shores; more literally
bathhouses than ours, for their baths are actually taken in them. They
are just as ca