When I turned around I saw the half-cleared 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 for me.  Such attentions to a stranger, who came without even a letter of introduction, are typical of Brazilian hospitality.