the rubber-estate manager to give me two Indians to paddle me and my
baggage down to Floresta. I wanted to get down there where I could
have better accommodations before I should become sick again.



CHAPTER V

FLORESTA: LIFE AMONG THE RUBBER-WORKERS


It was half past five in the morning when we arrived at the landing
of the Floresta estate. Since it was too early to go up to the
house I placed my trunk on the bank and sat admiring the surrounding
landscape, partly enveloped in the mist that always hangs over these
damp forests until sunrise. The sun was just beginning to colour the
eastern sky with faint warm tints. Before me was the placid surface of
the Itecoahy, which seemed as though nothing but my Indian's paddles
had disturbed it for a century. Just here the river made a wide turn
and on the sand-bar that was formed a few large freshwater turtles
could be seen moving slowly around. The banks were high and steep,
and it appeared incredible that the flood could rise so high that
it would inundate the surrounding country and stand ten or twelve
feet above the roots of the trees--a rise that represented about
sixty-seven feet in all.

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
_barracãos_ or huts of the rubber-workers. In the clearing, palm-trees