Evening star., 1925-09-06
First White Man Returns From the Dread River O
BY FRANCIS Cow SMITH.

discovering diamonds, fighting jaguars
shooting perilous rapids, swimming
uncharted rivers where alligators and
man-eating fish lurk for human prey
and indeed living in constant fear for
my life. among some of the world s
most primitive savages. II today l
am safe with my trophies at the Elk
plorers' Club in New York City, /
freely give all credit for it to 10
panic-stricken Indians.
For op chat exciting morning, when
storm u poisoned arrows splashed
viciously about our dugout canoe into
the waters of the River of Death, II
they had not instantly reckoned their
own heads more valuable than any
lost Spanish gold mine. know very
we'll where my head could now be
found. Smoked. dried and barbarically
painted, ii would be gracing not my
own shoulders but the wigwam of
some untamed chieftain in the jungles
Of Matto Crosse.
Little did I realize my rashness
when l first turned my canoe up the
Rio das Mortes-that diamond-studded,
gold-hiding watery avenue-into the
heart of earth's most mysterious will
derness, where million unknown In
dians roam in naked savagery.
COME unique specimens of their war
~ clubs, poisoned arrows, spears
and fantastic ornaments-hitherto un-
known to SCIENCE have brought
back with me from Brazil to the
Museum of the American Indian in
New York. l only wish that l could
convey TO the reader some faint i'm
preston of the sinister land from
which these relics come.
And l wish that so many of my
I'D ,NIa oyNI,e nd xrn rc1
trophies had not disappeared into the
savage rapids of the Araguaya River,
that day when we capsized and saw
Two of our men sucked down to their
death in the whirlpools.
/ still recall that adventure with a
thrill. We had been shooting at 80
miles an hour a terrific series of cas-
cades. Suddenly a shrek arose from
the Indian in the bow. and stimuli
taneously a huge rock seemed to rise
bodily under us out of the mountains
of foam. With a rending crash 1t
hurled our clumsy dugout on its side,
and out we all went, bag and bag
gage, into the watery tunult. As l
fought my way to safety on a Shiny
rock, l caught in one indelible glimpse
the agoniZed faces of those lost In
dians in the whirlpoors grip.
The other natives found safety like
my own on isolated rocks; and there
we sat perched under the broiling
sun, maddened by clouds of mos
quitoes, for four long hours. The
Indians kept up a dismal chanting
call for help-"Caraja ia -ku.u-u. Caraja-
ku-u-u'-until at last their fellows in
better-piloted canoes came down
through the fatal rapids to pick US
up.
But irretrievably gone were my
photographs which would help me to
portray so yividly the fascination of
my solitary foray into the Businesses
of central BSRzil. There, south of
the mighty Amazon, west Of the
Tocantins and east of Roosevelt s
famous River of Doubt, lies a mat
led wilderness of jungle, mountain
and spreading plain-more than a
million square miles which have not
known the tread of white mems feet
since time began. Here brute force
reigns supreme. You and your gun
are the only law. And who can say
what FL Dorado, what fulfillment Of
adventure, awaits you there?
Let me picture one moonlight scene
on the banks of the River of Death.
For three days we had been padding
up its uncharted reaches, keeping well
away from the northern shore where
] knew the hostile Chervantes Indians
had been trailing us, silent and un-
seen, ever since we turned westward
from the north-and-south thorough
fare of the Rio Araguaya into their
forbidden domain.
X y x X
THAT evening, after a flash of sun
~ set glory about the western forest,
the night had enveIoped me and my
10 native canoemen with tropic
suddenness. AS the blanket of gloom
fell upon us, the sinister symphony
Of insect hordes lashed forth in shrill
clamor through the air. Above the
din fioated the call of some nightly
ARg night bird.
The chattering monkeys and gor-
geous-feathered parrots were suddenly
still. Flaring weirdly about me were
the ceaseless green flashes of phos-
phorescent insects. All the friendly
animal life of the day had ceded do
minion over the wilderness to uncanny
creatures of the night. Even that
Iniasnic stencil, rising to irritate my
nostrils from age-old accommodations of
decay in the swampS, seemed to con-
spire to make nightmare Of my soil.
tude.
None of the Indian crew was happy
They had not slept a wink since we
started up the river; tonight a few
We're resting uneasily on the sand,
with others posted around as sentinels.
For my own part, long since Injured to
insect bites and water-soaked slumber
on the ground amidst tropical down.
pours, I had not bothered to pitch my
tent. Better to leave the canoe ready
stocked for a quick getaway if we
were attacked.
True, we were supposed to be safe