The work done by the original explorers of such a wilderness necessitates the undergoing of untold hardship and danger.  Their successors, even their immediate successors, have a relatively easy time.  Soon the road becomes so well beaten that it can be traversed without hardship by any man who does not venture from it—­although if he goes off into the wilderness for even a day, hunting or collecting, he will have a slight taste of what his predecessors endured.  The wilderness explored by Colonel Rondon is not yet wholly subdued, and still holds menace to human life.  At Caceres he received notice of the death of one of his gallant subordinates, Captain Cardozo.  He died from beriberi, far out in the wilderness along our proposed line of march.  Colonel Rondon also received news that a boat ascending the Gy-Parana, to carry provisions to meet those of our party who were to descend that stream, had been upset, the provisions lost, and three men drowned.  The risk and hardship are such that the ordinary men, the camaradas, do not like to go into the wilderness.  The men who go with the Telegraphic Commission on the rougher and wilder work are paid seven times as much as they earn in civilization.  On this trip of ours Colonel Rondon met with much difficulty in securing some one who could cook.  He asked the cook on the little steamer Nyoac to go with us; but the cook with unaffected horror responded:  “Senhor, I have never done anything to deserve punishment!”

Five days after leaving us, the launch, with one of the native trading-boats lashed alongside, returned.  On the 13th we broke camp, loaded ourselves and all our belongings on the launch and the house-boat, and started up-stream for Tapirapoan.  All told there were about thirty men, with five dogs and tents, bedding and provisions; fresh beef, growing rapidly less fresh; skins—­all and everything jammed together.

It rained most of the first day and part of the first night.  After that the weather was generally overcast and pleasant for travelling; but sometimes rain and torrid sunshine alternated.  The cooking—­and it was good cooking—­was done at a funny little open-air fireplace, with two or three cooking-pots placed at the stern of the house-boat.

The fireplace was a platform of earth, taken from anthills, and heaped and spread on the boards of the boat.  Around it the dusky cook worked with philosophic solemnity in rain and shine.  Our attendants, friendly souls with skins of every shade and hue, slept most of the time, curled up among boxes, bundles, and slabs of beef.  An enormous land turtle was tethered toward the bow of the house-boat.  When the men slept too near it, it made futile efforts to scramble over them; and in return now and then one of them gravely used it for a seat.