There was no particular incident to record on the trip, till June the 16th, in the night-time, when we arrived at Porto Alegre, the glad harbour, which consisted of one hut.  This hut belonged to the proprietor of a seringale.  I followed the captain and the clerk ashore and, with them, was warmly received by the owner, when we had clambered up the ladder in front of the hut.  He had not heard from civilisation for seven months, and was very glad to see people from the outside world, especially as they were bringing a consignment of merchandise that would enable him to commence the annual tapping of the rubber trees.

About a dozen seringueiros and their families disembarked here and went without ceremony to their quarters, where they had a fire going in less than no time.

It is the custom in this section of Brazil to make visitors welcome in a rather complicated manner.  You first place your arm around the other man’s waist, resting the palm of your hand on his back.  Then with the other hand you pat him on the shoulder, or as near that point as you can reach.  Whether it recalled my wrestling practice or not, I do not know, but the first time I ever tried this, I nearly succeeded in throwing down the man I was seeking to honour.

After the proprietor had greeted each of us in this cordial way, we sat down.  A large negress made her appearance, smoking a pipe and carrying a tray full of tiny cups, filled with the usual unsweetened jet-black coffee.  After a brief stay, during which business was discussed and an account given of the manner of death of all the friends who had departed this life during the season in Remate de Males, we took our leave and were off again, in the middle of the night, amid a general discharging of rifles and much blowing of the steam-whistle.

The night was intensely dark, what moon there was being hidden behind clouds most of the time, and an occasional flash of lightning would show us that we were running very close to the shores.  I decided to go on the roof of the right-hand lighter, where I thought I would get better air and feel more comfortable than in the close quarters below.  On the roof I found some old rags and a rubber coated knapsack.  Taking these to the stern, I lay down upon them and went to sleep.  I imagine that I must have been asleep about two hours, when I was aroused by a crashing sound that came from the forepart of the boat.  Luckily, I had fallen asleep with my eyeglasses on, otherwise, as I am near-sighted, I should not have been able to grasp the situation as quickly as proved necessary.

We were so close to the shore that the branches of a low-hanging tree swept across the top of the lighter, and it was this branch that caused the turmoil as the craft passed through it, causing everything to be torn from the roof; trunks, bags, and chicken-coops, in a disordered mass.  I had received no warning and hardly had collected my senses before this avalanche was upon me.  Seizing the branches as they came, I held on for dear life.  I tried to scramble over them to the other part of the roof, but having fallen asleep on the stern there was no chance.