Travel Reference
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And the men themselves are admirable. We spoke with them and saw them in action. They had
all kept their outlandish names and nicknames, from the opulent “King Caboclo” of Cachoeira to the
garrulous “Clumsy” in the hinterlands of the Chandless, to the old “Yellow John” who founded Cataí
and still works with a vengeance through the twisted rubber trails, and has for the last seventy years;
the bold “Golden Antonio” of Terra Alta, an unerring marksman whose audacious attacks in the skir-
mishes of 1903 with the
caucheiros
have become a page of our history, vibrant with courage.
What stands out most about these men is the physical integrity inscribed in their taut muscles, and
there is also the moral beauty of manly souls who have defeated the wilderness. When we keep in
mind the pitiable circumstances in the early days of colonization, which still afflict them though to a
lesser degree today, this physical and moral resilience cannot be explained by the exacting demands
of a climate so malign and as brutal as that for which Acre is renowned.
The argument that the northern
sertanejos
(or more crudely,
jagunços
), endowed with the austere
and warrior nature of Arabs, were preadapted to this new habitat by the discipline imposed by
droughts and by relocating themselves along roughly the same latitude as their native soil, is also not
convincing. The frontiersmen who opened up the Purús and the Juruá were a diverse lot: the Syrian,
arriving from Beirut, gradually displaced the Portuguese in river commerce; the adventurous, artist-
ic Italian rambled along the banks for months on end with his camera for capturing the essence of
forest dwellers and their wild countryside; the phlegmatic Saxon, trading his northern mists for the
splendors of the tropical air. The great majority still live there, working and prospering, and end up
long-lived. Just one example: In 1872, Barrington Brown and Lidstone traversed the Lower Purús to
Huytanahan on the launch
Guajara
, under the command of a Captain Hoefner, “a German speaking
both English and Portuguese,” explained the two travelers in the interesting book they wrote. Thirty-
five years later . . . and Captain Hoefner is there! the eternal commander of the launch, toiling away
withoutrestonthosedamnwaterswherebloodgnatsswarmandeverymosquitobitepresagesfevers.
There spread out and embellishing the current are the
mururés
—the water hyacinths—floating, with
their purple flowers reminiscent of funeral wreaths. But they are not evil portents for the German.
We saw him at the end of 1904, at the confluence of the Acre River. He is an old guy, lively and
esteemed, diligent and active, with a face that is open and rosy, framed by hair that is entirely white.
If he appeared in Berlin, only the slight tan of his skin would suggest the dark stigma of the tropics.
Multiply the cases and a myth evaporates.
Finally there remains, because so insistently repeated, yet another argument: those robust
caboclos
and that exceptional Saxon are not results of the climate but emerged in spite of it; they triumphed
in a decisive battle in which all the rest succumbed, all those not armed with the same requisites of
energy, abstinence, and hardiness.
Here we must we cast aside sterile sentimentality and acknowledge that the climate has a higher
role. Amid the horrific circumstances that prompted and propelled the occupation of Acre, for so
many years prey to all the vices and maladies fostered by the indifference of our public administrat-
ors,theclimate exerted anincorruptible supervision, cleansing that landofthedisgraced andthelaw-
less who would otherwise be far more numerous than they are today. It policed and imposed a moral
order. It chose and it still chooses for life those most worthy. It eliminates the inept and the unfit by
exile or by death.
Surely we must admire a climate that prepares abodes for the strong, the enduring, the Good.
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