On the morning of the morrow, the fifth of September, the signal for
departure was given. Joam Dacosta and Yaquita, with their daughter
and sons, were on the deck of the enormous raft. The jangada had its
moorings slackened off and began to move with the current, and when
it disappeared round the bend of the Rio Negro, the hurrahs of the
whole population of Manaos, who were assembled on the bank, again and
again re-echoed across the stream.
CHAPTER XX
THE LOWER AMAZON
LITTLE REMAINS to tell of the second part of the voyage down the
mighty river. It was but a series of days of joy. Joam Dacosta
returned to a new life, which shed its happiness on all who belonged
to him.
The giant raft glided along with greater rapidity on the waters now
swollen by the floods. On the left they passed the small village of
Don Jose de Maturi, and on the right the mouth of that Madeira which
owes its name to the floating masses of vegetable remains and trunks
denuded of their foliage which it bears from the depths of Bolivia.
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