I won’t waste your time describing our comfortable voyage aboard the Booth liner, or our week in Pará. I should, however, mention how grateful we were to the Pereira da Pinta Company for helping us gather all the equipment we needed.
Our journey up the Amazon was equally uneventful. We traveled aboard a steamer only slightly smaller than the ship that had brought us across the Atlantic, following a broad, slow-moving river the color of wet clay.
Eventually we passed through the narrows at Óbidos and reached Manaos.
There, Mr. Shortman, a representative of the British and Brazilian Trading Company, rescued us from the rather miserable local hotel and took us to his hospitable Fazenda.
We stayed there while waiting for the day when we were finally allowed to open Professor Challenger’s sealed letter.
Before describing what happened on that remarkable day, I think I should introduce my companions and the men we had recruited in South America.
I leave this account in your hands, Mr. McArdle, and you may decide for yourself what should eventually be published.
Professor Summerlee’s scientific reputation is already well established, so there is no need for me to list his achievements.
At first glance, he did not seem like the ideal man for a difficult expedition.
He was sixty-six years old, tall, thin, and almost painfully lean.
Yet his body seemed completely unaffected by fatigue.
He could endure hardship as well as anyone I had ever known.
His dry, sarcastic personality also seemed impossible to change.
No matter how uncomfortable our surroundings became, he rarely complained.
I had initially thought that bringing such an old man along would be a burden.
I was completely wrong.
In terms of endurance, he was probably every bit as tough as I was.
His personality, however, was another matter.
Summerlee was naturally suspicious and argumentative.
From the very beginning, he never hid his opinion that Professor Challenger was a complete fraud.
As far as he was concerned, our expedition was nothing more than a ridiculous wild-goose chase.
He expected us to find nothing in South America except danger and disappointment—and to return to England as laughingstocks.
He repeated these opinions constantly during our journey from Southampton to Manaos.
Whenever he became especially annoyed, his thin face would twist with anger, his little beard would shake, and he would launch into another attack on Challenger.
Fortunately, once we reached South America, he found something that interested him.
He became fascinated by the enormous variety of insects and birds.
His love of science was completely genuine.
He spent his days wandering through the forest with a shotgun and butterfly net.
In the evenings, he carefully prepared and preserved the specimens he had collected.
He was not particularly careful about his clothes or personal appearance.
He was also extremely absent-minded and almost always had a short briar pipe between his teeth.
He had already taken part in several scientific expeditions when he was younger, including one with Robertson in Papua.
Life in a jungle camp or traveling by canoe was therefore nothing new to him.
Lord John Roxton was in some ways similar to Summerlee, but in other ways he was almost his complete opposite.
He was about twenty years younger, though he was also lean and wiry.
I have already described his appearance earlier in my account, so I will not repeat it here.
Unlike Summerlee, Roxton was extremely neat.
He dressed carefully in white drill suits and tall brown boots designed to protect him from mosquitoes.
He shaved at least once every day.
Like many men who spend their lives taking action rather than talking about it, he was usually brief in conversation.
At times he would become completely absorbed in his own thoughts.
But whenever someone spoke to him, he was quick to respond.
His conversation was lively, slightly jerky, and often humorous.
His knowledge of the world was extraordinary.
His knowledge of South America was even more impressive.
Nothing Professor Summerlee said could weaken his confidence in our expedition.
Roxton spoke softly and behaved calmly.
But there was something dangerous hidden behind those bright blue eyes.
He possessed an enormous capacity for anger and an almost frightening determination.
The remarkable thing was that he kept both under strict control.
He rarely talked about his own adventures in Brazil and Peru.
Yet I soon discovered how the local people reacted whenever they saw him.
The river communities regarded him as a protector and a champion.
They called him the Red Chief.
Stories about his exploits had already become legends among them.
And, as far as I could discover, the truth was almost as remarkable as the legends.
Several years earlier, Roxton had found himself in the lawless territory where the borders of Peru, Brazil, and Colombia met.
The region was rich in wild rubber trees.
Unfortunately, the rubber trade had become a terrible curse for the local people.
A small group of ruthless mixed-race men controlled the area.
They armed some of the Indians and forced others into slavery.
They used brutal torture to make the slaves collect rubber, which was then transported down the rivers toward Pará.
Roxton had protested against the treatment of these helpless people.
The slave traders responded with insults and threats.
So Roxton did something extraordinary.
He declared war on Pedro Lopez, the leader of the slave traders.
He gathered a group of escaped slaves, armed them, and began a campaign against Lopez and his followers.
The campaign ended with Roxton killing the notorious half-breed leader himself and destroying the system of slavery he had built.
It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the red-haired Englishman with the gentle voice and relaxed manner attracted enormous attention along the great South American rivers.
The local people were deeply grateful to him.
Those who had made money from exploiting the Indians naturally hated him.
Another advantage of Roxton’s years in the region was that he spoke Lingoa Geral fluently.
It was the common language used across much of Brazil, a mixture of Portuguese and Indian languages.
I have already mentioned that Lord John Roxton was obsessed with South America.
Whenever he talked about the country, his enthusiasm was impossible to miss.
And his enthusiasm was contagious.
I knew very little about South America, but after listening to him, I desperately wanted to know more.
I wish I could reproduce the strange magic of his conversations.
He combined accurate knowledge with wild imagination in a way that made even the most ordinary facts sound exciting.
Even Professor Summerlee’s usual cynical expression would sometimes disappear while he listened.
Roxton loved talking about the enormous river system and the explorers who had traveled along it.
Some of the earliest Spanish conquerors of Peru had actually crossed the entire continent by following its waters.
And yet, despite everything that had been explored, most of the land beyond the riverbanks remained unknown.
“What do you think is out there?” Roxton would ask, pointing toward the north.
“Forest, swamps, and jungle that nobody has properly explored.”
“Who knows what might be hiding there?”
“And what about the country to the south?”
“More endless swamp and forest.”
“Places where no white man has ever been.”
“The unknown is all around us.”
“Outside these narrow river routes, what does anyone really know?”
“Who can say what might exist in a country like this?”
“Why shouldn’t old Challenger be right?”
Whenever Roxton said this, Professor Summerlee’s skeptical expression would immediately return.
He would shake his head and sit silently behind a cloud of smoke from his briar pipe.
Those, for now, were my two white companions.
As our journey continues, you will learn more about their strengths, weaknesses, and personalities.
But we had already recruited several other men who might prove extremely important.
The first was Zambo.
He was an enormous black man, a kind of human Hercules.
He was willing to do almost any job and had the strength of a horse.
Unfortunately, his intelligence was not nearly as impressive.
We hired him in Pará on the recommendation of the steamship company.
He had worked aboard their ships and had learned to speak a rough form of English.
In Pará we also hired Gomez and Manuel.
They were two mixed-race men from farther up the river who had just arrived with a load of redwood.
Both were dark, heavily bearded, tough-looking men.
They moved quickly and silently, like panthers.
They had spent their entire lives on the upper Amazon—the very region we were about to explore.
That experience was the main reason Roxton hired them.
Gomez had another advantage.
He spoke excellent English.
The two men agreed to serve as our personal assistants.
They would cook, row, carry equipment, or perform whatever other work was needed for fifteen dollars a month.
We also hired three Mojo Indians from Bolivia.
They were famous throughout the river region for their skill with boats and fishing.
We called the leader Mojo, after his tribe.
The other two were Jose and Fernando.
So our little expedition consisted of three white men, two mixed-race guides, one black servant, and three Indians.
All of us were now waiting in Manaos for the instructions that would send us into the unknown.
At last, after a long and frustrating week, the day arrived.
The hour had finally come.
Imagine the shaded sitting room of Fazenda St. Ignatio, about two miles inland from Manaos.
Outside, the tropical sun burned fiercely.
The light was so bright that the shadows of the palm trees looked almost solid.
There was hardly any breeze.
The air was filled with the endless sound of insects.
It was like a vast tropical orchestra, from the deep buzzing of bees to the sharp, high-pitched sound of mosquitoes.
Beyond the veranda was a small garden.
Cactus hedges surrounded it, while flowering bushes attracted huge blue butterflies and tiny hummingbirds.
Inside, we sat around a cane table.
In the center of the table lay the sealed envelope.
On the front, in Professor Challenger’s unmistakable jagged handwriting, were the words:
“Instructions for Lord John Roxton and his party. To be opened at Manaos on July 15th at exactly twelve o’clock.”
Lord John had placed his watch on the table.
“We’ve got seven minutes left,” he said.
“The old fellow certainly likes to be precise.”
Professor Summerlee gave a bitter smile and picked up the envelope.
“What difference could seven minutes possibly make?”
“We’re going to open it anyway.”
“This is simply another example of Challenger’s ridiculous games.”
“He has always been famous for this sort of nonsense.”
“Oh, come on,” said Roxton.
“We agreed to follow his rules.”
“This is Challenger’s expedition, and we’re here because he agreed to take us.”
“It would be very poor form to ignore his instructions now.”
“What an absurd business!” Summerlee snapped.
“I thought it was ridiculous in London, but after getting to know the man, I think it is even worse.”
“I have no idea what’s inside this envelope.”
“But unless it contains something very definite, I intend to take the next boat downriver and catch the Bolivia at Pará.”
“I have more important scientific work to do than chasing the claims of a madman.”
He looked at Roxton.
“Surely it’s time now.”
“It is,” said Roxton.
“You can blow the whistle.”
He took out his penknife and opened the envelope.
Then he removed the folded sheet of paper inside.
He carefully unfolded it and flattened it on the table.
We stared at it.
It was completely blank.
Roxton turned it over.
The other side was blank too.
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Then Professor Summerlee burst into mocking laughter.
“This is the final proof!”
“What more could anyone possibly need?”
“The man has practically admitted that he is a fraud.”
“We should simply return home and tell everyone what a shameless impostor he is.”
“Perhaps it’s invisible ink,” I suggested.
Roxton held the paper up toward the light.
“I don’t think so.”
“No, young fellow, don’t fool yourself.”
“I’d bet my life that nothing has ever been written on this paper.”
Suddenly a deep voice came from the veranda.
“May I come in?”
A large shadow moved across the bright patch of sunlight.
We recognized the voice immediately.
Then we saw those enormous shoulders.
All three of us jumped to our feet in shock.
Professor Challenger was standing there.
He wore a round straw hat with a colored ribbon.
His hands were tucked into his jacket pockets.
Canvas shoes pointed neatly forward as he walked.
He stepped into the room and threw back his head.
His huge beard, heavy eyelids, and fierce, impatient eyes were exactly as I remembered them.
“I fear I’m a few minutes late,” he said, checking his watch.
“When I gave you that envelope, I never intended for you to open it without me.”
“My plan was always to arrive before the appointed time.”
“Unfortunately, a foolish pilot and an unexpected sandbank delayed me.”
“I suspect that delay has given my colleague Professor Summerlee an opportunity to swear at me.”
Lord John looked at him sternly.
“I’ll admit, sir, that seeing you is a considerable relief.”
“We thought our entire expedition had come to an end before it even started.”
“But I still can’t understand why you arranged this business in such an extraordinary way.”
Challenger ignored the question.
He walked into the room, shook hands with Lord John and me, gave Professor Summerlee a formal and rather insulting nod, and dropped heavily into a wicker chair.
The chair creaked under his weight.
“Is everything ready for your journey?” he asked.
“We can leave tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow you shall leave.”
“You no longer need written directions.”
“You now have something far more valuable—my personal guidance.”
“From the beginning, I intended to lead this investigation myself.”
“No map or set of instructions could possibly replace my own judgment and knowledge.”
“As for the little trick with the envelope, I had a very good reason.”
“If I had told you my complete plans earlier, I would have been subjected to endless pressure to accompany you.”
“Not from me!” Professor Summerlee exclaimed.
“Not if there were another ship anywhere on the Atlantic!”
Challenger dismissed him with a wave of his enormous hand.
“Your common sense will surely tell you that I made the correct decision.”
“It was far better for me to control my own movements and arrive precisely when my presence became necessary.”
“That moment has now arrived.”
“You are in safe hands.”
“You will reach your destination.”
“From this moment onward, I am in command of this expedition.”
“Finish your preparations tonight so that we can leave early tomorrow morning.”
“My time is valuable.”
“I assume yours is as well, although perhaps to a somewhat lesser degree.”
“I intend for us to move as quickly as possible until I have shown you exactly what you came here to see.”
Lord John Roxton had chartered a large steam launch called the Esmeralda.
It was supposed to carry us far up the river.
The time of year made little difference to the temperature.
Summer and winter alike, the region usually stayed between about seventy-five and ninety degrees Fahrenheit.
Rainfall was another matter.
The rainy season lasted from December until May.
During those months, the river gradually rose until it stood almost forty feet above its lowest level.
It flooded the surrounding land and spread into enormous lagoons.
The result was a vast flooded region known locally as the Gapo.
Much of it was too swampy to cross on foot and too shallow for boats.
By about June, the water began to fall.
The river reached its lowest level around October or November.
We were therefore traveling during the dry season, when the main river and its tributaries were close to their normal condition.
The river itself flowed surprisingly slowly.
Its average drop was only about eight inches per mile.
This made it unusually easy to navigate.
The prevailing wind came from the southeast, so sailing boats could travel steadily toward the Peruvian frontier and later return with the current.
For us, the powerful engines of the Esmeralda made the slow current almost irrelevant.
We moved along as easily as if we were traveling across a huge, still lake.
For three days we traveled northwest.
Even a thousand miles from the mouth of the Amazon, the river was still so enormous that from its center, the two banks looked like faint lines on the distant horizon.
On the fourth day after leaving Manaos, we turned into a tributary.
At its mouth, it was almost as wide as the main river.
But it quickly became narrower.
After another two days of steaming, we reached an Indian village.
Professor Challenger immediately ordered us to stop.
He told us that we would go no farther by steamship.
“We are approaching rapids,” he explained.
“The Esmeralda will soon be useless.”
He then told us privately that we were approaching the boundary of the unknown region.
“The fewer people who know about our plans, the better,” he said.
For that reason, he required every one of us to give his word of honor that we would never reveal our exact route.
Our servants were sworn to secrecy as well.
That is why my account must remain deliberately vague.
If I include maps or diagrams later, the relative positions of places may be accurate, but I will deliberately alter the directions of the compass.
No one reading my account should be able to use it as a guide to our actual location.
Perhaps Professor Challenger’s demand for secrecy was justified.
Perhaps it was not.
But we had no real choice.
He made it clear that he would rather abandon the entire expedition than lead us under different conditions.
On August 2, we finally broke our last connection with the outside world.
We said goodbye to the Esmeralda.
Four days have passed since then.
During that time, we hired two large canoes from the Indians.
They were remarkably light, being made from skins stretched over bamboo frames.
We could carry them around any obstacle we encountered.
We loaded all our equipment into them.
We also hired two more Indians to help us navigate the waterways.
I am told that they were the same men who had accompanied Professor Challenger on his previous expedition.
Their names were Ataca and Ipetu.
They seemed terrified at the thought of making the journey again.
Unfortunately for them, the local chief held almost absolute authority over his people.
If he accepted a deal, the members of his clan had little choice but to obey.
And now the moment has arrived.
Tomorrow we disappear into the unknown.
I am sending this report down the river by canoe.
It may be the last message anyone receives from us.
As we agreed, I have addressed it to you, my dear Mr. McArdle.
You may delete it, edit it, publish it, or do whatever you think best.
Professor Summerlee remains deeply skeptical.
But Professor Challenger’s confidence is impossible to ignore.
From the way he speaks and behaves, I have no doubt that he truly believes he knows where he is taking us.
Tomorrow, we will leave the last familiar traces of civilization behind.
And if Challenger is right, we are standing on the edge of some of the most extraordinary experiences any of us has ever faced.