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BRAZIL
BRAZIL
THE AMAZONS AND THE COAST
HERBERT H. SMITH
ILLUSTRATED FROM SKETCHES
J. WELLS CHAMPNEY
AND OTHERS
&Afc
NEW YORK /k-^^:^^ 'X
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS ^CC^*^
743 AND 745 Broadway 1879
Copyright by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1879.
Trow's
Printing and Bookbinding Company,
205-213 East ■12th Street,
NEW YORK.
TO
Senhor d. s. ferreira penna,
OF PARA,
AS A MARK OF SINCERE ADMIRATION FOR HIS
GEOGRAPHICAL STUDIES ON THE LOWER AMAZONS,
AND AS AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF
MY GRATITUDE FOR HIS MANY KINDNESSES,
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED.
HKKTCHMAP
OF THE
AMAZOITS
AND ITS TRIBUTARIES,
EXPLANATION OF THE MAP.
laouscnpt map of ScnhorD S, Ferreira Peona; that of the Lowei- Troinbetas was taken, in part, frum
, published by Dr. Joilo Barboza Rodtigiicz; the reniaiiidcr is original. The positions of ctireo points— Obidos. Santarein. «nd Itaituba— liavo been determiiied by variout nun *e. the map has only an appro.tjmate correctness ; but the skrrtch-wnrk has Uen carefully dor.c ai (ved that the actual poaitions uf the lakes aud clianucb will not be found to vary macb from ihuse ludica
R EFERENCES,
■ sss
I. LoKOde.UierduClilo.
PREFACE.
IN 1870, when a young student, I made a trip to the Amazons in the company of my friend and teacher, Prof. C. F. Hartt. The gUmpse of tropical hfe Avhich I then obtained, acted as a constant attraction to draw me back to these glorious forests and rivers. In 1S74 I returned to Brazil, with the design of collect- ing and studying the Amazonian animals. After two years, spent in the vicinity of Santarem, I was requested by Prof. Hartt, then in charge of the Brazilian Geological Commission, to make some explorations on the northern tributaries of the Amazons and on the Tapajos. These explorations occupied, altogether, more than a year. On their completion I went to Rio de Janeiro, spending four months there before returning to the United States.
It was then that I began to dream of writing a book on Brazil, but for a long time the idea remained latent. I had, indeed, a large mass of notes, and a collection of about one hundred thou- sand specimens, principally entomological ; but the notes were thrown together at random, and a large portion of the collections were still in their packing-boxes. Heretofore my reading of books on Brazil had been desultory and not very extensive. I now began to collect such works as I could obtain, and to com])are the views of the various authors with my own observations. This taught me a new difficulty. I found that most travellers either praised Brazil unduly, or condemned the country altogether. From my pleasant
Vlll PREFACE.
observations of tropical nature I was inclined to side with the farmer class, but I felt that I could not write fairly of social and commer- cial life without more careful study.
At this juncture the Messrs. Scribner & Co. invited me to write a series of articles on Brazil for their magazine. Through their libcraliiy I was enabled to make two more trips to South America, revisiting Rio and the Amazons, and making special studies of the coffee and sugar industries, of social and commercial life, and, tinally, of the famine district in Ceara. Mr. J. Wells Champney, the artist, was my companion on one of these trips. To him I am indebted, not only for a series of very accurate and beautiful draw- ings, but for many keen observations and intelligent criticisms on Brazilian nature and society.
With these added studies, I began the present work. As my per- sonal adventures and observations were, \n themselves, hardly worth writing about, I have avoided a purely narrative form. I have, rather, endeavored to frame a series of essays, with a general loose connection, but varying in tense and person as the subjects seemed to require. While generally confining my descriptions to the ground that I have personally been over, I have tried to make them typical of the whole, so that the book, though it does not describe the whole of Brazil, may yet present an intelligible picture of the coun- try. Naturally, I have dwelt most on the scenes that I love best — the wild streams and glorious green forests of the Amazons. When I have treated of the less pleasant social and commercial life, I have endeavored to weigh my own opinions carefully with those of other persons, and to judge fairly from the whole ; thus, the book may appear contradictory in parts, because it does not always praise, nor yet wholly condemn, the Brazilian people. I believe that this is a difficulty which every author must meet, who attempts to write the truth about any nation.
The series of six articles on Brazil, first published in Scribner's Magazine, have been embodied in the present work, but with so
PREFACE. IX
many changes and additions as to give them an entirely new char- acter.
Among the many kind friends who have assisted me in my work, I can speak here only of a few. My thanks are especially due to Sr. D. S. Ferreira Penna, and to His Excellency, Dr. F. M. C. de Sa e Benevides, late President of Para ; to Mr. R. J. Rhome, of Taperinha ; to His Honor, the Baron of Saiitarem, and to Sr. Cae- tano Correa, of the same place, as well as to many American colo- nists of the vicinity ; to Dom Manuel Onetti, of Monte Alegre ; to President Julio, and Sr. Morsing, of Fortaleza; to Dr. Gomes Per- rira, of Baturite ; to Mr. H. H. Swift, and Dr. Mamede, of Pernam- buco ; to Maj. O. C. James, of Rio de Janeiro ; and to Sr. Miranda Jordao, of Bem Posta. Among my American coadjutors, I must mention the officers of the American Geographical Society.
Besides the illustrations by Mr. Champney, a number of drawings were made by Mr. Wiegandt, of Rio de Janeiro ; a few were worked up from photographs, by various artists ; three were borrowed from Keller. The zoological drawings, in Chapter VH., are by Mr. J. C. Beard.
Two chapters, which, in their nature, did not admit of illustra- tions, have been placed at the end of the book ; and one, of a more exclusively scientific cast, has been reduced to the form of an ap- pendix.
I hope that this may be but the beginning of my studies on South America. As such, I offer it to the reading public.
Brooklyn, N. Y. , Dec. i, 1879.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Great River and its History, ....... i
CHAPTER n. Para, 34
CHAPTER HI. The River-plain, 78
CHAPTER IV. Santarem, . . . . . . . . . . . 117
CHAPTER V. American Farmers on the Amazons, 135
CHAPTER VI. The Forest, 176
CHAPTER VII. Zoological Gleanings, 205
CHAPTER VIII. The Tapajds, ........... 226
CHAPTER IX. The North Shore, 257
CHAPTER X. The Curua, ........... 295
xii CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XL
PAGE
The Maecuru, 342
CHAPTER XH. An Indian Village, ......... 370
CHAPTER XHI. Ceard and the Drought, 398
CHAPTER XIV. Down the Coast, .......... 436
CHAPTER XV.
Social Life at Rio, . . . . . . . . . '451
CHAPTER XVI. Profit and Loss, .......... 484
CHAPTER XVII. The Story of Cofiee, . . . . . . . . -Sn
CHAPTER XVIII. Myths and Folk-lore of the Amazonian Indians, . . . 541
CHAPTER XIX. The Tributaries of the Amazons, 588
APPENDIX. Geology and Physical Geography of the Amazons Valley, . . 619
Index, 6y]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Table-topped Hills of the Lower Amazons 5
River-side Vegetation, 9
Flooded Forest of the Upper Amazons (from Keller) 13
On the Banks — Lower Amazons i?
Indian Settlement, 26
The Fort, Para 35
At the Custom-house, 3^
The Assai Stand, 44
The Market Wharf, 46
The Theatre, Para 52
The Washerwoman, Para 56
" Monkey Joe's," • • 57
Estrada de Sao Jose 59
The Botanical Garden 63
Breves Channel, . . 81
The Rubber-gatherer, 84
Preparing Rubber, 85
At Breves 9^
Victoria Regia, 9^
The Pirarucu Fisher 98
Drying Cacao 113
The Beach below Santarem, "7
At the Window 123
Scavengers, 128
Beach Scenes at Santarem, ......•••• 13°
Taperinha Plantation, from the River 152
The Cane-mills— Old and New I54
Picking Tobacco-leaves, . • • 156
Preparing Tobacco, I57
The Plantation House, Taperinha, I59
xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Lace-maker i6o
Looking down from the Cane-field, Tapermha, i6i
Fishing by Torchlight, 164
Looking up the Uaiaia from Taperinha 168
Forest Group, 177
Sandy Campos (Hill-sides) 178
In the Forest, 186
Inajd Palms, 199
Spider Monkeys 206
Young Pacas, 208
Leaf-insect, i, 219
Leaf-insect, 2 221
Longicorn Beetles, 224
The Embarkation, 227
Camp on the Tapajos, 229
Jara Palm 232
Ascending the Rapids, 251
Cacao-orchard, ............. 260
Jose's Family, ............. 263
Thatch-palm on the Campo at Terra-preta 275
Pirarucii (from Keller), 285
Igarape de Cujubim, ............ 287
Village Scene, Alenquer, 296
An Indian Kitchen 299
An Indian Mother, 307
Highland Stream, 318
The River-shore, Curua, 323
Manuel's Hut 325
Looking over the Lowlands from Monte .Alegre, 344
Calabash-tree 348
Serra d'Erere, from the Northeast, 350
View on Lake Maripa 353
Indian Shooting Fish ' 356
Camp Scene on the Maecuru 362
The Spring, 374
Indian Woman making Pottery, ......... 379
Straining the Mandioca, 382
Roasting Farinha, 383
Hammock-weaving, 386
Indian Woman beating Cotton, 389
The Saire, 394
Road-side Scene. Ceara, ........... 404
A Jangada in the Breakers (from Keller) 406
Group of Refugee Children (from a photograph) 413
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. XV
PAGE
The Exodus 415
Refugees Working on the Roads 429
The Reef at Pernambuco, . ^ 439
Bahia, from the Hill 448
Victoria Harbor 45°
Tijuca, from the Bay 452
Rua Primeiro de Marcjo, 453
The Sugar-loaf, from the West 456
The Organ Mountains 45^
Up the Bay 459
Porters waiting for Work 464
Plantation Slaves 469
In the Passeio Publico 47^
Beer-Garden, 478
The Gavea 480
Botafogo and the Corcovado, . • 482
Fruit-seller 485
Poultry-seller 488
Charcoal-seller • • 489
A narrow Street 494
Water-carts in the Largo de Carioca 497
The Sugar-loaf, from the South 5°!
Loading a Ship with Coffee, at Rio, 5^5
Coffee-plantation in Southern Brazil 5^3
The Viveiro 5i<5
Picking Coffee 5i7
Coffee-berries on the Tree 518
The Pulping-machine, 520
Steam Drying-machine, . 521
Diagram of a Coffee-engenho 523
Coffee- sheller (old form) 524
Picking over Coffee 525
Cutting Cane-stalks for the Cattle 527
The Uniao e Industria Road, near Entre Rios, 53°
Coffee Warehouse, 535
Weighing 538
Diagram I. (Appendix), 620
"II ■' 620
" III. " 620
" IV. i< • 621
"V. " 621
Diagram illustrating the Formation of Terraces 632
BRAZIL :
THE AMAZONS AND THE COAST.
CHAPTER I.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY.
ON the fly-leaf of an old copy of Schiller I find this note :
"July 26th, noon, long. 47° 30' W. G., lat. 5° 30' N. Water slightly discolored, assuming a greenish tint ; current from the southwest."
The charts indicate similar discolored patches all along the coast of Guiana, and as far north as lat. 9° or iO°. In these patches the current is from the southwest, south, or southeast. The line of green water runs parallel to the coast, but two or three hundred miles away from it. There are no shoals here ; bottom is beyond the reach of ordinary sound- ings.
Consulting that clever book of travels, Mr. Bates's " Nat- uralist on the Amazons," we find noted on the last page a curious observation made in these seas :
" On the 6th of June, when in 7° 55' N. lat. and 52° 30' W. long., we passed numerous patches of floating grass mingled
2 BRAZIL.
with tree-trunks and withered foliage. Amongst these masses I espied many fruits of ubussii pahns." The ubussii, or bussu {Manicaria saccifera), is an Amazonian tree, growing along the narrow channels about Marajo. "And this," says Mr. Bates, " was the last I saw of the great river."
The green tint, then, is caused by intermixture of fresh water, in which are suspended particles of yellow clay. The fresh water was gathered far westward on the slopes of the Andes ; the clay has been washed from muddy banks over the whole breadth of Brazil.
Farther south, near the equator, and still a hundred miles from land, the sea is much more strongly tinged ; in April and May, indeed, it has nearly the clay-yellow hue of the Amazons itself, and furious currents struggle with each other until the surface boils and seethes as below a cataract. The flood of turbid waters, after this first battle with the ocean, gives way before the yet stronger equatorial current ; its flank is turned, and it sweeps away northward, staining the sea with the blood of its defeat, littering it with debris, madly rushing into the heart of the enemy's country, until its last forces are exhausted and it sinks to annihilation, six hundred miles from the field of battle.
Down on the ocean-floor the king is building his monu- ment ; such an one as you may have seen of the old-time rivers — sheets of sandstone and shale, stretching over hun- dreds of miles, rising into hills and mountains, furrowed by lakes and valleys. We shall see presently how he is building along the great valley ; building, and tearing down, and re- building, with a restless impatience of his own work. But this ocean monument grows steadily, for the river-king wills that his name shall live ; through years and centuries he has been washing away the continent and spreading it under the sea.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 3
From green water to yellow water, and off through the forests and plains of the Amazons valley. It will be rough life for us, with rough pleasures and cares ; but there is health in it, and bright sunshine and green boughs, and a glimpse of nature-love there at nature's heart.
In the outset we must survey our field and see what other explorers have done here.
The Amazons is not the longest river in the world ; it is even a good thousand miles shorter than the geographies would have it, for they set it down at four thousand miles. The more probable estimates give two thousand seven hun- dred and forty miles from Lake Lauricocha along the river- curves to the Atlantic ; or, if the Ucayali be considered as the source, the length is rather more than three thousand miles. In either case, both the Mississippi and the Nile are longer than the South American river. But the Amazons is wider and deeper than either of them ; it carries more water than the two together ; and it has a vastly greater extent of navi- gable surface, what with the side-channels and the mighty tributaries.
This immense river-system, that can stain the sea for six hundred miles from its mouth, is dependent, too, on great causes ; and often very remote ones, which we must seek out carefully. First, the configuration of the land. The north- ern part of South America is a plain — a low one, with gentle slopes. On the western side this plain is bordered by the Andes, snowy peaks away up in the cloud-region. To the north the Andes sweep round through New Grenada and Venezuela ; to the south there are high table-lands in Central Brazil. The plain is, in fact, a great basin, shut in on three sides, but open toward the east. Here the northeast and southeast trade-winds blow in freely, as they blow over the
4 BRAZIL.
tropics all round the earth. Hot winds, sweeping over a warm ocean. They take up water, every hour, until they are full of it — saturated, so that the least puff of cold air sends torrents of rain down over the ocean. When they reach the South American coasts they are heav}' with mois- ture, more than any other winds in the world. The sun is the furnace, the Atlantic is the retort, South America is the receiver.
Cool land-currents strike the trades and condense their moisture. Already, near the coast, there are daily rains ; and then, far to the v/est ward, come freezing Andean winds, meeting the warm ones from the East, whirling about with them, rising and edd^nng and tossing, and filling the sky with clouds at every pace. Here the rains are almost constant, and the air, and ground, and trees, are all soaked and dripping. On the Upper Amazons, if a gun is kept loaded overnight, it will not go off in the morning ; sugar and salt deliquesce so rapidly that it is almost impossible to keep them ; books and furniture and clothes drop to pieces. " All our watches stopped," says Orton.
Now the winds strike cold mountain-sides, snowy peaks, and beds of ice. There yet more of their moisture must be wrung from them, until, dry and cool, they pass on to the Pacific, over a country almost devoid of vegetation, except along the river-courses.
They have not always kept close to the ground. On the Lower Amazons, and as far up as Manaos, the prevailing winds are easterly ; after that the trades form an upper cur- rent, and near the plain there are variable winds, where ed- dying currents from the mountains come in. But on the high Andean peaks the breeze is steadily from the east.
This great basin that I have described receives more rain
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 5
than any other region in the world of hke extent. The water is collected in channels — brooks from the Andes, and streams on the dripping lowlands, and rivers pouring toward the east ; finally the whole is gathered into two great troughs, the Amazons and the Orinoco — two river- systems that are almost combined above, but separated below by the mountains of Guiana, the highest land in the basin. These Guiana mountains will not compare with the Andes ; but they are quite high enough to affect the rainfall. If report be true, indeed, some of the peaks are nearly ten thousand feet above the sea- level ; and even near the Ama- zons there are spurs sixteen hundred feet high — flat-topped
Table-topped Hills of th^ l ■■..-■ A - ,.• ,
hills of Almeyrim and Velha Pobre. To the highest range sweeps our northeast trade-wind, and the Guiana slope is all moist and dripping — a matted forest down to the coast ; Sir Walter Raleigh, wandering there in search of El Dorado, was drenched and steamed into a proper respect for the country. But on the southern side of the range is precisely the driest region along the main Amazons ; dry comparatively, that is, for even there the rains are heavy enough in the winter ; but in August and September there are weeks to- gether without even a shower. So here the great forest is interrupted ; you find it along hill-sides and about the river- courses, but on level ground you shall walk, or gallop if you please, for days, over open stony lands and sandy campos.
6 BRAZIL.
with a stunted growtli of trees — a region altogether unHke
the rest of the valley. Real forest must have good, pouring
rains ; but here the rain has all been stolen away by the
» mountains.
On the other side of the Amazons, if we ascend the Tocantins or the Xingii, we shall find that the summer climate grows drier as we advance, until we reach the great open Scrtao, where dry and wet seasons are sharply divided, and hardly any rain falls from June to November. Even on the Lower Tocantins there is a long, dry season : " It did not rain for three months," we read in Mr. Wallace's book. We shall study the Sertao and its seasons in their proper place ; it will be enough now to remember that wet and dry seasons there depend on the position of the sun. When it is south of the line, the Sertao atmosphere is warmer than the trade-wind, and the rains do not fall ; when it is on the northern side, there are ascending currents and heavy rains. But near the equator this change is hardly felt, and to the westward the cooling winds come all through the year from the Andes.
It is well for us to note these modified regions — the lee of the Guiana highlands, and edges of the Sertao. But they are only little fragments of the great plain ; for the rest it is rain, rain, almost every day — often five or six times in a day — drizzling, pouring, filling up the river-channels, stain- ing the sea beyond. You must not look for a dry season on the Upper Amazons or at Para ; the so-called dry and wet seasons are only marked by lighter or heavier showers. " It rains every day, or it rains all the while," says a voyaging friend of mine.*
At Obidos the whole Amazonian flood is gathered into
* Gait found no inches, by rain-gauge, during one year on the Upper Amazons.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 7
a narrow trough, through which it rushes with mill-race swiftness ; even along the shores it is difficult to force vessels against it. This channel at Obidos is little more than a mile wide,* but it makes up for that by its great depth. Lieut. Herndon sounded it, rather unsatisfactorily : "In what was pointed out as the deepest part I sounded in one hundred and fifty, one hundred and eighty, and two hundred and ten feet, with generally a pebbly bottom. In another place I judged I had bottom in two hundred and forty feet, but the lead came up clean. It is very difficult to get correct soundings in so rapid a current." Wallace found that this current ran four miles per hour in the dry season. Taking these two observa- tions of Herndon and Wallace as our basis, we can venture on a calculation of the amount of water that passes through the strait. With a width of six thousand feet, we may allow an average depth of forty feet — a very low estimate. This would give two hundred and forty thousand feet for the water which is opposite a given foot of space at any one instant. Mr. Wallace's observation was made, no doubt, in mid-stream ; along the banks, and at the bottom, the current is slower. Allow but two and one-quarter miles per hour for the aver- age, that would give over three feet per second, or seven hundred and sixty thousand cubic feet per second in the whole breadth. Von Martins and Wallace, it is true, calcu- lated but five hundred thousand feet per second ; but they must have underestimated the depth. Below Obidos, the Amazons receives the Tapajos, Xingu, and other smaller trib- utaries ; but collectively they can hardly add more than one hundred thousand feet per second. On the whole, if we say that eight hundred and fifty thousand feet per second pass
* 1,892 metres, according to Sr. D. S. Ferreira Penna : A Regiao Occidental da Provincia do Para, p. 141.
8 BRAZIL.
into the ocean by the northern mouth, we are quite within bounds. That is double the outflow of the Mississippi.*
The difference in rainfall is great enough to produce a yearly rise and fall of the river. From December or January to June the winds are stronger, and the cold currents from the West more numerous ; every fisherman knows the vento da ciina — "wind from up-river" — which brings rain almost always, and with it an increase of volume in the river. The rise and fall vary a good deal with the locality and with different years. On the Upper Amazons, about Teffe, there are, in fact, two floods, t corresponding to what may be called two rainy seasons. The first is in November and December, when the showers are somewhat heavier and the river rises fifteen or twenty feet above the summer level ; after that there is a fall of four or five feet before the great rainy season, the one that is felt all over the valley. Perhaps this fall in December is caused by dry weather below the Andes ; for Lieut. Herndon, care- ful collector of facts, has recorded this in Peru : " There is a period of fine weather from the middle of December to the middle of January, called El Vcrano del Nifio, or the sum- mer of the child, from its happening about Christmas. The streams which are fed from the rains of this country invari- ably stop rising, and fall a little after this period." |
At Teffe the highest water is in June : forty-five feet, says Bates, above the summer level, but it varies with different years ; after this the fall continues into October. But here,
* Wallace, on a basis of seventy-two inches per annum, calculates the rainfall of the whole valley at one million five hundred thousand cubic feet per second, and he supposes that half of this is evaporated. This gives nearly the same result.
+ Bates : Naturalist on the Amazons, p. 326.
f Valley of the Amazon, Part I., p. 112.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY.
and elsewhere on the upper rivers, there are repiqiietes — Uttle floods — when the waters increase a few inches only ; these seem to be caused by the sudden rising of one or two tributaries. The great river spreads its arms over such a vast territory that there may be a rainy season about the head- waters of one, while the others are still low.
On the Lower Amazons, however, the repiquetcs are not felt, and the two floods of November and February are hardly sepa- rated. More- over, on the broad lower reaches the rise of wa- ter is not so great ; for while it may be sixty feet on the Pu- r u s , * and forty- five feet, as we i have seen, at Teffe, we shall hardly
find it over thirty-five feet below Obidos. The seasons and the floods are very fickle and irregular,— much to the discom- fort of the Indians, for their yearly fish and turtle harvests depend on this annual rise and fall.
River-side Vegetation.
* According to Brown and Lidstone : Fifteen Thousand Miles on the Amazon, p. 427.
lO BRAZIL.
The Amazonian floods are not at all like the freshets that immerse Albany streets, or burst through the levees in Lou- isiana. Those are caused by melting snows ; but this tropical river-pulsation is entirely dependent on the rains ; the flood comes on gradually, and the water passes off by slow degrees.
Wet or dry season, the temperature is much the same all over the valley, and by no means a scorching equatorial heat such as you may imagine. At Para, it is true, people complain of the sultry days, but you shall see a dozen more sultry ones during any August in New York ; 90° Fahren- heit is about the highest temperature of sunny afternoons,* and the evenings are delightfully cool.
Now, concerning the healthfulness of the river-valley, that is a question with two sides. I can take you from Para to the Andes, along the main river, and you will never have so much as a headache; you can ascend some of the tributaries, and in a week you will be shivering with ague. In general, it may be said that the Amazons region is very healthy ; the ex- ceptions are in lowland swamp-forest, and far up the branch- rivers, among the rapids. Certain rivers, too, are healthy during some years, but unhealthy at other times ; I have found this on the Tocantins, the Xingu, and other branches. Chandless, writing from the Puriis in 1865, says : " It is now very healthy, but some eight years ago fever was so preva- lent and severe one season that the following year four or five men only ventured up the river." If two hundred fever- stricken men are sent down from the Madeira Railroad, it
* 92" or 93°, says Bates ; but Lieut. Herndon's table, made in April, shows nothing above 86°. In the absence of exact data I give the mean. At Manaos, in a series of hourly observations taken through many years, the highest temperature noted was 95° Fahr., and the lowest 68°.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. II
is hardly fair to judge the whole valley by their account. The railroad is located near the great Madeira Rapids, pre- cisely the most sickly spot on that river ; and the men were half-starved besides. I wandered for four years on the Amazons, and never had the ague at all ; I caught it in three days on the Ohio. People live to old age, and are hale and hearty with their gray hairs. You hear sometimes of the "enervating" climate, but even that bugbear is largely imaginary. The white race is lazy here, not because of the climate, but from its own immorality and decay. American residents can and do work as well as in the United States, and they stand the strain better. The only "enervating" effect I ever experienced was a slight lassitude on returning to the changeable northern climate ; but that soon passed awa)'.
To the river-people the floods are a yearly " ebb and flow" — vasante and enchente. But on the Lower Ama- zons there are true ebbs and flows — the regular twelve-hourly tides. Of course, you would look for tides about a river- mouth. But the Amazons is not content with this : it has appropriated to itself a part of the ocean movements, and you find them away up in the fresh water five or six hun- dred miles from the sea. They are modified by the annual rise : during the flood season tides are hardly felt above the Xingii ; but in August and September they are quite distinct at Obidos and on the Lower Tapajos. Bates found them on a secondary branch of the latter river, five hun- dred and thirty miles, as the channels run, from the sea. On the main Amazons they do not stop the current, but retard it ; only through the little side-channels the water is forced back very perceptibly, and canoemen take advantage of this ebb and flow in their voyages.
12 BRAZIL.
You will understand, of course, that the salt water never comes up so far ; on the contrary, it hardly enters the river- mouth at all. At Para, even in the height of the dry season, the river is only slightly brackish, and outside of the islands of Caviana and Mexiana it is still quite fresh. I suppose that the up-river tide is simply caused by the damming up of the current below ; or in part it may be a kind of wave, a back- water from the sea, as pebbles thrown into a pond will send circles to the very brim.
Near the mouth this wave is very apparent. The tide is forced, so to speak, into a funnel, over shoals and against the descending current ; it rises in a great solid mass three or four feet high, uprooting trees along the banks and break- ing canoes that may happen to be in shallow water. This is the celebrated pororoca* a phenomenon which is best seen on the northern side of the river, and during the spring tides. Travellers have had much to say of \.\\q poroi'Lka, and some of them, no doubt, have multiplied it in their fancy. However, the tidal wave is really formidable, and much dreaded by the canoemen, who keep in mid-channel to avoid its force.
The tides below and the river-floods above must spread themselves through a hundred courses, in every possible direc- tion, for the Amazons is not so much a single river as a net- work of large and small channels. Generally we find a main stream — sometimes two — with smaller ones on either side, with islands and swamps and lakes innumerable, forming that great labyrinth to which Brazilians give the name varscas ; geogra-
* Wallace : Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro, p. 129 : La Condamine, etc. The name comes apparently from pororo^, Tupi-Guarany ; the noise caused by breaking or burstins:.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY.
13
phers call it the flood-plain of the Amazons. It is perfectly flat, never raised more than a few inches above high-water level, and everywhere the islands are formed of silt and mud from the river itself. The flood-plain varies greatly in out-
Flooded Forest of the Upper Amazons (tiom Kellor).
line, and there are long projections of it where the tributaries come in. From Manaos to Marajo it may have an average width of thirty miles or more.
14 BRAZIL.
Now, this great band, running across the continent, is a world in itself, with trees and flowers, with quadrupeds, and birds and insects, all different from those of the terra firvie on either side of it. It is well for us to understand in the out- set this first division of the land, because it is the most strik- ing and the most important one of all. By and by, when we come to study the lowlands, we shall have long rambles to take over the meadows and in the shore woods ; we must force our way through swampy jungle, and float in canoes among the shady by-channels and shallow lakes.
In March and April the river has overflowed the varzeas, so that hardly a dry spot is left ; the valley is like a great lake with deeper channels marking the water-courses, and only the submerged forest and floating grass to indicate islands and meadows. Towards the Atlantic this flooded land occupies an area as broad as New England, and the channels are even more tangled than above.
The school geographies, I remember, used to tell us that the mouth of the Amazons was one hundred and eighty miles wide. There was some reason in this, with a great deal of error. If we allow that the mouth extends from the north- ern side of the northernmost channel to the southern side of the Para, then the geographies are right. But the Para is properly a continuation of the Tocantins, and Marajo, the great tract included in this measurement, is not a delta island at all. It is true that nearly the whole of it is formed of river-silt ; but there is a framework of higher and older land, with rock-formations and terra-finne forest, as at Breves, This older land forms a strip, or rather a series of strips, along the southwestern side of the island, and adjoining the net of channels by which the Amazons is connected with
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 1 5
the Para. In these channels the tides ebb and flow ; but the general current, no doubt, is from the Amazons to the Para. So, even in the dry season, the volume of water received by the latter river in this way may be greater than that of the Tocantins, and in the winter the proportion is increased. But, in any case, the amount is very small compared to the great flood which is poured out of the Amazons on the northern side of Marajd. Besides, the Para flows almost north, and right in the course of the Tocantins ; so we may consider it as an estuary mouth of the latter, receiving also the Guama and its branches, and increased by this contribu- tion sent in through the Breves channels. It has a fair claim to Amazonian honors ; but, allowing this, I cannot see why Marajo, a tract as large as the State of New York, should be reduced to the rank of a mere " island in the mouth of the Amazons," nor why the great river should be forced to open its mouth a hundred and eighty miles to choke itself with such a morsel.
The Para itself is thirty miles wide, but it does not stain the sea to a very great distance. North of Marajo the main mouth is about sixty miles across, and much broken by isl- ands ; the principal channel below Macapa is ten or twelve miles wide.* This part of the river is much obstructed by shifting sand-bars, and the fierce currents make it a danger- ous entrance for ships ; so I suppose that the Para will be the commercial mouth of the Amazons as long as the world lasts.
Farther up, the river is deep enough ; fifteen or twenty fathoms, even near the banks, and in the middle it is not easy to sound. The current is swift and steady; the river, in
According to the map of Tardy de Montravel.
l6 BRAZIL.
mass, appears yellowish brown ; but, on the surface at least, it is not a muddy stream like the Mississippi ; if you dip up the water in a glass it will deposit hardly any sediment, and even during the floods it is excellent for drinking. On the Amazonian steamboats, river-water is always kept in great porous jars, for the benefit of passengers.
The river is full of varzea islands, as we have seen. The main channel may be seven or eight miles wide, as near the mouth of the Xingii, but oftener it is only two or three miles. The bends are seldom very sharp ; so you can look up and down to open horizons, where the lines of forest are lifted up by the mirage, and broken into groups and single trees until they disappear altogether : it is like going out to sea.
Above the narrow strait at Obidos we find again an average breadth for the main channels of two miles or more : Herndon tells of sounding in from seventy-five to one hun- dred and fifty feet of water; and away up to Nauta there is yet a navigable channel with six or seven fathoms, and with a current of two and a half or three miles per hour.
It is a wild region, this of the Alto Amaaojias ; a shade more savage, even, than the eastern portion of the valley. The villages are very few, and most of them are mere collec- tions of Indian huts, a dozen together. Only after we pass the Peruvian frontier the population begins to increase a lit- tle toward the Andes ; once in ten or fifteen miles there may be a hamlet crowded against the river banks ; but within there is onh' the unbroken, rayless forest — a solitude that can be felt.
Tabatinga, on the Peruvian frontier, is only two hundred feet, it is said, above the Atlantic. It is difficult, however, to compute the slope of the river-plain. Agassiz supposed that the fall was one foot in ten miles ; Orton gives one foot
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY.
17
in five miles, which is probably nearer the truth. But baro- metrical measurements in this region are not very reliable. Herndon suggests an explanation : "I am led to believe that this irregularity arises from the fact that the trade-winds are dammed up by the Andes, and that the atmosphere in those parts is from this cause compressed, and consequently heavier than it is farther from the mountains." He may be right in part ; but the amount of moisture in the air is a more important element of error. We cannot measure it, for the heaviest layers are high up out of oui reach.* We know, at any rate, that the fall of the river is ver) slight, and it ma> seem strange that the current should be so ^ '^^^^^ rapid. But a river ^^^^ij==^ may run, even on per- fectly level ground, if there is a constant supply of moisture about its head; just as in a trough, which may be exactly level, if water is poured in at one end, it will run out at the other end in a constant stream. Above Nauta, however, the slope increases rapidly, and
On the Banks— Lov
* Chandless makes the mouth of the Puriis one hundred and seven feet above the Atlantic; Keller gives twenty-one metres for the level of the Madeira em- bouchure.
1 8 BRAZIL.
then there is that long south-to-north course where the river rushes and foams down the rocky valley from its lake-cradle in the Andes. It is little more than a pond, this lake of Lauricocha; the hills around are bare and bleak to the snowy Cordilleras that feed it.
Fragments of pumice-stone float down from the Andean volcanoes, and are picked up even on the shores of Marajo. Melting snows swell the volume of water ; granite and gneiss and slate from the mountains have been washed away to form these varzea islands, to build up the sea-bottom half-way to the West Indies.
Long ago Pingon told of a fresh-water sea which he had found on the South American coast, where, it is affirmed, he filled his water-casks while yet he could not see the shore.* Pinion's voyage was made in 1500, and he discovered this fresh water about March of that year — /. c, during the flood season ; so we may suppose that he actually did find fresh water far outside of the river-mouth, though we may doubt the forty leagues which Herrera and others credit. Probably he had sailed about forty leagues from his last land- ing-place, but in a line almost parallel to the coast.
A wonderful sight it must have been to the explorer and his company. They dipped up the yellow water for their casks, but all around there was clear horizon — never a tree or a sandbar. It is written, however, that " wishing to know this secret, he approached the land ; and there were there many beautiful and verdant islands, with much people, who received the sailors with as great love as if they had always known them." With true Spanish brutality they rewarded the faith of these simple-hearted savages. " Not finding
* Herrera : Hist. Gen. de las Indias, Tom. I., p. 90 ; J. C. da Silva: L'Oyapoc et I'Amazone, vol. ii., ^ 2530-2583.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. I9
provisions in this place, they took away with them thirty- six men, and so sailed on to Paria."
These were the first tidings of the mighty king-river. It is interesting to read in the '' Capitulation" of Pinion, how " with the help of God our Lord, and with your own industry and labor and diligence, you discovered certain islands and main land ; and from thence you followed the coast, which runs to the northeast, to the great river, which you called Saint Mary of the Fresh-Water Sea — Santa Maria de la Mar Dtilce/' *
This was the first name given to the river, except that older and better one of the Indians, Parana, the sea ; after- wards it was Mar anon and Rio das Amazonas, from the female warriors that were supposed to live near its banks. Yet for the moment we will draw Pincon's name out of its oblivion and let it stand in our chapter.
After Pingon's time, there were others who saw the fresh- water sea, but no one was hardy enough to venture into it. The honor of its real discovery was reserved for P^rancisco de Orellana ; and he explored it, not from the east, but from the west, in one of the most daring voyages that was ever recorded.
It was accident, rather than design, that led him to it. After Alonzo Pizarro had conquered Peru, he sent his brother Gonzalo, with three hundred and forty Spanish soldiers and four thousand Indians, to explore the great forest east of Quito, " where there were cinnamon-trees." The expedition started late in 1539, and it was two years
* Capitulation de Vincent Pin(;on. This curious document was copied from a manuscript in Madrid, and first published by Sr. J. C. da Silva, as an appendix of his L'Oyopoc et I'Amazone — a work, I may add, which shows an amount of re- search not at all common with Brazilians.
20 BRAZIL.
before the starved and ragged survivors returned to Quito. In the course of their wanderings they had struck the river Coco ; building here a brigantine, they followed down the current, a part 'of them in the vessel, a part on shore. After awhile they met some Indians, who told them of a rich country ten days' journey beyond — a country of gold, and with plenty of provisions. , Gonzalo placed Orellana in com- mand of the brigantine, and ordered him, with fifty soldiers, to go on to this gold-land, and return with a load of pro- visions. Orellana arrived at the mouth j:if the Coco in three days, but found no provisions ; " and he considered that if he should return with this news to Pizarro, he would not reach him in a year, on account of the strong current, and that if he remained where he was, he would be of no use to the one or to the other. Not knowing how long Gonzalo Pizarro would take to reach the place, without consulting any one he set sail and prosecuted his voyage onward, in- tending to ignore Gonzalo, to reach Spain, and obtain that government for himself.''*
Down the Napo and the Amazons, for seven months, these Spaniards floated to the Atlantic. At times they suffered terribly from hunger: "There was nothing to eat but the skins which formed their girdles, and the leather of their shoes, boiled with a few herbs." When they did get food they were often obliged to fight hard for it ; and again they were attacked by thousands of naked Indians, who came in canoes against the Spanish vessels. At some Indian villages, however, they were kindly received and well fed, so they could rest safely while building a new and
* Garcilasso Inca de la Vega : Royal Commentaries. Translation published by the Hakluyt Society. Herrera, however, supposes that Orellana may have con- tinued the voyage with Gonzalo's permission.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 21
stronger vessel. Think what a picture these iron -clad sol- diers must have made, with the naked Indians about them and the great rolling forest behind.
On the 26th of August, 1541, Orellana and his men sailed out to the blue water, " without either pilot, com- pass, or anything useful for navigation ; nor did they know what direction they should take." Following the coast, they passed inside of the island of Trinidad, and so at length reached Cubagua in September. From the king of Spain Orellana received a grant of the land he had discovered ; but he died while returning to it, and his company was dispersed.
It was not a very reliable account of the river that was given by Orellana and his chronicler. Padre Carbajal. So Herrera tells their story of the warrior females, and very properly adds : " Every reader may believe as much as he likes." Of these Amazon women, more anon ; whether they existed or not, they did not mix in white-race affairs, so we may dismiss them for the present.
Lope de Aguirre's voyage, in 1561, has some similarity to Orellana's. He was one of those who followed Pedro de Ursua in his search for Omagua and El Dorado. They came down the river Huallaga to the Amazons, and there this Lope de Aguirre and others conspired against their chief, and murdered him ; elected Guzman to the command, and murdered him also ; finally, formed themselves into a piratical band, the " Maraiiones," * threw off allegiance to Spain, and continued their search for El Dorado to the east- ward. It appears that they followed down the Amazons to the Negro, and ascended that river to the Casiquiare canal,
* Whence, perhaps, the name of the river, Maranon or Maranhao ; but it is more probable that the word comes from the Tupi para/fd.
22 BRAZIL.
and so to the Orinoco ; by this latter stream they reached the sea. Their whole journey was marked by savage mur- ders, cruelty of every kind, brutality beyond parallel, even in the Spanish chronicles. "Traitor Aguirre," and "ty- rant," the historians call him ; I wish that the hangman had found him before ever he left Peru. " It was noticed," says Padre Simon, " that he was growing morose because many days had elapsed since an occasion had offered to kill any one." *
Lope sent a letter to King Philip of Spain — one of the most remarkable documents, in its way, that was ever pro- duced ; and in the matter of strong language it would be hard to match it :
" I take it for certain," remarks this robber, " that few kings go to hell, only because they are few in number ; but that if there were many, none of them would go to heaven. For I believe that you are all worse than Lucifer, and that you hunger and thirst after human blood ; and further, I think little of you, and .despise you all, nor do I look upon yoiu" go\crnment as more than an air-bubble."
Aguirre's description of his voyage, in this letter, is a pithy resume of it :
" They named me Maestro del Campo, and because I did not con- sent to their evil deeds, they desired to murder me. I therefore killed our new king, the captain of his guard, his lieutenant-general, four cap- tains, his major-domo, his chaplain who said mass, a woman, a knight of the order of Rhodes, an admiral, two ensigns, and five or six of his servants. It was my intention to carry on the war, on account of the many cruelties which thy ministers had committed. I named captains and sergeants ; but these men also wanted to kill me, and I hung them.
* Primera Parte de las Noticias Historicas de las Conquistas de Tierra Firme.
Translated and published by the Hakluyt Society.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 23
We continued our course while all this evil was befalling us, and it was eleven months and a half before we reached the mouth of the river, having travelled for more than a hundred days, over more than fifteen hundred leagues. This river has a course of two thousand leagues of fresh water, the greater part of the shores being uninhabited ; and God only knows how we ever escaped out of this fearful sea. I advise thee not to send any Spanish fleet up this ill-omened river ; for, on the faith of a Christian, I swear to thee, O King and Lord, that if a hundred thou- sand men should go up, not one would escape."
In a contradictory mood he finishes :
" We pray God that thy strength may ever be increased against the Turk and the Frenchman, and all others who desire to make war against thee ; and we shall give God thanks if, by our arms, we attain the re- wards which are due to us, but which thou hast denied us ; and, because of thine ingratitude, I am a rebel against thee until death.
(Signed) " LoPE DE Aguirre, the Wanderer."
Forttniately, the madman and his crew were defeated in a battle with the royal forces ; on this he killed his own daugh- ter, " that she might not be pointed at with scorn as the daughter of a traitor ; " and then gave himself up ignobly, when, as I am glad to learn, he was immediately put to death. Will-o'-the-wisp lights flicker on the llanos : the country people cross themselves when they see these reddish flames — " the soul of the traitor Aguirre." *
Para had already been founded, in 16 16, when two monks of the Order of San Francisco came down the river. They had been driven from the Peruvian missions by savage In- dians ; they floated down in a canoe, with fear and trembling, "like persons who were each day in the hands of death," From Para these monks went on to Maranhao, where they
* Humboldt : Reise.
24 BRAZIL.
persuaded the governor, Noronha, to explore tne river and carry them back to Peru. Pedro Texeira was chosen to com- mand the expedition ; he set out in 1637, with over forty canoes, containing seventy Portuguese soldiers and twelve hundred Indians, with women and boys, — in all, two thousand persons.
Not all commanders are so well chosen. This man Tex- eira was gifted with prudence and wisdom ; but withal he was bold and persevering — just the man to carry a great expedi- tion through an unknown country. The Indians deserted him ; his soldiers would have turned back ; only his skill and tact kept them from open mutiny. Benito Rodrigues was sent ahead as pioneer ; the captain followed in his track, and so, after a whole year, they all reached the Spanish settle- ments in Peru. Texeira left the canoes in command of trusted officers, and went on to Quito.
At that time Portugal and its possessions were united to Spain ; the Spanish viceroy, therefore, received Texeira with open arms, and not a little surprised he must have been at such a wonderful adventure. When Texeira returned, in February, 1639, a Jesuit priest was sent with him as a chron- icler ; this was Pedro Cristoval de Acuiia, to whom we owe our first intelligible account of the river.
I, for one, respect the old writer most thoroughly. One wades through scores of rubbishy books on Brazil, and this simple, vivid story shines forth a light in the darkness. I keep my Nuevo Descuhrimiento, with Bates, and Wallace, and Penna, for constant reference. It is true that Acuna gives credit to certain Indian fables, but he always presents these reports as such ; and I cannot wonder at his faith in them, remembering that the whole region was a terra incog- nita, which rumor had already peopled with El Dorados,
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 2$
and dwarfs, and one-eyed men. Now, when all men believe a thing, it is human nature to add our belief to that of all men, be it for graveyard ghosts or the atomic theory. If a hundred million Christians believed that the moon was made of green cheese, you and I would believe it too.
Acuiia does not fall into many errors. He speaks much of the tributaries, of the channels and islands, of the forest and the fertile soil ; and dwells strongly on the importance of the Amazons as a highway across the continent : I hope his dreams may be realized yet. One can sympathize with the enthusiasm which writes : '' The river has rich reward for all who will come. To the poor it offers sustenance ; to the laborer, a return for his work ; to the merchant, employ- ment ; to the soldier, a field of valor ; to the rich, yet greater riches ; to the noble, honors ; to the powerful, estates ; and to the King himself, a new empire."
Acuna and the others found a host of Indian villages along the banks, so close together in some places that they formed a continuous line. " They are engaged in constant wars, in which they kill and take prisoners great numbers of souls every day. This is the drain provided for so great a multitude, without which the whole land would not be large enough to hold them." However, I think that the most of this population was close to the river-banks ; the deep forest was as wild as it is now, with only half-animal roving Indian families.
The Indians found worse enemies than their own neigh- bors : Portuguese slavery on one side, Spanish bloodhounds and arquebuses on the other ; fighting bravely, or submit- ting as they might, they were swept away by thousands, un- til the land was left desolate. Already in Acuna's time, Benito Maciel was enslaving them on the Tapajos ; the Jesuit
26
BRAZIL.
cried against this wickedness, as Jesuit missionaries cried for a century after, until they were driven out of the country. They were heroes, these priests ; bigots, I grant you, but their great hearts rose above it all ; even the wild savages re- spected them. The Amazons, to this day, would be as im- passable as Central Africa, but for the Jesuit missionaries — man-tamers and peace-makers worthy of their martyrdom.*
The villages, now, are few and far between ; but there are good and gentle people in them, white or brown. They
Indian Settlement-
are close to the river-banks ; within there is only the thick wood, without roads, without paths even — the largest forest in the world. Suppose we allow two millions five hundred thousand square miles for the valley, the highest possible es-
* The Jesuits taught in the lingua-geral^ a somewhat corrupted form of the Tupi. For a long time this language was used almost exclusively on the Amazons, but it is now supplanted by the Portuguese, in most places.
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 2/
timate of the population will give one million souls — two for every five square miles. The province of Alto Amazonas contains, in round numbers, seven hundred and fifty thousand square miles, and the whole registered population is hardly fifty-five thousand ; add to this the wild Indians, and we may possibly have one hundred thousand — one for seven and one-half square miles, and these few are gathered in villages, little specks in the wilderness.
Imagine, if you can, this matted forest — this maze of col- umns, and branches, and leaves, and looping vines. Imagine a region where you must cut your path right and left ; where sunshine hardly reaches the ground ; where man is an in- truder— an insult, almost, to the solitude. There is no desert like this, for in the great plains of Asia and Africa you can look about and know if there be other human beings near you ; here, you could be but half a mile from one of these tiny villages — and you starving withal, blind to your safety, invisible to the world.
You have heard that marvellous story of Madame Godin des Odonais : how she wandered alone through these forests, and yet was saved, as by a miracle. Twenty years she had been parted from her husband ; his letters to her had been lost by the faithlessness of a messenger ; she, in Quito, only knew of a Portuguese boat which was waiting on the Upper Amazons to convey her to him at Cayenne.
Remember, this was in 1769, when even the mission- stations were very few. The route is difficult now, even for strong men ; but this Frenchwoman braved it when the at- tempt must have seemed like madness. Her father went before, to have men and canoes ready for her at each station, and she followed down the Bobonassa branch in a boat, with several persons. Two of these were her brothers, and there
2 8 BRAZIL.
was a nephew of nine or ten years, with a French physician who was travelling the same way ; for servants she had a negro man and three women. Her father had arranged for their embarkation at Canelos, but meanwhile the small-pox had appeared there, and the Indians had left the place. So here they could get no crew, and the Peruvians who had come over the mountains with them would go no farther — deserted them in their sore need. Still, with two men who remained at Canelos, they ventured to embark ; but on the third morning these two deserted them also, and they had to go on without a pilot. The Bobonassa is full of rapids ; as might have been expected, their boat was presently upset, and the party was obliged to land. After that Madame Godin and her brothers resolved to remain on the bank, while the French physician and her negro slave went on to Andoas ; the Frenchman promised to send back a properly manned canoe for them w^ithin two weeks. Those who re- mained built a hut, and waited vainly for twenty-five days.
Then, "giving up all hope, they constructed a raft, on which they ventured themselves with their provisions and property. The raft, badly made, struck against a sunken tree ; all their effects were lost, and the whole party was thrown into the water. Thanks to the narrowness of the river at this place, no one was drowned, Madame Godin being happily saved after twice sinking. Placed now in a more terrible situation, they resolved to follow down the banks of the river. They returned to their hut, took what provisions they had left behind, and began their journey along the river- side. They found that its sinuosities greatly lengthened their way ; to avoid this they penetrated the forest, and in a few days lost themselves. Wearied by so many days' march through the midst of woods, their feet torn by thorns and brambles, their provisions exhausted, and dying of thirst, they seated themselves on the ground, too weak to stand, and waited thus the approach of death ; in three or four days they expired, one after another. Madame Godin, stretched on the ground by
THE GREAT RIVER AND Tl'S HISTORY. 29
the corpses of her brothers, stupefied, delirious, and tormented with choking thirst, at length assumed resolution and strength enough to wander on. Such was her deplorable condition, that she was without shoes, and her clothes all torn to rags ; she cut the shoes off her brothers' feet, and fastened the soles on her own. It was on the ninth day after she left this place when she reached the banks of the Bobonassa ; she assured me that she was ten days alone in the woods — two awaiting death by the side of her brothers, the other eight wandering at random. On the second day's march, the distance necessarily inconsiderable, she found water, and the succeeding day some wild fruit and fresh eggs — of what bird she knew not, but by her description I judge that it was some kind of partridge ; she ate them with the greatest difficulty, her throat being so parched and swollen ; but these, and other food she accident- ally met with, sufficed to support her skeleton frame."
When at length she reached the river, by the merest ac- cident she encountered two Indians who were just launching a canoe from the bank ; they took her to Andoas, whence she finally reached the Portuguese vessel at Tabatinga, and was conveyed to her husband.
" The remembrance of the terrible spectacle, the horror of solitude and the darkness of night in the desert, had such an effect on her mind that her hair turned gray." *
Since Madame Godin's time the forest has been traversed again and again, the river has been explored and re-ex- plored by a host of distinguished travellers, but to this day the country is as wild as she saw it. A few more villages there are ; a few more people in the old ones ; but far in the interior there are great tributary rivers of which we know nothing — Indian tribes who have never seen a white face.
After La Condamine's time came Martius, studying the
* Letter from M. Godin des Odonais to M. de la Condamine, published by the latter.
30 BRAZIL.
plants — " mcine Fre^inde" he said ; sweet flowers and noble forest-trees, and waving grasses ; he wrote beautiful prose poetry about them. The Englishmen, Smythe and Mawe, and the Prussian, Poepig, explored the Upper Amazons ; D'Orbigny travelled on the Madeira, and Castelnau on the Ucayale ; Tardy de Montravel mapped the Lower Amazons ; and with these we come to the explorers of our own day.
I have already spoken of Mr. Bates and his book. This gentleman was an English naturalist, who came to the Ama- zons in 1848, and lived in the river-towns for eleven years. Of course, he had far better advantages for studying the country and the people than a mere transient traveller ; his book is really invaluable for its descriptions, which are, be- sides, very readable. Mr. Wallace, who came with Mr. Bates, travelled at first in his company ; subsequently he explored the Rio Negro and its affluent the Uapes, and gave us much reliable information about a little known region.
In 1850 the United States Government sent two naval officers, Lieuts. Herndon and Gibbon, to explore the Ama- zons valley. Herndon examined the Peruvian tributaries ; Gibbon visited the Bolivian ones, and the reports of both were subsequently published at Washington. They are crowded with information, reliable in most cases, but not very well digested. Agassiz' expedition is too well known to need comment. Mrs. Agassiz wrote a clever narrative of the voyage, but, beyond a few scientific papers, the results of the Amazons survey have never been published. Prof. Orton's book is comprehensive, but very unreliable ; for my part, I would far rather trust the much older American book of Mr. Edwards, which has no greater fault than the bad spelling of Indian and Portuguese words.
One other American remains to be noticed. Prof Hartt
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 3 1
came to the Amazons in 1870, and again in 1871. He ex- plored less and studied more — studied as few have the power to study, with marvellous acuteness and accuracy. There is hardly a superfluous word in his writings ; alas that there are so few of them I He died, before his work was half done, a victim of yellow fever at Rio de Janeiro.
The Englishman, Chandless, merits hardly less praise; to him we owe the careful explorations of the Puriis and Jurua, and a survey of the Tapajos through its whole length. A brave traveller he was, and a modest ; one would be glad of something more than his few papers in the Proceedings of the Geographical Society.
Of Brazilian explorers, there are three modern ones who especially deserve attention : Penna, Barboza Rodriguez, and Coutinho. The first is a gentleman of Para, who has often been employed by the provincial government for the exami- nation of various districts ; his reports are good and very reliable. Dr. Barboza Rodriguez is a well-known Brazilian botanist, who was commissioned by the imperial govern- ment to collect and study plants. As an explorer he was enterprising and persevering ; as a writer he would be valu- able if he confined himself to facts : his absurd theories and constant quarrels with other authorities have hidden the real value of his work. Coutinho is a government engineer, who has travelled all over the Amazons valley ; readers of Mrs. Agassiz's book will remember how he was chosen to accompany the professor and his party. Coutinho's reports are not voluminous, but some of them are very good.
One of the Brazilian Government explorations was placed in charge of Franz Keller, a German engineer. On his re- turn to Europe this gentleman published a book, which was subsequently republished in English. " The Amazons and
32 BRAZIL.
the Madeira River" is very readable, but its chief value hes in the magnificent illustrations from Keller's own pencil. I might mention at least a hundred other authors who have written about the Amazons : most of the Brazilian ones are buried in government reports ; the others A\'rote journals of travel and personal adventure, or historical notices of greater or less value. Any one who has been obliged to wade through this mass will be glad enough to be spared a re- hearsal of it.
A great step in advance was made when steamboats were placed on the Amazons, in 1852. Of course, the line was run on a government subsidy ; every new enterprise must have a subsidy in Brazil. But since the first one was started, independent lines have sprung up, and they have succeeded very well. At first, the river merchants declined to submit to the innovation ; they shipped their rubber and cacao by canoes as before, until they learned that the steamboats could take them at half the expense and in a quarter of the time ; so the old canoe trafhc was given up, new trading centres were formed along the river, and the steamboats became a necessity as much as they are on the Hudson.
In 1867 Brazil opened the Amazons to all flags — made it, in fact, a free highway, like the ocean. But she forgot to take away the heavier burden of her export duties, and she could not give a population to attract commerce. It was a great step in advance, but a step that "vvill be felt in the future more than in our day. Very few foreign ships come here now ; why should they come to these deserts ?
Yet it is no wonder that Brazilians proudly call the Ama- zons the Mediterranean of America. Not alone for the main stream ; the great branches spread their arteries in all direc- tions, navigable often for hundreds of miles. And so the
THE GREAT RIVER AND ITS HISTORY. 33
great stream flows on, through the richest region on earth, yet the least known ; where tropical heats are tempered by the refreshing trade-winds, and the climate is wholesome almost everywhere ; where all nature seems to invite man to come, yet the region of all others that man has forsaken — a glorious desert, an overflowing wilderness.
Will the regeneration come soon ? Sooner than we look for, maybe. Brazil gave the signal by this opening of the river to free navigation. Bankrupt Peru dreams yet of her railroad over the Andes ; if she ever builds it, her commerce will go, not westward to the Pacific, but eastward to the Huallaga and Maranon. The Mamore Railroad is surveyed around the falls of the Madeira. It may be abandoned for the present ; even if it is built now it will not be a paying enterprise for many years ; but some time it must become an achieved fact, and Bolivia will look back with wonder on her mule-train commerce. Colombia has had commissioners at work ex- ploring the lea, and steamboats have penetrated from Para almost to her capital. These are but signs; and in South America the march of improvement is slow. But, be it soon or late, the destiny of the Amazons is sure. Even the Darien ship-canal, if it is ever made, cannot compete with this straight, deep channel for the trade of the western republics.
CHAPTER II.
PARA.
THERE are white breakers on the Braganca shoal ; wind from the northeast, and three thousand miles of ocean vigor in its puffs. It slaps the waves into foam, and showers salt spray in your face, sweeps up the beaches and away through the dark forest and over the continent to the snow- caps on the other side. Trade-wind, forsooth ! Play-wind, race-wind, wake-up-wind, pitch-and-tumble-wind ; you pace the deck and stop every minute to draw a longer breath of it. So you get your portion of life from this air, as some hun- dred thousand trees are getting theirs on every square mile of the great plain. Give it yet another name : life-wind. The trees are waving and nodding in the fulness of their quiet joy ; out here the surf gleams, and the gulls are whirl- ing about in our wake, and you and I at the mouth of the Para river are enjoying it all.
There is a line of forest to the south, with sand-beaches here and there ; to the north, only a blank horizon ; for this channel is thirty miles wide ; only far up, the shores of Marajo come in sight, another line of woods, just visible. Truth to tell, the Para is no more a river than Delaware bay is ; it is simply the broad estuary mouth of the Tocantins. With that, and the Guama, and what it may get from the Amazons, it
PARA.
35
has just enough of clay-stained water to tinge the sea a little, outside of Braganca.
It is deep, and unobstructed in the main channel. The tide sweeps in and out, four miles an hour in some places ; sailing vessels must wait for it, rolling about beyond the bar. There is a queer little tub-like light-ship ; for the rest, nothing but red-sailed fishing vessels or pilot-boats, and the forest line, growing more distinct as we near it. After awhile we can distinguish a few tile-roofed buildings on the shore — brick-works, many of them, or farm-houses, with rows of cocoanut palms and bright green banana plants, and orange groves behind. The larger houses have little white chapels before them, and a cross by the water-side ; the thatched huts may belong to Indian or mulatto fishermen. Near the city the channel is narrowed by islands — and such islands ! All glorious they are with regal palms and tangled vines and tall forest trees. Then there is the little round cheese-box fort, in seeing which we speculate curiously
The Fort, Para.
whether the big gun on the parapet would be more danger- ous to a hostile ship or to the walls themselves : and we come to anchor three miles below Para.
A city, this is, with a manifest destiny : a city of the future, that shall yet enrich the world with its commerce. Some time — who knows — it may be the true metropolis of Brazil. I can suppose that. Rio de Janeiro is far removed
36 BRAZIL.
from the commercial world, a good five thousand miles front New York, and farther from Europe. Para is nearer by almost half that distance ; if it has not the harbor of Rio, it has what the southern city lacks — splendid water-communi- cation straight througli the heart of the continent ; and this valley, if people did but know it, is the richest part of South America. Para has her title of nobility : by her situation she is queen of the Amazons.
The city looks unimportant enough from the river ; a row of white- and yellow- washed warehouses along the water- front ; the ancient-looking custom-house ; and, rising over all, the square towers of two or three churches. Rampant swamp-forest draws close in on either side, as if it would re- claim its royal domain and bury the town in green glories ; turbid water sweeps angrily around the point, and the score or two of vessels lying before it tug at their anchors and rock uneasily. We sit on deck and watch the grpat purple storm- clouds piling themselves up in the eastern sky, and the sun- touched towers sharply outlined against them — purple pas- sion-robes for this tropic queen. And we dream of white- sailed vessels bearing to all climes the wealth of the Amazons and the Andes ; rows of stately warehouses, and pillared man- sions, and parks that shall eclipse all art in their splendor of tropical vegetation. But then — so it goes with dreams — the purple clouds change to black and send down a deluge of rain over the ship, hiding our sunset towers and dissolving our air-castles.
There are no piers, except the small ones of the Amazo- nian Steamboat Company. Freight is landed in lighters, and passengers and luggage are taken ashore in boats, whereof there is a small fleet, manned by exceedingly dirty Portuguese boatmen ; you pay from one dollar to ten, according to the
PARA. 37
state of the tides atid your ovv'n state of greenness. However, our deep-draught steamer has to anchor so far below the town that it would be a long pull for the men and the pas- sengers' purses ; so a steam-launch is arranged for us all. We leave the good City of Rio de Janeiro a little loath, for it has grown home-like during our voyage ; we are proud of the ship as a splendid specimen of American skill, and proud of Captain Weir and his officers as American sailors and gen- tlemen.
We move up the river in the rich morning sunshine, land- ing at the custom-house wharf, where all foreign baggage must be examined. Climbing the oozy, half-ruined stairs, we pause curiously at the top to catch our first impressions of the city. There is a little pagoda-shaped building on the wharf, with sleekly dressed custom-house officials sitting by the door. Grouped around are negro porters, cartmen with red sashes about their waists, rough- looking sailors, women with trays of oranges, diminutive horses and donkeys drag- ging two-wheeled carts — a rich tropical picture in a glowing frame of sunshine. And now we notice that the sun makes itself felt less in heat than in light. The temperature is not oppressively high ; a New Yorker, transported to Para in August, would call it refreshing ; but, blazing and quivering in the air, streaming down through every alley, flooding streets and house-tops, comes the dazzling white light. Red and yellow colors are painful ; shadows are dark pits cut out of the ground, and an object in the shade is defined only by vivid degrees of blackness. It takes a long time for the eyes to accustom themselves to this superabundance of sunshine.
The custom-house is an immense stone structure with two great towers at the end, recalling its ancient glories. It was formerly a convent, but, by the decay and final extinc-
38
BRAZIL.
tion in Para of the order that tenanted it, the building re- verted to the government and was turned over to its present uses ; only the little chapel is still reserved for religious pur- poses. The walls are all blackened with mildew, and clusters of weeds grow about the tile-roof; within, the long, dark corridors and massive pillars stand in stern contrast to the piles of barrels and boxes and crates of wine. The walls may have their dark secrets ; many a noble life has burned itself out in these old convents. But our baggage inspector does
not concern himself about that ; he glances through his gold- rimmed spectacles with a critical eye for our trunks and va- lises, and brings up no pictures of gray-robed monks and penitential tears.
Speaking from my own experience, I have nothing to say against the Brazilian custom-house official, who is courteous enough, though with a consuming sense of his own impor- tance, developed precisel)'- in inverse proportion to his rank in the service. Some travellers appear to think that they
PARA. 39
cannot pass the Brazilian frontier without bribing the officers. This is unjust. In all ni)^ travels I never paid out a milreis in that way, and never had occasion to. A little quiet polite- ness is all that is required. But then, in larger matters the custom-houses are as bad as similar establishments are the world over, and with the added stupidity of these petty offi- cers to make them worse. Cases of dishonesty are common enough, and illegal extortion is allowed more or less all through Brazil. Probably the Para alfandcga is as good as any ; some of its rulers, I know, are excellent men ; but, even at the best, there are endless delays and troubles, and possible loss, for any one who has goods to bring through.
From the custom-house, passing the line of stately royal palms by the water-side, we stroll down the Rjia da Lnpcra- triz. It is a broad, well-paved street, with rows of prim- looking white and yellow buildings, two and three stories high ; tall, arched door- ways, and those ugly green doors that are seen in all tropical American cities. Here the largest wholesale houses are located — orderly establishments, the counting-room and warehouse generally together on the ground floor, while the stories above may be occupied for offices and dwellings. The proprietor looks cool and respec- table in his spotless white linen clothes. If we enter the store he will receive us politely, but in business hours he is not given to wasting time in words ; in financial matters we will find him careful and methodical — not easily outwitted even by a Yankee. In large transactions, the Para merchant is governed, perhaps, rather by a wholesome regard for the law than by any abstract moral reasoning. In retail busi- ness, I am bound to say that he is quite as reasonable as his northern brother. One seldom has occasion for "beating down " a shop-keeper.
40 BRAZIL.
On the Riia da Inipcratriz we see nothing of that con- fusion of boxes and bales, carts and wagons, that character- izes a northern wholesale street. There are a few heavy carriages, but all burdens are carried on the heads of Portu- guese and negro workmen, or on the ugly little two-wheeled carts. One feature which strikes us favorably is the absence of that gaudy array of projecting signs, which is such an eye- sore in a northern city. Instead of being obliged to twist our necks, trying to find a name in the confusion, we see it printed in small, legible characters on the side of the white door- way, attracting the attention at once. But in the neigh- boring Rmi dos Mercadores the retail stores are often cov- ered with kalsomine patterns, got up with an artistic eye to the possibilities of ugliness, and with whole advertisements printed on them. This Riia dos Mercadores may be called the fashionable shopping street, though the phrase seems misapplied in a place where ladies hardly ever enter a store. During the morning hours it is very lively, and not unpictur- esque. The dry-goods merchants hang bright-colored cloths and hammocks about their doors, and some of them have their shop-fronts decorated with gorgeous banners or huge gilt devices. Horse-cars (mule-cars, rather,) run through the street, and are generally well filled with pleasure-seekers go- ing to Nazareth, or business men coming from their houses. Looking down to the Largo do Palaeio, you see the gray cathedral towers in the background rising above the low buildings of the street.
The shops themselves are small, but well stocked ; the different branches of trade occupying separate establish- ments, as in a northern town. The scale of prices is in- structive. French broadcloths, silks and woollen goods are nearly, or quite, as cheap as in the United States ; cotton
PARA. 41
cloths, shoes, cutlery, etc., range from fifty to a hundred per cent, higher ; glass and wooden wares are abomina- bly dear ; while coffee, sugar and cotton, which the country ought to produce in surplus, cost more than at home. Books and paper are high-priced and of very inferior manu- facture.
But the tropical side of Para commerce is seen in the market. We must visit it before the sun is high, for it is almost deserted later in the day. It occupies nearly a whole block ; approaching on the side of the RiLa da Imperatriz we see nothing remarkable about the exterior, which is much like the Vv'hitewashed stores around it ; only, gathered about the high, arched door-way, there are groups of noisy ne- gresses, some of them with trays of fruit which they are retailing to passers-by — piles of glossy oranges, bunches of yellow bananas and plantains, fragrant pineapples and the less familiar mangoes and alligator-pears. Their business involves an immense amount of wrangling, but we can forget that in the artistic effect of the scene, the unconscious grace of attitude, and the richness of contrasted color in fruit and dress and shining black faces. Passing these, we enter the main building — a long, tile-roofed corridor, running around a square court, towards which it is everywhere open. The meat and fish-stalls are in this court. The corridor is lined with stands for the sale of fruit, vegetables, tobacco, and cheap trinkets.
So much for the building ; but the scene within is inde- scribable ; it is not so much one picture as a hundred, all melting into one another, and changing and rechanging like the colors of a kaleidoscope. Not like a street scene with its rapid movement ; nobody is in a hurry, but hardly anybody is still ; as if the whole visible world were in a chronic state
42 BRAZIL.
of sauntering. And we saunter along with the rest, watch- ing the animated groups around us.
Standing here, we can get the background of that fruit- stand, with its heaped-up purple and gold. The coatless and barefooted fruit-sellers glance at us curiously as they wait on their customers — servant-girls, for the most part, who have been sent to fill their baskets with oranges and bana- nas. Here comes a dark-skinned Diana — a stately mulatto woman, with her crimson skirt gathered in picturesque folds at the waist, and her white chemise falling away negligently from one shoulder ; her fine face is set to an expression of infinite scorn, of withering contempt too deep for words. To be sure, all this acting is occasioned by a difl'erence of three or four cents in the price of a string of beads, and the villanous-looking Portuguese gimcrack-seller who is the ob- ject of her wrath only laughs diabolically, and makes himself look a degree uglier than before ; soon she catches sight of an acquaintance, and her scorn melts into a broad grin. So the two stroll away together, chattering as only these women can.
That dark, handsome fellow, daintily sipping his paper cigar, is a inameluco — so Brazilians call a cross between the Indian and white races. Something of the flashing Lusita- nian fire he has, shining through the indolent grace of his ges- tures ; much of the half-savage independence of his brown ancestors ; but the mixture is tempered neither by the intel- ligence of the white nor the docility of the brown races ; the mamehu'os bear a deservedly hard name on the Amazons.
Squatted on the stone pavement is a toothless old crone, half Indian, half mulatto, with a pot of yellow viingau soup — a preparation of tapioca and bananas. Her customers — mostly Portuguese cartmen and sailors — recei\'e their por-
PARA. 43
tions in black calabashes, and swallow the mixture with evident gusto, gossiping, meanwhile, with one another, or exchanging not over-delicate remarks with the negro and mulatto servant-girls who pass them. These latter bring pails and earthen pans on their heads, and a little farther on w^e see a score of them grouped about a butcher's stall ; the new-comers set their pans on the counter and produce little bundles of copper money ; the butcher cuts the meat into shapeless chunks and, by some feat of calculation, flings to each a share apportioned to the money she brought ; and the purchaser marches away with the pan of meat balanced on her head, her tongue running the while like a Chinese rattle. All the marketing is done in this way, through the medium of servants.
Observe these baskets of black berries, like grapes in color and size; they are the fruit of the Assai palm, the slender, graceful Euterpe that we saw on the river-banks. One sometimes hears an alliterative proverb :
" (Juem veiu para Para parou ; Ouem bebeu Assai ficou : "
which we may translate, as Mrs. Agassiz has done :
"Who came to Para was glad to stay; Who drank assai went never away."
It is well, then, for us to learn how this famous vinJio cf assai is made.
In a dark little shed at the back of the court, two mulatto women are rubbing off the black pulp of the berries in great bowls of water, crushing them vigorously with their bare hands, and purpling their arms with the chocolate-like juice. After the first batch has been rubbed out, the liquid is de- canted from the hard nuts to another lot of berries ; these
44
BRAZIL.
latter bcinc^ treated in like manner, the resultintj thick soup is strained through a wicker-work sieve and dealt out to the eager customers.
Yes, the Aniericanos will have assai, com assncar ; so the little shirtless son scampers off after sugar. Ordinary cus- tomers at the stand are of the lower classes, who drink their two cents' worth of assai with only a little mandioca meal by way of seasoning. In the forest, where sugar was scarce
Tne Assar Stand.
and tliC fruit plenty, I learned to like it quite as well so my- self; its brisk, nutty flavor is rather spoiled by the sweet- ening. However, our new-comers may prefer the civilized side ; so the sugar is added, and we dip our moustaches into the rich liquid. Even the squeamish ones empty their bowls, and begin to suggest to themselves the possibility of entertaining another half-pint. Now talk no more of sherbet, and ginger-beer, and soda-water ; hereafter we abjure them
PARA. 45
all, if we may but have our purple assai. And observe — as Mr. Weller has it — that " it's wery fillin'." One can make a respectable lunch of Assai alone.
Back of the market, by the water-side, there are other picturesque scenes. Here are numbers of canoes drawn up on the shore, the larger ones with a little cabin of palm- thatch or boards in the stern. The Indian and mulatto boatmen, for the most part, are selling their produce on shore, and some of them, no doubt, are getting beastly drunk on the proceeds ; the canoes, meanwhile, are occu- pied by their families, and one cannot help noting the marked difference of character displayed by the two races. The flashily dressed negresses and mulattoes are chattering and quarrelling at the tops of their voices, while their not over-clean children tumble about on the muddy shore, laughing, screaming, crying, as the case may be, but always making a noise of some kind. The Indian women, on the contrary, are very quiet, sitting still in the canoes, and per- haps carrying on a subdued conversation. They are dark ; not copper-colored, like our Northern tribes, but of a clear, rich brown. Some of the younger ones are decidedly hand- some, and almost all are exquisitely neat in their tasty, light- colored calico dresses, sometimes with simple ornaments.. The children — little ones are dressed au naturcl — are shin- ing and clean and sleek, and always very quiet. You notice, also, that the brown people avoid the sun, but the black ones seem to revel in it.*
* One is reminded of Captain John Codman's observation: "When a white fireman on a steamer comes up from his watch, he alwaj-s leans over the rail in the shade, where he can get the air ; but the negro fireman comes up at noonday, under a vertical sun, and throws himself down to sleep on a deck that would blister a rhinoceros." Ten Months in Brazil, p. 8i. The Indians are much more suscep- tible to heat than the whites are.
46
BRAZIL.
Many of these Indians have come from surrounding rivers, a hundred, two hundred, occasionally even five or six hun- dred miles away. Most of them will sell their small cargoes and leave with the return tide. The women and children will see nothing more of the city than is visible from the water, or, at most, they will be treated to an hour's walk about the town, or a visit to one of the churches. And that is enough. They do not care to remain longer among the sweltering
The Market Wharf.
streets and glaring white walls. They long for their cool, shady forests, where they can swing their cotton hammocks by the water-side, and lounge away the hot noon hours, as free from care as the birds are above them.
Besides the small canoes, there are many larger ones, be- longing to traders, who make long voyages on the upper rivers. They bring back forest produce which they have
PARA. 47
received in exchange for their wares. Here are bales of crude rubber, in flask-shaped masses, as it came from the moulds ; tall baskets of mandioca-meal, the bread of the poorer classes ; bundles of dried salt piranicil fish ; bags of cacao and Brazil-nuts. There are turtles, too, reposing peacefully on their backs, and odd-looking fish, and pots of crabs and shrimps. Not a few of the canoes bring monkeys and par- rots, but their owners are loath to part with these. On the Amazons all classes are extravagantly fond of pets.
Formerly all the commerce of the river was carried on in trading canoes. Now the steamboats have taken their place, trading centres have been established at various points along the river, and the canoes make shorter voyages. We can see the busy wharf of the Amazonian Steamboat Company from our breakfast-room at the Hotel do Commercio, and two or three of their vessels are lying in the river ; they make voy- ages, at longer or shorter intervals, to the Madeira, Purus, and Tapajos ; twice a month passage can be engaged to Manaos, and from thence other lines extend their trips almost to the base of the Andes. There are several smaller compa- nies, but they are all thrown into the shade by this rich Amazonian line, with its numerous branches. It has a large subsid)' from the government — too much, probably, for its wants, now that the enterprise is well established.
The beauty of the river-view is not heightened by the fore- ground— a bare, muddy space half filled in to a wall along the river. This wall was built — how many years ago I know not — with the design of giving a deep water-frontage to the city ; but the river worked faster than the contractors. While they were building, it spread a great bed of mud outside of the wall ; and so in the end there was a bank there, uncovered at low water, just as before. Meanwhile the space between the
48 BRAZIL.
wall and the old bank was a muddy pool, littered with gar- bage of every kind ; it would have bred a pestilence over the whole city, but for the daily washings it got with the tides, and the scavenger crabs that swarmed in it. It remained so for many years, an eye-sore to the city ; the provincial gov- ernment could never fill it, though the work was almost al- ways under contract. Now it is evened over, in great part; but it is useless, as we have seen, and one does not like to think of the money that has been wasted on it. This is only a type of the gross mismanagement that has disgraced Para, Now and then a good and efficient president will set his hand to a reform, and for a time he will work wonders ; but sooner or later he is certain to be ousted by the aggrieved politicians. Of course, with the mismanagement there is often dishonesty ; scandalous stories are told of the fabulous sums that have been sunk on this or that public work — stories that are strongly con- firmed by the impoverished state of the provincial treasury, and the reputed wealth of certain officials and contractors.
At Para one day is like another. The mornings are cool and pleasant. From ten till two the heat increases rapidly, commonly reaching 90° or 91° Fahrenheit. A little later great black clouds appear in the east, spreading rapidly over the sky and turning the intense glare to a twilight darkness. The temperature is lowered suddenly; the wind blows in varying gusts ; then the rain comes pouring down in great dense masses, flooding the streets, hiding vessels on the river, drenching unlucky boatmen and their passengers, and — ere we know it, the sun jumps out, and there is only the van- quished cloud-army flying into the west. Sometimes the first shower is followed by another one, and even a third ; after that the clouds disappear, or hang like purple curtains on the western horizon. By sunset the ground is dry, and all nature
PARA. 49
is smiling. This is the rule all the year round ; only the wet season, extending from January to May, is distinguished by more copious showers, sometimes lasting until evening, with an occasional day or night of continued rain ; while, in the height of the dry season, a week may pass without any showers at all ; but even then the ground is watered by the heavy dews.
Para would be a healthy city if sanitary rules were prop- erly observed. The streets, it is true, are kept decently clean, but in many of the houses there are filthy courts, the recepta- cles for garbage and rottenness of every kind ; it is a wonder that people can live within range of their stench. As it is, there are many cases of typhoid ; but yellow fever, though it appears nearly every year, takes a milder form than at Rio de Janeiro, and the number of deaths from it is not very great. Sometimes mtermittent fevers are prevalent. Pulmonary complaints are very uncommon.
If we walk out after midday, we find the streets almost deserted, though the heat is not excessive. At four o'clock the wholesale stores are closed, and the merchant goes home to his dinner. Retail establishments are kept open until after dark, but they do little business.
The evenings are delightful. Walking out in the better quarters, we find the whole population out-of-doors; gentlemen sitting before their houses under the mango-trees, smoking, or sipping the after-dinner coffee, and enjoying themselves with their families. The merest chance acquaintance makes us welcome at once to these groups ; chairs are brought, coffee and cigars are served, and we may sit for an hour, chatting with our host and watching the groups around us.
Out of business hours the Paraense is the most sociable person you can imagine. Pleasure is his occupation ; the 4
50 BRAZIL.
cares of his counting-room are all locked up in the safe with his day-books and ledgers. You get acquainted despite of yourself; everybody knows everybody else, and insists on introducing him. I have found no other Brazilian city where there is so little ceremony. We see people dressed sensibly in white linen ; except on state occasions, the sweltering black coats of the southern provinces are not de rigjieur in Para. The women, too, wear natural flowers in their hair ; but in Rio de Janeiro and Bahia they must needs disfigure themselves with abominable French bonnets.
Since the establishment of hotels, the rule of universal hospitality is no longer adhered to, but most of the better classes still keep open table to their acquaintances, at least for the late afternoon dinner. People live well and simply, though with too great a preference for animal food. Portu- guese or French wine is generally served with breakfast and dinner, and there is a light dessert of fruit.
In domestic life, many of the old bigoted notions concern- ing women are still retained ; but at Para, one no longer sees ladies shut up from all intercourse with visitors, and banished from the table. In exact proportion to the advance of more liberal ideas, the standard of private morals has risen ; and though there is vast room for improvement in this respect, though infidelity on the part of the husband is even now looked upon as a venial sin, still vice has no longer that open- ness and unrestrained license that formerly made it painfully conspicuous.
As in Rio de Janeiro the city merchant has his chacara in the outskirts, so here he has his rocinha* — a country dwelling in the city, a house with ten acres of back door-yard. The
* Diminutive oiroga, a clearing. The word is apparently a provincial one.
PARA. 51
finest rocinJias are in the suburb of Nazareth, to reach which we can take the mule-drawn cars that we saw on the Riia dos Mercadores. The seats are well filled with passengers of both sexes and all colors, many of the laborers without coats and barefooted, but clean and neat.
From the business part of the town we pass first through a series of narrow streets, where there is hardly room for passers-by to avoid the car. The streets are close and dirty and uninteresting ; black mould spreads itself on the kalso- mined walls, and weeds hang over the projecting tile-roofs. An apology for a sidewalk exists in some places ; but there are so many ups and downs to it that pedestrians generally prefer the roadway. We get glimpses of slovenly looking women peering out from behind the swing-blinds, and dirty children disappearing through the open door-ways as the car comes up ; looking in, we see nothing but blank white walls and bare floor. And down into the barren street the sun sends its liquid gold, and casts black shadows, just as it does in a thousand other ugly places.
Turning next into the great Largo da Polvora, we pass on by the pillared Thcatro, one of the finest of the public build- ings, the white walls of which are well set off by the heavy foliage behind them. As for the Largo, it is a great, treeless waste, like a dozen others in the city ; but the sides are lined with magnificent dark mango-trees, and the houses are of a better class than those we have seen ; very fresh and pretty some of them are, with their facings of glazed white and blue tiles. We observe these tile-facings in many places along the Rica de Nazareth, where we turn ofi"from the Largo ; decid- edly the prettiest dwellings in the city are here, and they are contrasted with rows of noble mango-trees, like those of the square. The gardens in front of some of the houses are stiff
52
BRAZIL.
and pedantic, it is true ; but in this climate Nature gets the better of the gardeners, and, despite them, will disport her- self in glorious masses of foliage and bloom ; plants, such as grow in our green-houses at home ; but not the delicate nurs-
The Theatre, Para.
lings of the North ; great, hearty shrubs, with the vigor of their forest homes fresh on them, and their untrammelled roots sinking a yard deep into the rich loam.
But the gardens are tame compared to those neglected rocinJias where the grounds are yard, orchard, wilderness, all thrown together ; where flowering vines clamber over the fruit-trees, and the rich flowers are smothered in richer weeds, and rampant second growth threatens to annihilate the whole estate, as it undoubtedly would, did not the in- habitants make a sally sometimes with axes and wood-knives. I think Nature here has a grudge against humanity, with its angular houses and fences ; she wants to round off" every- thing to suit her flowing fancy. But if, instead of the blows and hard words she gets, she were coaxed and patted on the back, how she would break out into smiles and loveliness !
PARA. 53
Ah, well ! I suppose we -shall go on abusing her while the world lasts ; but she will have her rights,, for all that. From this primly dressed child, daubing and mussing its frock in the gutter, to the tumble-down houses of the side-streets, half covered with moss and weeds, she is forever picking up our ugly art and turning it into something picturesque. Even the new white chapel at Nazareth is getting its coating of gray and brown mould, and the artist will go on painting it with delicate touches, and rejoicing in its beauty, till Vandal man comes along with his whitewash brush and spoils the work of years.
The chapel is dedicated to Nossa SenJiora de Na::arcth, who is not to be confounded with Nossa Senhora of anything else. You see, this one is remarkable for a miracle which she performed in the eleventh century, when the devil, in the form of a deer, was leading a noble hunter over a precipice. As she saved the life of the hunter, she is entitled to especial regard — may be invoked, for instance, in cases where Nossa Senhora da Esperanca has given little hope, and Nossa Sen- hora de Belein has failed utterly.
Our Lady of Nazareth, then, is the patron saint of Para, and every year there is a grand festival given in her honor. Then the city is thronged with strangers, often from towns three or four hundred miles away. Our Lady is carried in solemn procession through the streets, and the church is daily filled with worshippers. The great square near by is lined with booths, and gay with flags and transparencies. Every night there is a display of fire-works ; costume dances are extemporized ; theatres with execrable actors attract the public, especially on Sunday evening, and for a week the city is given over to universal enjoyment. People are or- derly and quiet. There is less hard drinking than you see
54 BRAZIL.
on any holiday at the North, and scarcely any quarrelling and fighting.
I do not think there is a very strong religious feeling either in Para or in the other Brazilian cities. The more ignorant negroes and mulattoes delight in the brilliant cere- monies of the Catholic Church. Better educated people yield a discreet assent to the forms and observances, but there is very little deep feeling underlying their zeal. The explanation is to be looked for in the utterly corrupt con- dition of the clergy. In Brazil a virtuous priest is the ex- ception. I do not say that there are none who do their duty with zeal and reverence, and practise their own precepts ; but the majority lead lives that give the lie to their preaching, and bring the church into disrepute with all thinking men.
The present Bishop of Para is one of those remarkable men whose names will always be landmarks in the history of the Church. Pure in his own life, he has gathered around him a body of young priests who emulate the sacrifices and virtues of the early Jesuit missionaries. I have met these young men at Para and in some of the river towns. One of them I esteem as a personal friend— a man whose life is above reproach, and whose scanty income is all expended in deeds of charity and kindness. If the bishop is to be praised for this work, he is unquestionably to be censured for his interference with political matters. The feeling is rapidly advancing in Brazil that church and state must be disunited. If the ecclesiastical power meddles with the secu- lar one, there is always strong comment. Sometimes the government resists the priests, and then there is a storm, often ending in popular tumults, as was the case recently in Pernambuco. The bishop holds, in the fullest sense, that the state should be subservient to the church, and the whole to
PARA. 55
the See of Rome. Hence he is unpopular with a large class of the people. These, led by the Masonic brotherhood — a body of great political importance in Brazil — keep up a de- termined resistance to the bishop and his party.
Emphatically, an American need not fear to express his principles in Brazil ; he is protected as well by pubHc opin- ion as by the government. Even the priests, who might be supposed to be intolerant, will discuss theological differences with the utmost good-nature, and with no small powers of argument.
We can visit the churches almost any morning, or go to hear high mass at the Cathedral on Sunday. There is more ghtter and ceremony than in our northern Catholic churches. Worshippers stand and kneel on the stone floor, for there are no seats. The churches are high and rather bare, except around the altar. One sees three or four conspicuous life- size figures of saints, which, on certain days, are carried through the streets in procession, with ringing of bells and firing of rockets, attended by red and green coated brother- hoods, and dainty little child-angels with spangled dresses and gauze wings. For the rest, religion involves nothing more than an occasional visit to the confessional, and pretty liberal contributions to the church treasury and to the poor.
Aside from the churches and the custom-house, we shall find little to interest us in the public buildings. The presi- dent's palace is a great, glaring, barrack-like structure, look- ing out on one of the squares. Within, it is richly furnished, but with that stiffness and lack of ornament that characterize all Brazilian dwelHngs. The episcopal palace is still worse ; jammed in among the surrounding buildings, it looks like a warehouse.
It is a pity that the Paracuses have left their public
BRAZIL.
squares the weed-grown wastes that they are. Only in some of them there are picturesque wells, and, of a sunny day, when our walks take us past these, we see groups of noisy washerwomen drawing water over the curb, and spreading their clothes on the grass to dry. There are no water-works aside from these wells. Water is hawked about the town in great hogsheads set on ox-carts and attended by rough-look- ing Gal/egos* with red scarfs and glazed hats. As for milk.
The Washeiwoman — Para.
that is carried around by the cow, who, with her bleating calf tied to her tail, is driven from door to door and milked in sight of the customers. Of course, under these circum- stances, watered milk is unknown.
There are a hundred other odd characters in the streets ; bakers with great baskets of bread ; negro women selling
* A term of reproach, originating in the hatred of the Portuguese for the Span- iard, and especially for the natives of Gallicia.
PARA.
57
sweetmeats, or pots of assai, or tapioca soup ; porters carry- ing heavy trunks on their heads, and so on. Ladies buy their dresses by samples carried around from house to house. Servants pass by with a dinner or supper nicely laid out on a tray : it is the custom here ; if you engage board with a family, the meals are brought to your room.
When we have "done" the streets, and the dirty little wine-shops, and the animal store, with its monkeys and wild
' Monkey Joe's."
hogs and boa-constrictors and electric eels, we have yet the never-failing beauty of vegetation in the outskirts. Every- thing seems buried in green ; here is a ruined house, for instance — a wonderful picture, enshrouded in flowering vines until hardly a beam or a square inch of wall is visible ; a rolling, tumbling, roUicking mass of foliage ; the very ruin
58 BRAZIL,
seems to catch the infection, passing its last days in a kind of tottering hilarity. And so it is with everything on which this rampant plant-life can get a hold ; palings, stumps, heaps of rubbish, are all draped and curtained and padded with vines and weeds, till their rough angularities have dis- appeared under the soft curves, as you have seen a pile of sticks covered with snow.
The Monguba avenue has lost much of its ancient glory ; the trees, for some reason, are dying, and no care is taken to renew them. But the Estrada de Sao Jose more than fills its place. There is something so wonderful in the stately simplicity of palm-trees, and these royal palms* are among the most beautiful of their tribe. Looking down the long avenue, we see the feathery tops almost meeting overhead, and quivering with the lightest breath of wind, lending, somehow, a kind of dignity to the tapering stems, which do not sway as other trees do, even in a storm.
We can follow out this road to the gas-works, and back of that to the wet ground near the river ; there the second growth is one tangled mass, with palms and vines and great glossy Arums by the water-side ; not the little arrow-heads of our brooks, but trees, with leaves a foot long and almost as broad, like polished shields among the vines that clamber over them.
But the most beautiful suburban road is that leading north from the city to the river Una. If you would see it at its best, avoid the hot hours ; come in the cool morning, when the leaves are fresh, and all the world of insect and bird-life is out to bathe in the early sunshine. Beyond the narrow streets we find a broad, straight road, with deep ditches, and palings on either side ; the ditches almost invisi-
* Oreodoxa regia : an imported species.
PARA.
59
ble in the heaped-up masses of plants that cover them, and every yard of the palings an exquisite picture. The roci- nJias are far back from the road — long, low buildings, some- times with the tile-roof projecting on all sides, to form a broad veranda ; the yards all weedy and tangled and glori- ous, half hiding the whitewashed walls. Of the fifty kinds of vines, the most con- spicuous here are Comwlviili, some of them very like our morning-glories ; here and there we notice a cypress-vine peeping out from among the others, the same pretty, ten- der thing that it is at home. Where the vines give them space,there are great, Estrada d? sao jose
sprawling Lantaiia weeds, and Solanacece, allied to our pota- toes, but these stand bolt upright, ten or twelve feet high, and their great pale leaves have scattered spines over the surface. For the rest, there are sensitive mimosa-bushes, like brambles, and arums along the ditches, and a host of other plants, small and large, that I do not even know the names of; all heaped over each other and rolled into beautiful masses, a delight to the eye.
Farther on, the houses disappear almost entirely; — are lost in the thickets, perhaps, and the people only find them by
6o BRAZIL.
these little crooked paths. There are low, swampy tracts by the roadside, and second growth, with the vines everywhere ; not clambering up the tree-trunks merely — burying them, spreading in great masses over the tops, hanging down in splendid green curtains, binding tree to tree so that you can- not see a foot into the woods. Here and there an assai palm,* or a iniritt,^ or an iiiajd, \ rises out of the drift and spreads its great glossy leaves to the sun ; the vines avoid palm-stems, perhaps because they give no good support for their fingers.
Sometimes we see a branch with another kind of drapery ; nests of \\\Q japiiii birds § hanging like rows of socks — or, sug- gests one, like the tails of little Bo-peep's flock that were left behind them. A garrulous, noisy creature is the japim ; the hanging villages are lively from morning till night with the gossip and scolding. This species has a glossy black and yellow coat ; in shape it is like our blackbird, to which, in- deed, it is allied. Brazilians delight to have the japins about their houses ; sometimes the young birds are kept indoors, and, as they grow, they become as tame as kittens. On the trees I have often seen fifty nests together. j|
There are a good many small birds about the thickets ; tanagers and finches, and rarely a hummer darting about the flowers. Pretty green lizards scuttle off through the leaves ; there may be ugly, crested ones lurking about the shady places, and snakes possibly ; but we see nothing of these. The bright beetles and spiders are hidden, too ; but looking down the road we can see hosts of dragon-flies darting about as thickly as a swarm of bees. Some of these dragon-flies
' Euterpe edulis. t Mauritia flexuosa.
X Maximiliana regia. ^ Cassicus icteronotus,
II A kind of wasp builds in the same trees ; the Indians say that it is never found except with the japins.
PARA. 6l
are remarkable for their bright red bodies ; others are green and black, like our northern species. Besides these, the con- spicuous insects are butterflies ; common kinds, such as are seen in open places, but some of them are as bright-tinted as flowers. The strangest are the Heliconii, with very long wings and slender bodies. They fly feebly about the flowers, and never seek concealment as other species do. But you will notice that the birds, most expert butterfly-hunters, never touch a Helicoiiiiis. The insects are protected by a very strong, disagreeable odor, which is quite as disgusting to tiie birds, it would seem, as it is to us. Mr. Bates, who published a beautiful monograph of these butterflies, has shown that the slow flight and carelessness of concealment are only a natural result of the immunity they enjoy.
In the woods beyond there are other butterflies ; hand- some species, with yellow and red markings, quaker brown ones along the ground, and now and then a splendid blue lilorpho flapping lazily over our heads. Under the arum- leaves we find lovely creamy Hclicopi, with trail dresses span- gled with silver ; of all the forest beauties these are the prettiest and most delicate. There are hundreds of other species, but they require careful search ; you must come to the forest day after day, and traverse every path, before you can amass such collections as Bates and Wallace tell of.
The forest here is second growth, probably, but it is a hundred feet high, rising like a great hedge on either side of the road. There are cart-paths running through it, and farm-houses beyond, and then more forest stretching away into the untrodden interior ; everywhere the same tangle of branches and vines without number.
We are not likely to meet with such a glimpse of still-life as I once had near by here. It was on a forest road, two or
62 BRAZIL.
tliree miles back from the city ; the way was arched over- head, so that the sunHght broke through only at intervals. Some tree or vine had been shedding its blossoms, deep pur- ple-blue cups strewing the ground beneath like a carpet ; here these stray sunbeams dropped, a kind of weird blue light against the shadows behind ; so strange the effect was, so unreal, that I stopped in astonishment before I saw what it was. Now, if an artist painted such a scene, people would cry out, " Unnatural ! " But every artist knows that Nature gives these unnatural touches now and then.
At the end of this Una road there is a great, tile-covered building, the public slaughter-house. This is the gathering- place of the city vultures ; rows of them are sitting on the fences around, or hopping about awkwardly as they quarrel over bits of ofifal. Ugly creatures, truly, on the ground ; but you forget all about that when they are in the air ; then they are the most stately of all birds. We watch them circling over our heads : hardly ever moving their wings, but they soar almost out of sight. The wonder is, what carries them up ; an old question that has never been answered satisfac- torily. No doubt the wind aids them.*
River-fish swarm about the slaughter-house : bloody pira- nJias, no doubt, and acards, and fifty other kinds. We find the curious little Anableps tetrophthalnms swimming along the surface. The eyes are divided, so that each has two pupils ; of these, the upper pair are for the air, and the lower for the water ; a most curious contrivance. The fish keep near the shore, and however you may chase them, they will never dive.
* Standing on a high hill, I have seen a vulture make a dozen turns about my head, falling with the wind, and rising against it, but never moving its wings at all.
PARA.
^Z
It would be worth our while to follow up the Una in a canoe ; there are palms on the banks, and broad-leaved wild bananas, and I know not what of the grand and beautiful in plant-life. So it is all about the city ; the plants overrun everything ; they invade even the church-roofs, and rows of bushes grow along the eaves.
We can visit the Botanical Garden, where the not very elaborate culture has only given Nature a better chance to
The Botanical Garden
show her skill. And when gardens, and outskirts, and second growth are all familiar, a little walk beyond the city limits will bring us to the high forest, thick, dark, massive, where the few roads are mere paths, and one may lose himself almost within sight of the cathedral towers.
Two hundred and fifty years have not insured his domain to man ; petty strifes and revolutions have stirred the city, but the forest looks down on them all and shames humanity
64 BRAZIL.
with its steadfastness. A story on fifteen square miles of cleared land. What is that to the leagues beyond ? I am half ashamed to tell it.
Maranhao had been colonized by the French as early as 1594. In 1615 the Portuguese, under Jeronymo de Albu- querque, dispossessed them, and founded a new captaincy, which included not only the present province of Maranhao, but all the Amazons valley. As soon as tranquillity was assured on the coast, measures were taken to secure the Amazons region against the Dutch trading colonies which were reported there ; and to this end, an expedition of one hundred and fifty men v/as sent, in three canoes, with the brave Captain Francisco Caldeira de Castello Branco as leader. Caldeira had orders to establish a colony at the mouth of the Amazons, and to expel the Dutch. He and his company left Maranhao on Christmas day, 161 5, and followed the coast and the left shore of the Para river, until they reached a dry point at the mouth of the Guama, where they deemed it best to locate their new city. No doubt Caldeira knew well enough that he was not on the main Amazons ; but with the small force at his command, it would have been unwise for him to be separated from the main colony, as he would have been on the northern side of Marajo.* He began immediately to build a fort, which he called SaJito CJiristo, and the settlement itself was named Nossa Senhora de Belem ; a title which it still retains on official papers. t It is said that the site selected was already inhabited by warlike Indians. Caldeira not only succeeded
* Visconde de Porto Seguro : Hist. Geral do Brazil, Tom. I., p. 451.
+ In full, Nossa Senhora de Belem do GrSo Para. Para seems to a coruptella of the Tupi word Parana, a sea, applied to large rivers, and especially to the Amazons and the Para.
I
parA. 65
in subduing these, but by their aid he kept the surrounding tribes at bay, until his fortification was completed.* He might have gone on prosperously with their aid, but he presently learned of a colony of unfriendly Dutchmen, three hundred or more, who had established themselves on the northern side of the Amazons, "with two palisades to pro- tect their plantation, especially of tobacco, cotton, and anat- to, trading also in timbers." As this force was double his own, our captain was discreet enough to send for aid ; a ship was despatched to Portugal, but as he had no other vessel to spare, he resolved to send word overland to Ma- ranhao. Pedro Texeira (the same who afterward explored the Amazons, and brought Acufia down from Quito), was chosen for this difficult service ; he set out with three white companions and thirty Indians, and at the end of two months arrived in Maranhao, greatly to the surprise of the dwellers there, who were far from expecting a white man from this quarter. In after-times there was a road from Para to Ma- ranhao, but it has grown up long ago, and you never hear now of a land journey from one city to the other ; I doubt if it could be made without great difficulty and danger.
Help came from Maranhao, and the colony prospered at first, until its peace was disturbed by internal feuds. Cal- deira was deposed by the colonists, and Balthazar Rodrigues de Mello was placed at their head. Meanwhile, the surround- ing Indians took advantage of these quarrels, and a host of them, under the chief Guaimiaba, laid siege to the city. This state of things continued till the arrival of the new cap- tain-general, Jeronymo Fragoso ; he drove away the Indians, and summarily imprisoned not only Balthazar, but Caldeira
* Berredo : Annaes do Maranhao, p. 407. 5
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also, sending them both to Pernanibuco, the then metropohs of Brazil. As soon as his authority was established, he be- gan a destructive war on the Indians, carrying his arms far up the Amazons, and spreading desolation among the vil- lages. It was in this war that Bento Maciel Parente first dis- tinguished himself as an Indian hunter, " so that the gover- nor himself was obliged to stop him." But about this time Fragoso died, and there was a long quarrel about his suc- cessor, resulting finally in the selection of Bento Maciel him- self, who built a mud fort at Para, and went on enslaving In- dians to his heart's content, until he was superseded in 1626. Upon that he repaired to Spain,* and brought forward a patriotic plan of his for enslaving the whole Amazons, after the style then in vogue among the Spaniards.
" For these reasons," he says, " your majesty should create a bishop, and send priests, who, with all fervor, shall apply themselves to instruct the Indians. And for the sustenance of this bishop, and his ministers, you should give in charge f the conquered people, as has heretofore been done in the Spanish Indies. Considering that, by divine precept, all creatures are obliged to give to God and to his ministers a tenth of their harvests, and as among the Indians it would not be easy to secure this tenth, seeing that they neither respect the commandment nor know how to count as far as ten, your predecessors (in the Spanish Indies) com- manded that such tithes should be paid per capita.
" In the Spanish Indies, every man and his wife pay a certain an- nual sum, according to the fertility of the land, and by this rule it would appear convenient that every Indian of Maranhao should pay per year three ducats, either in money, or in the fruits which he raises, or in personal service ; dividing the products into three equal parts " (here comes the gist of the matter), *' one for the bishop and his priests, one for Your Majesty, and the other for the COMMEND ADOR to whom
* Portugal and its dominions were at this time under the control of Spain. + Encomendar : which you can translate, if you please, "farm out."
PARA. 67
SHALL BE GIVEN THE ADMINISTRATION OF THESE TAXES. These
priests will take with them many relations and poor persons, to live in the new lands, who will go, hoping with the favor of the priests to secure grants of lands to cultivate and tax, and every Indian, having his own master, will be defended and preserved, and cured when he is sick, and exercised in war, so that he shall aid in defending the land and in con- quering others. It is a manifest mistake to suppose that this method of conquest is unjust and violent to the Indians ; because tithes are com- mended by divine precept; the holy popes have applied them for the expenses of the conquests, and the taxes are only a right of those who with arms aid in these conquests, and thus serve God and the king." *
Fortunately for the Indians, Maciel's project was never carried out; and though the Portuguese masters were unjust and cruel, it must be said that they never showed themselves as murderous as the Spaniards. Bento Maciel went down to universal execration. His son of the same name was worthy of the father. Acuna tells how he found one of his expedi- tions about to proceed against the Tapajoz Indians, and he relates with indignation how these men obtained from the In- dians their poisoned arrows, under pretext of a surrender ; but, having thus disarmed them, they forced the Tapajozes to give up all the prisoners which they held of other tribes, and these were carried away as slaves. t
The Paraenses distinguished themselves in the recovery of Maranhao from the Dutch, and when, in 1641, Portugal threw off the Spanish yoke, they were among the first to welcome the change. But you must not look upon Para as a city yet. At this time it seems to have been remarkable rather for the great number of religious institutions than for any commercial importance.
'Peti^ao dirigjda pelo Capitao-mor Bento Maciel Parente ao Rei D. Philippe III. \ Nuevo Descubrimiento, LXXV.
68 BRAZIL,
" It is joyful and full of fruit trees. There are four liundred inhabi- tants, the most of whom are cultivators. There are four monasteries, Sao Antonio, Carmo, Merces, and that of the Company of Jesus ; a city church and two others, and a hospital; all of which are sustained by the inhabitants with their alms. There is a fort, well enough defended by three companies of infantry. The people make much tobacco ; and there is here much cotton and cloves, which, being wild, are differ- ent from those of India. The land is great, and would hold many people; the Indians, when the Portuguese arrived, were more than six hundred villages of Tupinaiiibas and Tapiiios, but in war with the Por- tuguese the Tiipiiicunbd nation was destroyed ; many Indians died in the war ; others retired to the interior ; and those who assist the Por- tuguese to-day are fifteen villages, working on the farms for two yards of cotton cloth every month, which is the price everywhere ; besides many sla\-es which they ransom * from the wilderness." f
The qtiestion of enslaving the Indians was agitating all Brazil at this time. Father Antonio Vieira, at the head of the Jesuits, sought to save them from this fate, and in the end the whole government of the Indians was delegated to the Jesuits themselves ; they labored to bring their charges together in villages — the universal policy of the Jesuit mis- sionaries. No doubt they sometimes turned the brown labor to their own advantage, for even in those early days the Jesuits began to show that they were human. But we can let that rest ; we owe to them the taming of a large portion of the Indians — those, I mean, who were not destroyed by the Portuguese and Spanish oppressors. The slave-makers were quarrelling with the priests by this time ; in Para they placed all sorts of obstacles in the way of Vieira and his
* Resgatar, a term then, and now, used to express the buying of Indian prisoners, or their forcible seizure from the tribes in which they are captive.
+ Mauricio de Heriarte : Descrip^am do Maranham, Para, etc., 1662. Published by the Visconde de Porto Seguro.
PAR A. 69
men, but for the present they were beaten. The Indian slave-trade was carried on furtively, but the price of this kind of labor became so high that the planters began to import negroes from Africa ; and so a third race came to take part in the history of the Amazons.
A dangerous element, too, which made itself felt in the after-revolutions. The Jesuits were expelled in the end, and wholesale Indian slavery was never carried out. Gradually the slave-making subsided to the form which is still found on the upper rivers, though it is entirely illegal, — the buying of captives and retaining them as servants until they are of age. The shipments of slaves from Africa were not large ; the Paraenses were too idle or proud to do their own work and build up the country on a sound basis ; they cried, as they cry now, for bracos — arms to work for them. The people began to interest themselves in forest industries — rubber, drugs. Brazil-nuts, and so on — and these natural riches be- came a positive hinderance to the country, because they drew attention from agriculture. Finally, to set the province back still more, there came the tumults of 1823 and 1835.
The independence of Brazil had been proclaimed in 1822, and D. Pedro I. had been inaugurated at Rio, but the north- ern provinces were by no means inchned to follow the movement. At Para, many of the most influential merchants were loyal Portuguese ; there was political ferment and a gradual dividing up into parties, but no direct outbreak against Portugal until April 14, 1823. Joao Baptista Balbi, an Italian, seems to have been the prime mover of this first revolt ; with him were associated a number of officers in the different regiments, notably a certain Captain Boaventura. Early in the morning of this 14th of April, the conspirators gained admittance to the artillery quarters (Balbi counterfeit-
yo BRAZIL.
ing the voice of the colonel) and captured all the officers, without the least resistance. Meanwhile, Boaventura and his comrades succeeded in forming one of the regiments in front of their barracks ; to these there came a squadron of cavalry, and, being ordered thereto, all together gave a chorus of vivas for the emperor, apparently without well knowing what it was all about. Presently another regiment was formed and marched out to meet the first one. Boaven- tura shouted Viva o Imperador ! and all the soldiers shouted, " with great enthusiasm," say the chroniclers. But their major, Francisco Jose Ribeiro, was not in favor of the movement ; he slipped in a little speech in favor of the king of Portugal, and, as everybody was silent, he immedi- ately declared that the third regiment was not in favor of Brazilian independence ; whereat the soldiers opened their mouths, and, not knowing what to say, shut them up again, and viva'd nobody. Boaventura, not being equal to this unexpected emergency, immediately posted off to the artillery quarters, where his friends had the guns arranged to sweep the street. At this moment one of the disarmed officers ran to a gun, reversed and fired it, killing a sentinel and wound- ing a sergeant ; he was immediately shot down. Beyond this there was no blood shed ; the infantry regiments, being now under Portuguese officers, were marched against the conspirators ; a discharge of grape would have scattered them, no doubt ; but Boaventura would allow no resistance ; he stood in a theatrical attitude, with folded hands, declaring that no drop of blood should be spilled ; he and his com- rades were presently marched away under guard, and the soldiers went to bed again. The end of this sleepy little revolt was more serious. No less than two hundred and seventy citizens were condemned to death, but were sent to
PAR A. 71
Lisbon for execution ; many died on the passage, through the barbarous treatment that they received ; those who escaped were finally liberated.*
A few of the conspirators, who had escaped, formed a new revolt at Muana, on the island of Marajo, and these were only beaten after a hard battle. They were marched to the Para prisons ; " and while passing through the streets they were jeered at and hooted by the Portuguese party, some of whom had whips and clubs publicly hanging from their windows." f
However, the national feeling began to grow ; it was strengthened by the weakness of the Portuguese government, and a decisive event presently turned the city over to the emperor. At that time the Englishman, Lord Cochrane, was in charge of the Brazilian navy ; he had captured Ma- ranhao, and now he sent Captain Grenfell with a ship, to bring Para into subjection. Grenfell had orders to feign an approach of the whole fleet, which he did so well that the provincial junta immediately gave in its adhesion to the emperor, and Grenfell was welcomed to the city.
When the deception was discovered there was a good deal of discontent in the Portuguese party ; about this time, also, an extreme liberal party began to make its appear- ance in Para, and between the two the place was in a fer- ment. Allegiance to the emperor was solemnly proclaimed on the 1 2th of October, but it was well known to the liberals that there were still a number of Portuguese sympathizers in the junta, and their dismissal was demanded. On the night
* A specimen of Portuguese justice, which has too often been repeated in Brazil. People are not legally condemned to death, except in rare instances ; but they are illegally murdered in prisons and prison-ships. I am glad to say that there are reforms in this respect.
t D. A. Raiol : Motins Politicos da Provincia do Pari, Tomo I., p. 59.
72 BRAZIL.
of the 15th a revolt broke out among the soldiers who favored the emperor. Three regiments joined together and marched to the arsenal, and a well-known liberal, the Canon Baptista Campos, was forced, much against his will, to lead them. A crowd of people joined the soldiers ; they shouted for arms, which were given them ; then they marched to the palace, where they demanded that Baptista Campos should take the presidency. He and others succeeded in calming the crowd, but squads of half-drunken men wandered about the streets all night, Now, as in after-times, the liberal party evinced a spirit of deadly hatred against the Portuguese. A number of their shops were sacked and burned ; on the succeeding night the same scenes were repeated.
The junta sent in haste for Grenfell to put a stop to the revolt. He came with a body of marines, and disarmed all the regiments that had taken part in the uproar ; they were marched to a public square, and there one man was chosen from each of the five regiments, and shot down without mercy. The Canon Baptista Campos, who was by no means to blame for it all, was tied to the muzzle of a gun, and a lighted match was held ready ; he was commanded to confess before he was blown away. But for this time the Englishmen saved that punishment for the Sepoys; the junta interceded for Campos, and he was carried on board the captain's ship, whence he was subsequently sent to Rio.
Meanwhile the remaining soldiers were marched to prison ; presently after they were transferred to a brig in the river, and there the whole two hundred and fifty-six were shut into a part of the hold, •' thirty spans long, twenty wide and twelve high," * and left for the night. The air was calm and very
* Evidently a mistake, but these are the dimensions given by Brazilian writers.
PARA. Tl
warm. The crowd begged for drink, and brackish water from the river was lowered to them in a can — poisoned, some say. The prisoners got little good from it, at any rate ; they threw off their clothes ; crowded to get a breath of air from the one gangway ; turned raving maniacs at length, with their suffer- ings, and began to tear each other with their nails and teeth. A quantity of lime was thrown down on them, shots were fired into the hold, then the gangway was closed, and after a while the noise ceased. In the morning they opened the hold and found a heap of two hundred and fifty-two dead bodies ; four only, who had concealed themselves behind a hogshead, were still breathing ; of these, three died the next day, and the fourth lived for some years, in great suffering, the only survivor of this black scene. It is difficult to sup- pose that the junta intended the death of these men, the most of whom were ignorant soldiers, and only dangerous when led by unprincipled men. Grenfell must have been to blame for the massacre, to a certain extent at least ; he provided the ship, and had the prisoners taken on board. Certainly, he did not show by his subsequent acts that he was at all just or merciful. The junta declared that the prisoners, actuated by the same spirit that led them to revolt, had killed each other in a mad frenzy. Of course the liberals magnified the crime, and made the most of it.
There was no peace for the province. Even after the empire was fully acknowledged, the division of parties con- tinued as strong as ever ; on the one side an invincible hatred of the Portuguese and a general running to anarchy ; on the other hand an equal hatred for the liberals and all sorts of oppressions. The prisons and prison-ships were crowded with rebels and " suspects," who died there by hundreds ; for years the city and country were full of tu-
74 BRAZIL.
mults. The Canon Baptista Campos had returned from Rio, and now took the lead of the extreme hberal party. With the abdication of Pedro I., and the regency, there came new disorders. There was an insurrection in August, 1832, and another in April, 1833 ; then, after half a dozen changes, there came an unpopular president, Lobo de Souza, from Rio de Janeiro. This man succeeded in stirring the people to a new revolt ; one of their leaders, Lieutenant-colonel Malcher, was imprisoned ; finally, on the 7th of January, 1835, a great mob of liberals, led by a Sergeant Gomes, overran the city; murdered the president and the military commandant, as well as a score of Portuguese merchants ; released Malcher from prison and placed him in the presidency, on the understand- ing that he was not to be superseded from Rio until the majorit}' of Pedro II. One Francisco Pedro Vinagre, a rub- ber trader, was placed at the head of the troops. This man was a mere anarchist ; he presently quarrelled with the new president, incited his partisans against him, and after a three days' battle in the streets, Malcher was deposed and mur- dered, and Vinagre took his place ; subsequently he gave up the city to another president, Rodriguez, from Rio. Vinagre himself was then imprisoned, a measure which infuriated the populace to the highest degree. They called to their aid the ignorant Indian and negro population ; a host of these cabanacs assembled in the outskirts of Para. Vinagre's brother, in the name of the crowd, three times demanded the release of their leader ; and when this was peremptorily refused, the whole rabble poured in upon the city like an avalanche. Now the cry was "Death to the whites!" and "Death to the freemasons!" For nine days there was a horrible battle in the streets. Vinagre himself was killed. Aid for the law-abiding party was sent from English and
PARA. 75
French vessels in the river, but the president was too cowardly to avail himself of it. In the end, every respectable white was obliged to leave the city ; many escaped on board vessels in the river, and finally to the island of Tatuoca, some miles below. There, it is said, five thousand persons died of disease and starvation.*
Rodriguez made occasional raids on the cabanaes ; but the city was given up to complete anarchy. Disorders broke out among the rebels, and mutual assassinations became com- mon. " Business was effectually broken up, and the city was as fast as possible reverting to a wilderness. Tall grass grew up in the streets." f
The cabanaes overran the whole province except Cameta and the region above the Rio Negro. A more frightful civil war has never been recorded. This was not merely a war between two sections ; it was a struggle of parties, neighbor against neighbor, a massacre in the streets, a chas- ing through the forests and swamps. To this day old men will tell you brave stories of the great rebellion ; how they fought hard with this or that party ; how brothers were killed and families driven away ; how men were shot down by scores because they would not renounce their partisan tenets.
In April, 1836, President Andrea arrived from Rio de Janeiro, and drove out the rebels ; gradually the interior towns gave way, but it was a long time before the excite- ment subsided. Even now one hears of the extreme repub- licans or communists, but it is difficult to estimate their real force. Hatred to the Portuguese is still a part of their creed ; the overturning of both church and state power seems to be their ultimate object. Now and then they issue an incen-
* Edwards : Voyage up the Amazon, p. i6.
t Kidder: Sketches in Brazil, ist edition, vol. ii., p. 318.
^6 BRAZIL.
diary placard, warning their opponents to " remember the days of '35." Party spirit runs high ; often the elections end in an uproar ; but beyond these ebullitions the province has been quiet from 1836 until now,' and it would be wrong to judge the Brazilian character by those sad days. The people are hot-headed; in the excitement of political strife they were carried to deeds which they would not have dreamed of in sober moments ; as for the Indians and blacks, they followed in the wake of their leaders, and, being ignorant, often went beyond them in cruelty, as a child is more unreasoning in its passion than a man. They are tame enough now, and very good and quiet people, as we shall find them in our travels. The lower classes are no more to blame for tumults than waves are for beating down a light- house.
With all these storms Para has gone on slowly ; the metropolis of the Amazons, she is still a city of forty thousand inhabitants, at most. Aside from her most important export — rubber — she sends us Brazil-nuts, cacao, and various drugs ; but sugar, coffee, and cotton are largely exported from the south, and the immense riches of Amazonian timber are untouched.
The time must come when all these things, and more, will fill the markets of Para ; when the Pacific republics will make the Amazons and its metropolis the guardians of their com- merce. The northern channels are more or less obstructed near the mouth, and the furious currents make it difficult for vessels to enter ; it is not probable, then, that Macapa or other northern ports will ever offer any serious rivalry to Pard. As commerce increases a new port will be formed, eight or ten miles below the present one, where the banks are high and the river deep enough for the largest steamers.
PARA. ^^
Already there is a much-talked-of project for building a rail- road to this point ; when this is done the old city will still be the residence of the richer classes, but foreign trade will all turn to the new harbor.
Soon or late the future of Para is secure. A century hence the ships of all nations will crowd to her wharves, bearing away the riches of half a continent. Assuredly it will be our fault if we do not profit by the commercial centre that is forming so near us. To turn this tide of wealth to our own doors, while yet the stream is small, is a problem that may well engage the attention of our rulers and of every thoughtful American.
CHAPTER III.
THE RIVER-PLAIN.
WE have come to the Amazons, not as sight-seers merely, but to study the great valley — to get an intelligent idea of the country. Our first step, then, is to distinguish between the main-land and the flood-plain ; we must divide these two in our minds as sharply as they are divided in nature. The main-land is always beyond reach of the floods, though it may be only a few inches above them ; it has a foundation of older rock, which crops out in many places. The flood-plain, on the contrary, has clearly been formed by the river itself ; its islands and flats are built up of mud and clay, with an occasional sand-bank; but they are never stony, and only isolated points are a few inches above the highest floods. In their plants and animals the two regions are utterly distinct — as much so as America and Europe ; yet we shall find some resemblances that are full of interest. Having separated our two worlds, we must trace out their connections and mutual dependencies.
I have used the term " main-land," as the Brazilians use terra firine, in contradistinction to the varzeas, or vargcns, flood-plains. But we must remember that bits of terra firme may be cut off to form islands in the river or in the flood- plain ; and, vice versa, great tracts of varzea are often joined
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 79
to the high land. The division is one of structure, not of form.
In this chapter we have nothing to do with the higher land ; our first rambles will be among the islands and chan- nels of the varzeas, with their swampy forests, and great stretches of meadow, and half-submerged plantations. These plains are not a distinctive feature of the Amazons. Nearly- all great rivers have flood-lands near their mouths ; on the Lower Mississippi, for example, there are wide reaches of swamp-land, with a net-work of bayous and lakes. But on other streams the plains narrow off as we ascend, and are soon lost ; on the Amazons alone they extend almost to the head-waters, as if a sea had been filled in, leaving deep ditches for the water-flow and countless pools over the sur- face. From Manaos to the Atlantic the width of this allu- vial flat varies from fifteen miles to a hundred or more ; on the Upper Amazons it is probably still wider ; * only as we approach the Andes, the rocky shores are narrowed to the main stream.
We leave Para with the midnight tide ; by gray morning we are steaming across the Bay of Marajd, which is not a bay at all, but properly a continuation of the Para river, or its connection with the Tocantins. The wind blows briskly over the wide reaches, swaying our hammocks under the arched roof of the upper deck ; we roll our blankets closer around us, and let who will retreat to the stifling state-rooms. But if Boreas cannot unwrap us, Phoebus brings us out quickly enough ; we jump up with the sun shining in our eyes, and all around the bright waves leaping and dancing for joy to see the beautiful morning.
* I am not personally familiar with the river above Obidos.
80 BRAZIL.
We have a dozen fellow-passengers, such people as you will see on any of the Amazonian steamers ; most of them are traders from the river-towns, or government officials — good- natured people, and not unpleasant companions, though their ideas of refinement are crude enough ; one or two, however, are of the educated class, intelligent and gentlemanly. As for the ladies, they keep to their cabin for the most part, only coming out bashfully at meal-time. The absence of cere- mony on board is very enjoyable. We lounge in our ham- mocks during the hot hours, smoke, and read, or watch the shores. Our table is spread on deck, breakfast at ten o'clock, dinner at four, and tea at seven ; aside from the peculiar Brazilian cookery, we have no fault to find with the food, which is good* and plentiful; the second- and third-class passengers, a hundred or more, fare much worse. The steamboat itself is of English build, and rather old-fashioned ; latterly a few American vessels have been introduced, and if these give satisfaction, the Brazilian companies are likely to buy of us hereafter.
Marajo Bay is broader even than the Amazons ; there are great reaches of open horizon up the Tocantins and off toward the sea. But farther on we enter the system of pas- sages that separate Marajo Island from the main-land, where the steamer keeps close to the forest-clad shore. The oppo- site shore may still be a quarter of a mile away, although these channels are generally described as only just wide enough for the steamer to pass through them ; a natural mistake, because the towering forest makes them look nar- rower. Most of them are as broad as the Hudson at Albany.
Any one who is not blind must feel his soul moved within
■* On some boats. But the Amazonian Company should reform the service of certain vessels.
THE RIVER-PLAIN.
8i
him by tlie marvellous beauty of the vegetation. Not a bit of ground is seen ; straight up from the water the forest rises like a wall — dense, dark, impenetrable, a hundred feet of leafy splendor. And breaking out everywhere from among the heaped-up masses are the palm-trees by thousands. For here the palms hold court ; nowhere else on the broad earth is their glory unveiled as we see it ; soft, plumy Jiipatis*
drooping over the water, and fairy-light assais\ and biissiisX with their light green, vase-like forms, and great, noble, fan- leaved iniritis% looking down from their eighty-feet high columns, and others that we hardly notice at first, though they are nobles in their race. If palms, standing alone, are esteemed the most beautiful of trees, what shall we say when their numbers are counted, not by scores, nor hundreds, but by thousands, and all in a ground-work of such forest as is
* Raphia tedigera.
X Manicaria saccifera. 6
t Euterpe edulis. § Mauritia flexuosa.
82 BRAZIL.
never seen outside of the tropics ? The scene is infinitely varied ; sometimes the pahii-trees are hidden, but even then the great rolhng mass is full of wonderful changes, from the hundred or more kinds of trees that compose it ; and again the palms hold undivided sway, or only low shrubs and deli- cate climbing vines soften their splendor. In most places there are not many large vines ; we shall find their kingdom farther up the river, and on the highlands ; here we some- times notice a tree draped with pendent masses, as if a green tapestry were thrown over it. Down by the water's edge the flowering convolvuli are mingled with shield-like leaves of the arborescent arums,* and mangroves standing aloft on their stilt-like roots, where they are washed by the estuary tides.
The Indian pilot points out numbers of rubber-trees, f and we learn to recognize their white trunks and shining bright green foliage. This low tide-region is one of the most im- portant rubber districts, where hundreds of seringneiros are employed in gathering and preparing the crude gum. Oc- casionally we see their thatched huts along the shore, built on piles, and always damp, reeking, dismal, suggestive of agues and rheumatism ; for the tide-lowlands, glorious as they are from the river, are sodden marshes within, where many a rubber-gatherer has found disease and death.
The little town of Breves owes its prosperity to this dan- gerous industry. It is built on a low strip of sandy land, with swamps on either side coming close up to the town ; even along the water-front the main street is a succession of bridges. But the houses are well built of brick or adobe,
*Caladium arborescens, etc.
tSiphonia: several species are admitted, of which this appears to be the true S. elastica.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 83
and the stores contain excellent stocks of the commoner wares. The place looks fresh and pretty enough ; the mias- ma of the swamps does not often rise to the highlands, so we are not loath to remain here for a few days and study the rubber industry more closely.
In the river-towns there are no hotels ; but we are pro- vided with a letter of introduction, which insures us a hearty welcome and a home as long as we care to stay. For the Amazons is a land of hospitality. Out of Para, a stranger, even unintroduced, will always find shelter and food, and for the most part without a thought of remuneration ; but, if on a longer stay he occupies a house of his own, he will be ex- pected to extend the same hospitality to others.
The rubber-swamps are all around, but land travelling is out of the question. So an Indian canoe-man is engaged, — a good-natured fellow, and an adept in wood-craft. He sets us across the river at a half-ruined hut, where bright vines clamber over the broken thatch and hang in long festoons in front of the low door-way ; but within, the floor is sodden black clay, and dark mould hangs on the sides, and the air is like a sepulchre. The single slovenly niamehica woman who inhabits the place complains bitterly of the ague which tor- tures her ; yet, year after year, until the house falls to pieces, she will go on dying here, because, forsooth, it is her own, and the rubber-trees are near. She will not even repair the struc- ture. You can see sky through the roof ; but if rain drives in she will swing her hammock in another corner, and shiver on through the night as best she may ; for to-morrow there are rubber-trees to be tapped, and a fresh harvest of the precious milk to be brought home, — and what will you have ? One must expect discomfort in a swamp.
Back of the house the rubber-trees are scattered through
84
BRAZIL.
marshy forest, where we clamber over logs, and sink into pools of mud, and leap the puddles ; where the mosquitoes are blood-thirsty, and nature is damp and dark and threaten- ing. Where the silence is unbroken by beast or bird— a silence
that can be felt ; it is like a tomb in which we are buried, away from the sunshine, away from brute and man, alone with rotting death. The very beauty of our forest tomb makes us shudder by its intenseness.
In the early mor- ning, men and wo- men come with bas- kets of clay cups on their backs, and lit- tle hatchets to gash the trees. Where the white milk drips down from the gash they stick their cups on the trunk with daubs of clay, moulded so as to catch the whole flow. If the tree is a large one, four or five gashes may be cut in a circle around the trunk. On the next day other gashes are made a little below these, and so on until the rows reach the ground. By eleven o'clock the flow of milk has ceased, and the serin- giiciros come to collect the contents of the cups in calabash jugs. A gill or so is the utmost yield from each tree, and a single gatherer may attend to a hundred and twenty trees or more, wading always through these dark marshes, and paying dearly for his profit in fever and weakness.
The Rubber-Gatherer.
THE RIVER-PLAIN.
85
Our inameliica hostess has brought in her day's gathering — a calabash full of the white liquid, in appearance precisely like milk. If left in this condition it coagulates after a while, and forms an inferior whitish gum. To make the black rub- ber of commerce the milk must go through a peculiar process of manufacture, for which our guide has been preparing. Over a smouldering fire, fed with the hard nuts of the tticiimd palm,* he places a kind of clay chimney, like a wide mouthed,
Preparing Rubber.
bottomless jug ; through this boiao the thick smoke pours in a constant stream. Now he takes his mould — in this case a wooden one, like a round-bladed paddle — washes it with the milk, and holds it over the smoke until the liquid coagulates. Then another coat is added — only now, as the wood is heated, the milk coagulates faster. It may take the gatherings of
* Astrocaryum tucuma. A common substitute is the fruit of some Attalia.
86 BRAZIL.
two or three days to cover the mould thickly enough. Then the rubber is still dull white, but in a short time it turns brown, and finally almost black, as it is sent to the market. The mass is cut from the paddle and sold to traders in the village. Bottles are sometimes made by moulding the rub- ber over a clay ball, which is then broken up and removed. Our old-fashioned rubber shoes used to be made in this way.
During the wet months, from February until June or July, this ground is under water, and the seringaes are deserted by every one. The floods would not entirely interrupt the gather- ing, were it not that the gum is then weak, and of compara- tively little value. Besides, the trees need this period of rest to make up for the constant summer drain. The rubber months, then, are from June or July until January or Febru- ary, varying somewhat with the year and the district. Dur- ing this period, many thousand persons are employed in tapping the trees. All of them are of the poorer class — Indi- ans, mulattoes, and Portuguese immigrants, who like nothing better than this wandering, half-vagrant life.
Around Breves, rubber is almost the only product of the lowlands ; * the whole region is simply an endless succession of channels, and small lakes, and swamps covered with forest — beautiful beyond thought from without, a dismal wilderness within. From the village we could take canoe- trips in almost every direction, and return by different routes to our starting-point ; or we could spend days in voyaging, and never repass a place.
If we could only transport some of this forest to a north- ern park ! If we could bottle up the sunshine and let it
* When planted, however, the tree will grow on the terra firtne. The seeds are
floated about in the water, and naturally lodge in the lowland swamps.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 87
loose in Broadway ! Our canoe passes along by shores where we would fain pause at every turn to catch some new effect of light and color ; and as we are looking at the oppo- site side, our man may keep the boat steady by holding on to a palm-tree or an arum-plant which would draw half the people in New York to see it, if we could set it in one of the squares.
And now we turn into a narrow channel, a mere cleft in the forest-wall ; it is not more than ten yards wide, but, as in all these forest streams, the depth is considerable ; hence, the Indians call such channels igarapc's, literally, canoe-paths. There is a richness about all water-side vegetation that makes even our northern woodland streams superbly beautiful ; but here the foliage is far thicker and more varied, and, among the dark leaves, drooping palm-fronds and great glossy wild bananas spread their warm tropical splendors. One thinks of a temple : the arching boughs, the solemn cathedral shade, the sunshine breaking through to cast long trails on the quiet waters and drop golden glories over the tree-trunks and crooked water-washed roots, while tiny leaflets catch the glow and shine like emeralds and diamonds in the dark forest setting. Even the Indian boatman dips his paddle noiselessly, as if he feared to disturb the Sabbath stillness. There is not much of animal motion ; only now and then a brown thrush crosses the stream, or a cuajud bird sounds his shrill alarm from the tree-tops, or great butterflies come waving along like blue silken banners, casting vivid reflec- tions in the water, so bright are their glossy wings. But we must learn that solitude, not life, is the grand feature of these forests.
The Breves swamps are a type of that great region which I may call the tide-lowlands. Nearly all the alluvial plains
88 BRAZIL.
about the Para and Lower Tocantins are of this character ; along the southern side of the Amazons the same features are seen almost to the Xingii ; swampy forests cover the south- western half of Marajo ; and beyond the Amazons there are other tracts on the northern side. Everywhere one finds damp woods like these of Breves, with numberless palms,* abundance of rubber-trees, mangroves along the shores, and so on. This land is flooded every year, as the rest of the varzeas are ; but besides this, the tides sweep through the channels every day, and overflow much of the ground, so that it is always wet. Rich vegetation and fever-breeding malaria depend alike on these daily soakings.
Breves is built on one of those spots oi terj-a jirme which are found along the southern and eastern side of Marajo, almost to the ocean. Most of them are occupied by little villages — trading-places for rubber and cattle. Beyond these the whole island belongs to the flood-plains, about equally divided between forest and meadows. The former is the tide-lowland region which we have been exploring ; the lat- ter occupy the northwestern half of the island — great level reaches, where thousands of cattle are pastured in the dry season. On the meadows there are little clumps of trees at long intervals ; sometimes these ilJias de niato form lines that seem to be impenetrable forests ; but often the plain will be unbroken to the horizon — " a tranquil sea, where the geogra-
* The palms of the tide-lowlands, so far as I know them, are as follows :
Mauritia fiexuosa ; Irartia exorrhiza ;
Mauritia carana ; Leopoldinia pulchra ;
Euterpe edulis ; Desmoncus sp. ;
Bactris maraja ; Rhaphia tedigera;
Ostrocaryum murumuru ; Manicaria saccifera.
ffinocarpus sp. (Pindassi'i) ; The two latter seem to be peculiar to this region.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 89
pher can take his astronomical observations as easily and securely as on the ocean itself." *
The meadows themselves are flooded only during the rainy months ; then canoes, and even small steamers, can pass over them. The cattle fazendas are abandoned ; herds are driven to the highest points ; the few people who care to remain are tortured with fever and mosquitoes, and they can only pass about in canoes. " In half-flooded places," says Penna, " you will sometimes see a small canoe tied to the tail of an ox, and dragged thus through the water, while the owner sits on board and guides the animal."
In the dry season the meadows themselves are never muddy, but they are interrupted here and there by strips of marsh-land. These marshes are not at all like our Breves swamps ; they are full of arborescent arumst and other broad- leaved plants, thickets ten or twelve feet high ; but there is no forest, unless in little patches. The swamps and chan- nels are the breeding-places of numberless wading and swim- ming-birds, and of alligators and snakes not a few. Mr. Edwards will pardon me for quoting his bright description of one of these places :
" Turning suddenly, we left the bordering forest for a cane-brake, and instantly broke full upon the rookery. In this part the scarlet ibises, particularly, had nested ; and the bended tops of the canes were cov- ered by half-grown birds in their black plumage, interspersed with many in all the brilliance of age. They seemed little troubled at our approach, merely flying a few steps forward, or crossing the stream. Continually the flocks increased in size ; the red birds became more frequent, the canes bent beneath their weight like reeds. Wood-ibises and spoonbills began to be numerous. The nests of these filled every
* D. S. Ferreira Penna : A Ilha de Marajo, p. 17. t Caladiiim arborescens.
90 BRAZIL.
place where a nest could be placed ; and the young ibises, covered with down, and standing like so many storks, their heavy bills resting upon their breasts, and uttering no cry, were in strong contrast to the well-feathered spoonbills, beautiful in their slightly roseate dress, and noisily loquacious. Passing still onward, we emerged from the canes into trees ; and here the white herons had made their homes, clouding the leaves with white. We wandered a long distance back, but the nests seemed, if anything, more plentiful, and the swarms of young more dense. At the sound of the gun the birds in the immediate vicinity rose in a tumultuous flock, and the old ones circled round and round, as though puzzled to understand the danger they instinctively feared. In this way they offered beautiful marks to our skill ; and the shore, near the canoe, was soon strewed with fine specimens. Evidently this place had been for many years the haunt of these birds. Not a blade of grass could be seen ; the ground was smooth and hard, and covered with excrement.
" Occasionally, and not very rarely, a young heedless would topple into the water, from which the noses of alligators were constantly pro- truded. Buzzards, also, upon the bank, sunned themselves and seemed at home ; and not unfrequently a hungry hawk would swoop down, and away with his prey almost unheeded.
" It was late when the tide turned, and we hastened away, with the canoe loaded to overflowing. The birds seemed now collecting for the night. Squads of bright-colored ones were returning from the shore, and old and young were settling on the canes over the water, like swal- lows in August. An alligator gave us an opportunity for a last shot, and the air was black with the clouds of birds that arose, shrieking and cry- ing. I never conceived of a cloud of birds before."*
Marshes among the meadows are called baixas, to dis- tinguish them from the forest swamps, or ygapos. Some- times, also, the name mondongo is used, but this belongs especially to a great marshy tract running through the centre of the island. It is a dreary solitude, full of alligators and
* Edwards : A Voyage up the River Amazon, p. 242, The book was out of print long ago ; it deserves a new edition.
THE RIVER-PLAIN.
91
mosquitoes without number. Sr. Penna concludes, with much reason, that it is an old channel of the Amazons, which has been filled up and converted into swamp. Most of the baixas were formed in the same way, by the filling in of lakes and channels, and the invasion of aquatic plants over the shallows ; many have been so covered within his- torical times. There are still a number of small lakes ; a larger one, Arary, is almost in the centre of Marajo ; within
this lake there is a small island, celebrated for the ancient Indian utensils which are found on it.*
I wish we had time to explore the island ; but the steam- er is here to take us away from Breves. We carry off a thousand pleasant memories, and, as souvenirs, a lot of the fearfully ugly painted pottery for which the place is famous.
* Some of this pottery was described and figured by Prof. C. F. Hartt, in the American Naturalist, July, 1871, and several Brazilian authors have treated of it.
92 - BRAZIL.
Our good host comes down to the wharf to see us off, and to assure us once more that his house is always ''as suns ordens^' whenever we care to return to it. May he always find hearts as kindly as his own ! *
We must travel all night yet, before we emerge from the Breves channels into the broad northern stream. But we reach it at last — the giant Amazons, the river of Orellana, and Acuna, and Martius — ^the river with the destinies of a continent in its future. Five miles broad its yellow waters sweep toward the sea ; east and west there are open horizons, where the lines of forest arc lifted by the mirage and broken into clumps and single trees until they are lost in the sky. On either side there may be two or three other channels, for not a glimpse of northern or southern highland is seen over the dead level of the varzcas. No danger of running aground here. Along the sides our charts may mark twenty, thirty, forty fathoms ; but out in the middle it is always ''ha imiito fiiiido ; " in the strong current the bottom is unattainable by ordinary instruments. The snows of half the Andes are flowing here, the drainings of a region as large as the United States.
The steamer passes from one side to another as we touch at the river-towns ; mere hamlets, specks in the wilderness. Most of them are on the terra firme, but hardly raised above the flood-plains. Frequently we stop to take in fuel at some fazenda, where the wood that is put on is counted slowly, stick by stick. After passing the mouth of the Xingii, we see the flat-topped hills on the northern side, like a line of mountains, all cut off at the same level.
They are twenty miles away ; between them and the main
* I am glad to acknowledge the extreme kindness of this gentleman — Dr. Lud-
gero de Almeida Salazar.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 93
river there is a great belt of netted flood-plain — in this dis- trict, as on the northeastern part of Marajo, covered, for the most part, with grass-growth. Yet we do not see this ; from the river there is only the same succession of forest-lined varzeas, with banks cut so steeply that our steamer can keep close in shore ; sometimes we almost brush the foliage. In most places, if we land from the main river or a side channel, we find, not marshes, as at Breves, but comparatively high land, running along the shore. The great trees are festooned with vines, and thick-leaved branches reach out over the water ; but there is not much undergrowth, and we can easily walk inland. We find that, after a little space, the ground slopes gradually azvay from the river ; two or three hundred yards from the bank the belt of forest ceases, and we come out suddenly on a great stretch of meadow, or a lake, the farther shore of which is lost on the horizon.
To explain these features, we must remember that the islands and flats have been formed by the river itself. Every year, in February and March, the Amazons rises to a height of thirty feet or more above its ordinary level, and overflows the meadow-land in all directions. Now, in the river, the particles of mud and clay are held in suspension by the swift current ; but as the water flows over the meadows it becomes quiet, and the particles sink to the bottom. Naturally, the coarser detritus is deposited first, near the river, and at last it builds up a ridge, as we have seen. When fully formed, the top of the ridge, in some places, is just out of reach of the highest floods. The meadows, being lower, are flooded during several months. They are alternately soaked and baked ; hence the forest trees will not grow on them, but they flourish well on the banks, where their roots are only covered during three or four weeks of each year.
94 BRAZIL.
The raised borders are the farming-lands of the varzeas. Along the Middle Amazons most of the available portion is now private property. Corn, cotton, sugar-cane and to- bacco all grow well here ; mandioca, which on the highlands requires more than a year to mature its roots, yields rich harvests on the plains with six months of the dry season. But between the Rio Negro and the Xingu, the most im- portant lowland crop is cacao. It is true, the trees will grow quite as well, or better, on the terra firme ; but Brazilians prefer the varzeas for their plantations, because the ground is easily prepared and takes care of itself; besides, the or- chard arrives at maturity much sooner. We hardly notice these cacao plantations from the river, the dark green of the foliage is so like the forest ; and generally there are other trees near the shore. But for miles the banks are lined with them, mostly the orchards of small proprietors, who own a few hundred pes of cacao ; some of the estates, however, have twenty or thicty thousand trees.
The high varzeas are healthful enough ; unlike the Breves tide-plains, malarial fevers are not at all common here. But life on the cacao-plantations has one great drawback. All the tigers and anacondas in Brazil can never compare to the terror of the mosquitoes ; not one or two serenaders, piping cannily about our ears, but swarms of them — blood-thirsty monsters, making straight at face and hands with a savage desire to suck our life out of us. At night the houses must be closed tightly, and even then the little torments come in through every chink, making life a burden to a sensitive man. And yet, in justice to the Amazonian mosquito, I must say that T have never found his bite half so virulent as that of his cousin in the -Jersey swamps ; after a day in the forest, where one is constantly exposed to their attacks, all
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 95
irritation is removed by a cold-water bath. Nor must one infer that these pests are everywhere ; they keep to the woods, only coming out at night ; at Para and Breves we saw very few of them, and in the thick forest of the high- lands, away from the channels, they are hardly noticed.
Back from the river we can ride for miles over the great breezy meadows, only we must make long detours to avoid the lakes and swampy forests and clumps of shield-leaved arums. There are a thousand beautiful things to see on these campos ; bright yellow and white flowers dotting the surface, pretty warblers and finches, and whistling black japi'is, little fishes in the pools, and brilliant dragon-flies entomologizing over the reeds ; drooping bushes with wonderfully delicate, feathery leaves all spread out gratefully to the sun ; but if you jar the branch roughly, they close and bend down in sad, mute remonstrance, the protest of their helplessness against our brute strength. I must needs be tender with the sen- sitive plants ; there must be a higher, power than mine watching over them. For every night they fold their hands and bow their heads in silent prayer, and so sleep calmly under the gentle dews ; every morning they lift themselves, with silver tears of thanksgiving, to the bright sunshine and the soft east wind.
Near the main channels the meadows are much broken by these bushes and swamps ; but far back, and sheltered in bays of the highland, they are as level and clean as a wheat-field, bright velvety green, rippling with the wind like a great lake. Everywhere the grass is dotted with cattle. Such places, in- deed, owe their beauty to the yearly fires with which the herdsmen cleanse their surface. They are the favorite pas- tures, and most of them have been absorbed into the es- tates of large proprietors.
96
BRAZIL.
Climbing the heights of Monte Alegre, we look off over great stretches of the meadow-land, threaded by channels, and dotted with little quiet lakes. The eye strives in vain to unravel the intricacies of this vast net-work. The lakes are mere shallow depressions in the meadow-land ; some of them dry up entirely in September and October, or remain only as rows of pools and swampy flats ; many, even of the larger ones, are so shallow that in the dry season canoes are poled across them ; five miles from shore a man can stand on the bottom with head and shoulders above water, and one might wade across, but for the alligators and the fierce little cannibal fishes.
The smaller lakes are innumerable ; in fact, there is every gradation in size, down to pools and puddles. Sometimes
Victoria regia.
our canoe-men can hardly push their way through the thick growth of aquatic plants ; or, where the waters are still, we hold our breath to see the eight-feet-broad leaves of the Vir- toria regia, and its. superb white and rosy flowers.* Nearly
* I have measured flowers which were eleven and one-half inches in diameter.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 97
all the lakes are connected with the rivers, often by very- long and tortuous channels — forest-covered creeks, or pas- sages in the open meadow, or wider igarape's lined with soft plumy bamboos and graceful carand and javary palms. Where the banks are shelving, great flocks of herons gather to fish in the shallow water, flying up in snowy clouds before the canoe ; roseate spoonbills spread their wings hke flashes of sunset ; egrets and bitterns hide in the tall grass. I love best to pass through these channels in the early morning, when the palm-tops are sharply defined against the deep blue sky, and the bamboos look white in contrast to the shadows beneath them, and the rising sun intensifies the pic- ture with its wonderful richness of light and color. Then the wind blows freshly across the meadows, rippling the young grass ; parrots and macaws come flying over the lowland in pairs, screaming loudly; toucans call from the solitary trees, and small birds innumerable keep up a ringing concert. They are all so happy to see the day, so brimming over with the gladness of life !
Heaven forgive me for my ingratitude ! Even among the home friends I am forever panting to get back to my forests and streams. I am half minded to buy a wooden canoe and a fishing spear of the first Indian we meet, and to go sailing away, away, among the crooked channels and sunny lakes, until I lose myself in their intricacies. One could live a her- mit, and plant mandioca, and catch fish as the Indians do, and be at rest. Ah well ! I know that there are blood- thirsty mosquitoes there, and fevers in the swamps, and dreary solitudes everywhere. I know that I would die in a month of fatigue and exposure. I must needs content my- self, with the rest, watching the fishermen and half envying
them in my heart.
7
98
BRAZIL.
In the summer the Indians come by hundreds to the lakes and channels, to fish for the gre3.t pirariicii,'^ and to prepare the flesh, just as codfish is prepared on the Newfoundland banks. They build little huts along the shores ; trading canoes come with their stock of cheap wares to barter for the fish, and a kind of aquatic community is formed, which breaks up with the January floods.
Besides the pirarucu, the lakes swarm with smaller fishes innumerable. The Indians catch them with a line, or spear
The Pirarucu Fisher.
them with tridents ; in the small streams they are shot with arrows — an art which requires peculiar skill, since one must allow for the refraction of the water. Even the little brown urchins take lessons by hooking the hwngYy piranhas, which will bite at anything, from a bit of salt meat to a bather's toe.
*Sudis.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. 99
Our northern trout-fishers are scandalized to see these boys thrashing the water with their poles to attract the piranhas.
This is the dry season, the time of plenty. With the heavier rains of January the river rises rapidly ; by March it has overspread the lowlands like a sea, a vast sheet, two thousand miles long and thirty or forty in average width, with only lines of forest and floating grass marking the limits of lakes and channels ; canoes pass almost straight across, the men pushing with poles through the floating grass ; " a voyage overland," Mrs. Agassiz called it. At the height of the flood-season, even the raised borders are submerged, ex- cept little spots where the planters build their houses.
Many of the meadow-plants are in bloom at this time ; yellow, crimson, white, dotting the water like stars. Every- where, too, the floating grass swarms with animal life. There are the brown " ramrod oX-nc^QWs,'' piassoccas,"^ running across the lily-leaves ; their long toes spread over a large surface, so that they do not sink. Herons and egrets have retired to the main-land, but there are plenty of warblers and tanagers about the reeds ; great dragon-flies dart about, or sit watch- fully on the very tip of a twig ; the agrions, their slender cousins, cling to grass-stalks, and you may see them crawling down into the water to lay their eggs, their pretty wings glistening the while like silver. At the bases of the leaves there are beetles, Carabidce and Stoii, which at the north live along muddy shores; pale, slender locusts also, and katydids, well concealed by their colors. These lie still all day, but at night they are uproarious, singing treble to the bass of frogs and the tenor of crickets. Brilliant spiders spin webs for the unwary green flies. Whole colonies of the little red
* Parra jacana.
lOO BRAZIL.
fire-ants are driven out of their nests ; they collect in balls on the tips of grass-stalks, and so live, uncomfortably, until the waters subside ; * they swarm over our canoe at times, and punish us savagely with their red-hot stings. The water, filtered through the grass, is very clear, and wholesome to drink. Down among the stalks we see the fish moving about : slender sarapos, acaris in bony armor, and numbers of bril- liantly colored Cyprinodonts. As the waters recede, many of these remain in pools about the meadows, and the Indians catch them by scores in nets or baskets.
Above Obidos the flood-plain is occupied by swampy forest — ygapo the Indians call it^much like that about Breves ; but this, of course, is out of reach of the tides. Every year it is flooded ; then boats pass through everywhere between the tree-trunks. Mr. Wallace speaks of such a journey: ,
" On crossing the Rio Negro from Barra, we entered a tract of this description. Our canoe was forced under branches and among dense bushes, till we got into a part where the trees were loftier and a deep gloom prevailed. Here the lowest branches were level with the surface of the water, and many of them were putting forth flowers. As we pro- ceeded, we sometimes came to a grove of small palms, and among them was the maraja, bearing bunches of agreeable fruit, which, as we passed, the Indians cut off with their long knives. Sometimes the rustling of leaves overhead told us that monkeys were near, and we would soon, per- haps, discover them peeping down from among the thick foliage, and then bounding away as soon as we had caught a glimpse of them. Pres- ently we came out into the sunshine, in a little grassy lake filled with lilies and beautiful water-plants : little yellow bladder-worts {Utricula- rias), and the bright blue flowers, and curious leaves with swollen stalks, of the Potitedcrias. Again in the gloom of the forest, among the lofty cylindrical trunks rising like columns out of the deep water ; now a splash-
* Myrmica Sajvissinia. A similar habit is recorded of an African ant.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. lOI
ing of falling fruit around us would announce that birds were feeding over- head, and we would discover a flock of paroquets, or some bright blue chatterers, or the lovely pompadour, with its delicate white wings and claret-colored plumage ; now, with a whirr, a trogon would seize a fruit on the wing, or some clumsy toucan would make the branches shake as he alighted.
" In the ygapd peculiar animals are found, attracted by the trees which grow only there. Many species of trogons are found only here ; others in the dry virgin forest. The umbrella chatterer is entirely con- fined to the ygapd, as is also the little bristle-tailed manakin. Some monkeys are found here only in the wet season, and whole tribes of Indians, such as the Purupurus and Muras, entirely inhabit it, building small, easily removable huts, on the sandy shores in the dry season, and on rafts in the wet ; spending a great part of their lives in canoes, sleep- ing suspended in rude hammocks from trees over the deep water, culti- vating no vegetables, but subsisting entirely on the fish, turtle, and cow- fish which they obtain from the river." *
To recapitulate : We have found three great divisions of the river-plain — the tide-lowlands, the forest-lined varzea meadows, and the flooded woods of the Upper Amazons. Of these, the first is pretty well defined by its geographical position about the mouth of the river. The varzea meadows occupy all the rest of the Lower Amazons, and as far up at least as Obidos ; they are generally bordered with woods, as we have seen, and these woods are composed of a different set of trees from those of the tide-lowlands, or the Upper Amazons ygapos ; to this class, also, belong the ilJias de niato, isolated clumps of higher forest in the meadows ; and even large islands may be covered with a similar growth. The third division, that of ygapos, occupies nearly all of the Upper Amazons flood-plain ; but there are occasional strips of grass-land interspersed, and, vice versa, spots of ygapo
* Amazon and Rio Negro, p. 176.
I02 BRAZIL.
occur in the varzea meadows below, where lakes have been filled in ; beyond this, the division is very well marked. The trees of the ygapo are in great part like those of the tide-low- lands, but each division has a few peculiar species. Of course, there are subdivisions without number, depending on slight differences of level, and the nearness to or distance from the river ; but we need not concern ourselves with these at present.
The whole flora of the lowland is distinct from that of the terra firme. Only in swamps of the highland, and along streams, we find a few of the varzea trees, and there are rare exceptions of species that grow indifferently on all sorts of ground.*
Comparing the varzea trees with those of the terra firme, we are struck at once with their general resemblance. The species are different, but \}i\Q genera are commonly the same. The Indians recognized this long ago ; they classify trees, but distinguish them closely. Thus, your woodsman will tell of one taixi on the varzea, and another on the highland ; there are varzea cedros,\ ingds^X and so on. Among palms the familiar varzea y^z'^Trj' § can hardly be distinguished by a novice from the highland tucumd ; \ and the low cnrnds\ of the dry forest are repiiesented by the tall uriicnry * * of the raised borders. We might find a hundred more instances among trees, and not a few with smaller plants, and even animals ; thus, the varzea sloth is different from the terra- firme species, and one of the large jaguars belongs properly to the lowland. We have seen what Mr. Wallace says of the trogons.
* E. g. , the Sapucaia, Lecythis ollaria. + Cedrela, sp. X Inga, sp. var.
§ Astrocaryum javari. || Astrocaryum tucumd.
TI Attalea, sp. var. ** Attalea excelsa.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. IO3
I suppose that the lowland woods have been produced by a gradual modification of highland species — a fitting for the half-submerged life that they lead, just as the tropical sheep has lost his wool, and the dog has turned white in Greenland. How many thousand years have been occupied in this change we cannot tell ; a long time it must have been, for the differ- ence is strongly marked.
A large proportion of the lowland animals are different from those of the terra firme ; a certain number are found indifferently in both regions, but in this case they generally show a marked preference for one or the other. This is pre- cisely what we would look for. Animals wander about ; not being confined to one region, they are not obliged to conform themselves to the physical condition of that region, as plants are ; but they frequent highland or lowland by preference, because the ground suits them, or their food is more abun- dant there.
Still, the difference between the two faunas is very strongly marked. I remember my surprise when I first explored the varzeas and learned this difference. I had been livins: on the highlands of Santarem, for six months or more, col- lecting insects through the dry woods, so that I was pretty familiar with this side of tropical life. One day I hired an Indian boy to set me across the river in a canoe ; there were some low islands there, with meadows and scattered trees ; the place looked so unproductive for my work that I was about to content myself with a few shells and edible crabs from the river-banks ; but some curious beetles that I found tempted me over the meadows, and so, in the end, I filled my bottles with insects, and got some valuable information besides. If this day's collection had been made on the other side of the ocean, it could not have been more completely
I04 BRAZIL.
different from the set that I was accustomed to. And thoiu^h I afterward found many species that were common to the high and low lands, I learned to separate the two sets very carefully.
In our walks over the varzea plains we may possibly see a deer, or a tapir, or a red panther, but they are only visitors ; properly their home is on the terra firme. The spotted ja- guar * belongs here of right ; he is a fisherman as well as a hunter, and, though he often wanders on the highland, you never find him far from water. The Indians have a curious story about his fishing. The jaguar, they say, comes at night and crouches on a log or branch over the water ; he raps the surface with his tail, gently, and the tauibakis, or other fruit-eating fish, come to the sound, when he knocks them out with his paw. I do not take it upon myself to say that this story is true, but I have heard it from all sides, and from persons who aver that they have seen the fishing. f
^\\& prego monkey :|: also frequents the lowlands by pref- erence, as the planters know too well ; in the cacao-orchards it is an arrant thief, and, not content with eating what it wants, it breaks and scatters the fruit out of pure mischief. Other monkeys are found here at times — one or two seem to be peculiar to the ygapos of the Upper Amazons.
Beyond these, we meet with two mammalian animals that are entirely confined to the flood-plain. The first is a sloth, § the one that we have already spoken of, clearly related to the
* Felis onga. We shall discuss the Felida: more fully in another chapter.
t They say, also, that the jaguar eats off the alligator's tail, the reptile submit- ting to this mutilation as a mouse submits to a cat, from mere stupefaction. It is certain that curtailed alligators are found, and, improbable as the story seems, it may be true. See, also, Wallace : Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro, p. 456
X Cebus cirrhifer? § Bradypus infuscatus.
THE RIVER-PLAIN. IO5
highland species, but quite distinct from it. We sometimes see the creatures on boughs of the cecropia-trees, hanging head downward, and lazily eating the leaves. The other animal is a remarkable one in many respects : capiitdra, the Indians call it, and its English name, if it has any, is a cor- ruption from this — capybara* It is a great, brown, stupid- looking animal, in shape much like a magnified prairie-dog. It is semi-aquatic ; the Indians hunt it, sometimes, but the flesh is little esteemed ; consequently the animal is very abun- dant, and ridiculously tame. Often we see them by twos and threes, wading and diving in the thick floating grass, or running about the shores, often feeding with the horses and cattle, who pay no attention to them. I have been nearly knocked over by a capybara which ran past me in a clump of high grass.
To our list of varzea mammalia we might add the Amazo- nian otter, t which we often see swimming in the channels, or climbing the banks, the pretty brown coats always shining and smooth as if they were oiled. But this animal is properly aquatic, and lives indifferently in the Amazons or in streams which run through high ground. On land, I think that it prefers rocky shores.
Of the lowland birds, we shall find that a large proportion are different from terra-firme forms ; not only the wading and swimming species, such as we see about the channels, but a great many arboreal kinds also. So with reptiles and batra- chians : there are semi-aquatic snakes in the meadows, spe- cies that are never found in the dry woods ; at night we hear the lowland frogs piping in one chorus, but the highland toads have quite another one. We might even make a dis-
* Hydrochserus capybara. t Lutra Brasiliensis.
I06 BRAZIL.
tinction of the fishes : there are species that H\e on a muddy bottom, as in the varzea channels, and others that swim by rocky shores.
Insects depend on the plants that they feed upon, or the ground they live on ; so a vast proportion of the lowland forms are distinct from those of the terra firme; and here, as among plants, we find many true " representative species," allied to the highland ones. The insects that are found on both high and low land are either those that feed on more than one kind of plant, or wandering, predaceous species, that live in trees, and so can keep out of reach of the floods. Most of these bright-colored leaping spiders, that we see on the leaves, are wandering forms, and they are cosmopolites ; but the web-building species are peculiar to varzea or terra firme. The handsome green and red dragon-flies over the meadows are true varzea forms ; their larvae live in water, and only in quiet pools, where the bottom is of mud ; on rapid highland streams we shall find other kinds. One pretty white moth we find in abundance on the grass ; its hairy caterpillars, instead of feeding on leaves, live in the water ; when the meadows are flooded, we can see them wriggling about among the stalks like eels.
There are three products of the lowland that have risen to commercial importance, and these three, at present, outrank all others on the Amazons. Rubber is the largest export of Para ; next comes cacao ; and though hides stand fourth among the exports, the grazing industry is really third in im- portance. It will be well; then, for us to review these three.
Twenty million pounds of rubber, valued at six million dollars, are annually exported from Para. But the business is altogether a ruinous one for the province, as Brazilians
THE RIVER-PLAIK. IO7
themselves are fully aware. The seringiieiro , who gains two or three dollars from a single day's gathering, has enough, as life goes here, to keep him in idleness for a week ; and when his money is spent, he can draw again on his ever-ready bank. It is so with all the forest industries ; they encourage idleness, and draw workmen from agricultural employments, and retard civilization by keeping the Indian and half-breed population away from villages and schools, yet not from the worst side of white life. The traders have consciences as elastic as the rubber they buy. Generally they sell goods on credit, and when the poor, ignorant people come to pay in produce, they come to a tyrant, who will charge them twenty milreis where they owe ten ; who will force them to work for him, though he has no legal right to their services ; who will sell them inferior goods at high prices, and take their pro- duce at low ones. In this way one can see how even the small merchants manage to live. For instance, one of them buys a coarse German wood-knife, which may cost him seventy-five cents. He sells this as an American article, for two dollars ; takes his pay in rubber at sixty-five cents the kilogram, and sells the latter for seventy-five cents the kilo- gram, with a sure market ; total profit, over two hundred per cent., and that when the trade is honesto. They tell of one trader who carried to the river Tapajos a box of play- ing cards, which he was unable to sell, because the Indians did not know their use ; so this Christian gentleman picked out all the face-cards, and sold them as saints, at fifty cents each. So the story goes, and the man does not deny it ; but, in justice to human nature, I prefer to doubt its entire truth.
The credit system is ruining the whole industry. The mameluco gatherer, who is in debt to the patrdo, is only a
I08 BRAZIL.
link of the chain. The small traders commonly get their goods on credit, from proprietors in the river towns, to whom they must sell all their rubber; and these, in turn, are gov- erned by trade-princes in Para. It is not too much to say that the whole vast industry is under the control of ten or twelve men, who manipulate as they please, of course to their own advantage. The Para merchant may gain ten per cent, by the rubber directly, but a great deal more, indi- rectly, by his sales to the traders.
The export duties are very heavy ; Brazil, having almost a monopoly of the trade, can tax it as she pleases. Rubber now pays twenty-three and one-half per cent, ad valoretn, on leaving Para ; and if it comes from the Upper Amazons, it must also pay thirteen per cent, on passing from one province to the other.
The half-wild seringiieiros will go on, submitting to im- positions and dying in the swamps, until Brazilians learn that, by purchasing this land from the government and plant- ing it in rubber-trees, they can insure vastly larger profits, and do away with the evils of the present system. It is what must eventually be done. The rubber-gatherers, in their eagerness to secure large harvests, have already killed an immense number of trees about the Para estuary ; they have been obliged to penetrate farther and farther into the forest, to the Tocantins, Madeira, Purus, Rio Negro; and eventually even these regions must be exhausted, unless they are pro- tected in some way. The trees, properly planted and cared for, will yield well in fifteen years, and, of course, the expense of gathering would be vastly reduced in a compact plantation; half the labor of the rubber-collector consists in his long tramps through the swampy forest. At present, some of the swamps are owned, either nominally or really, by private in-
THE RIVER-PLAIN. IO9
dividuals, but their claims are not very well established ; on the upper rivers, by far the greater portion are still govern- ment property. There is, however, a kind of preemption of public land, by which any one can secure the sole use of a rubber-swamp, of any extent that he can manage, and for any period, but without having an absolute proprietorship ; if he deserts the ground, another man can take it up without hinderance. Land can be purchased outright, at rates varying from thirty cents to seventy-five cents per acre, but there are extra charges for surveying.
On the Madeira and Purus the business is conducted by large proprietors, who live, it is true, in princely style ; but it is a notorious fact that nearly all of them are deeply in debt, far beyond their power to pay. They preempt a tract of ground, bring forty or fifty Indian gatherers from Bolivia, under contract to work for a certain period, get them into debt after a few months, and so establish a kind of feudal proprietorship, which is under the ultimate and absolute con- trol of the grand seignior at Para.
The present method of preparation from the milk is not very satisfactory ; the product is more or less impure from the smoke, and it must be cleaned in the manufactories. One Strauss, a German, invented an improved process of preparation, and sold his secret to the provincial govern- ment. The method consists simply in dropping the rubber milk into a solution of alum. I do not know what are the advantages or disadvantages of the Strauss system ; certainly it has never been carried out on a large scale, and the prov- ince never received any return for its outlay. There are other improved methods ; but the rubber-men are opposed to innovations, so the work goes on in the old rut. Very few Brazilians would have the patience to wait fifteen years for a
I lO BRAZIL.
rubber crop, and it is very hard for them to see the profit of an expensive improvement.
They must submit to improvement, or the trade will slip out of their hands : there is a powerful rival in the field. Not long ago a large quantity of rubber-seeds were carried to England : planted there, in the public conservatories, a few of them produced healthy young plants, which were sent to India and transplanted along the lowlands of certain rivers ; and as India is already threatening Peru with the loss of her cinchona monopoly, so she may ere long rob Brazil of the rubber industry, unless immediate steps are taken to improve and protect it.
The cacao industry is almost entirely confined to the lowland, as we have seen. In selecting his ground for an orchard, the planter must take care that it is not so low as to be subject to long floods ; in general, land where the great zirucury palm grows may be used without fear. Such high borders are generally found only on one side of a channel — the concave shore ; hence, in passing along the river, we often see cacao orchards on one hand, while on the other there may be low, swampy forest, or open meadow. The cutting for a plantation is done at the end of the rainy season, and the logs are left to dry in the sun for two or three months, until they can be burned. Beyond this the ground under- goes very little preparation ; the seeds are placed, several together, in shallow holes, arranged in rows at pretty regular intervals of about forty feet ; this work is done at the end of the rainy season succeeding the preparation of ground. The rest is a mere bagatelle. Our planter keeps his young or- chard free from second growth, until the trees can protect the ground by their own shade, which will be in three or four years. By the fifth year they begin to bear pretty freely,
THE RIVER-PLAIN. Ill
and their tops have formed a thick roof, perfectly impervious to the sun. In our wanderings about the lowland we often pass through these cacoaes. They have a rich beauty of their own — the dense foliage, the twilight shade beneath, and the dark stems, four or five together, with the fruit growing, not among the leaves, but directly from the trunk and main branches, attached only by a short stem. The ground is quite clear, and free from underbrush, and in the summer, when the fruit is gathered, is for the most part dry. The harvest months are July and August, when the gatherers go every day to pick the ripe fruit from each tree and bring it in baskets to the house. There the oval, ribbed outer shell is cut open, and the seeds are washed from the white pulp ; then they are spread over mats, and placed on raised stagings to dry in the sun, care being taken to turn them at intervals. Most of the seed is exported in this form ; a little is roasted, pounded, and made into cakes with melted sugar, for the delicious chocolate of the country. Unfortunately, on the Amazons the sun is a very uncertain drying agent ; fre- quently there are heavy showers, and the sky is clouded for days together ; so it often happens that the imperfectly pre- pared seed gets musty and half rotten before it reaches the market. Much of the Para cacao, therefore, does not rate very high in the market. All this might be avoided by the introduction of a simple drying-machine, such as is used at Rio for coffee.
Stopping at the f agendas, we frequently get a refreshing drink, made from the white pulp which surrounds the cacao- seeds. Enterprising planters prepare from this pulp a deli- cious amber jelly, which, if it were placed in the market, would be much more popular than guava-jelly. Even the shells are valuable ; they are dried and burned, and from the
112 BRAZIL.
ash is prepared a very strong brown soap — a necessity to every Amazonian washerwoman.
I confess that I am prejudiced in favor of cacao ; I cannot understand why the industry has been so neglected. It is said that the orchards of Colombia and Venezuela are being abandoned, because they are unprofitable. Very likely the land there has become too valuable ; the great objection to cacao-planting is, that it takes up so much ground ; but in the thinly-settled Amazons valley this is no obstacle. Land has hardly more than a nominal price : fine young orchards can be purchased at the rate of fifteen or twenty cents per tree, the ground going for nothing. And the great virtue of this industry is, that it requires only a few hands, and those during a season of the year when the ordinary forest occupa- tions do not draw them away. In a country where labor is so scarce, such an advantage is almost incalculable. By com- bining this with some other branch of agriculture, as sugar or cotton planting, the farmers could avoid loss of time during the other months. The small lowland proprietors often have herds of cattle on the meadows near their orchards.
Cacao-planting is considered one of the most profitable branches of agriculture on the Amazons ; it is calculated that each laborer can gather and prepare four hundred dollars' worth of the seed, and that during two months of the year. But latterly the plantations have been neglected; many trees have been killed by long floods, and during some years the crops have failed almost entirely; the rubber-trade has ruined this, as it has almost every productive industry.
At present about seven million pounds of cacao are ex- ported every year ; nearly all of this goes to France ; a little to England ; last year none at all was sent to the United States. The market value in Para has steadily risen, from
THE RIVER-PLAIN.
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seven and one-half cents per pound in 1874 to twelve and one-half cents by present quotations.*
For my part, I cannot see why chocolate is not manu- factured in connection with large orchards. At present, cacao goes to France or England, and is there made into chocolate or "coco." Thence some of it is sent to the United States, reaching the American consumer after paying three or four duties, and the profits of a dozen merchants, be- sides those of the manufacturers. The product prepared from
Drying Cacao
fresh seed, and packed in tin, would be much better in every respect than that which we get at home, and probably the export duty at Para would be no more than for the seed.
As it is, we hardly know the taste of the drink, and we do not appreciate it at all. One who is accustomed to a gener- ous bowl of tJiick chocolate every day can excuse the enthu- siasm that called it Theobroma, " Nectar of the gods." This
"January, 1879.
114 BRAZIL.
is not a stimulant, like coffee and tea ; it is a mild, nourish- ing food, in a very condensed form. I have proved by my own experience that it may be used to advantage as a sub- stitute for meat ; a friend, who has often made long explora- tions in the forest, told me that he always carried chocolate, as the most compact and useful food that he could find.
The grazing industry is gradually assuming very large proportions on the Middle Amazons, as it has heretofore on Marajo. It is true that the herds do not compare, and prob- ably never will, with those of La Plata ; but there is an im- mense field for profit on these lowlands, if the present barbar- ous system can be superseded by a more civilized one. The cattle are a hardy, half-wild stock, well suited to the rough life they lead, but of small productive value. The only profit derived is from the meat and the hides ; owing to the over- supply, the meat is very cheap, retailing at from