to build houses and corrals, to hunt alligators for oil, and kill bats, which do great injury to the cattle by sucking their blood night after night. The bats live in holes in trees, where they are killed in considerable numbers, Senhor Leonardo informing me that they had destroyed about seven thousand during the last six months. Many hundreds of cattle are said to have been killed by them in a few years.
The slaves appeared contented and happy, as slaves generally do. Every evening at sunset they came to bid good-night to Senhor Leonardo and myself, a similar salutation taking place when they first met us in the morning. If a negro goes out for the day to any distance, he bids adieu to all he may meet, as if he were parting from his dearest friends on the eve of a long journey; contrasting strongly with the apathy of the Indian, who scarcely ever exhibits any feelings of regret on parting, or of pleasure on his return. In the evening they play and sing in their own houses: their instrument is a home-made guitar, from which they obtain three or four notes, which are repeated for hours with the most wearisome monotony. To this music they join an extempore song, generally relating to some events of the day; and the doings of the "brancos," or white people, have often a considerable share in it. Many of them keep fowls and ducks, which they sell, to buy any little luxuries they may require, and they often go fishing to supply the house, when they have a share for themselves.
Every Saturday evening they meet for Divine service, which is performed in a room fitted up as a chapel, with an altar gaily decorated with figures of the Virgin and Child, and several saints painted and gilt in a most brilliant manner. Some of these figures are the work of Senhor Leonardo, who is an excellent self-taught carver; and when the candles are lit, and all is in order, the effect is equal to that of many village churches. Two of the oldest Negroes conduct the service, kneeling at the altar; the rest kneel or stand about the room. What they chant is, I believe, part of the vesper service of the Roman Catholic Church, and all join in the responses with much fervour, though without understanding a word. Sunday is their own day, for working in their gardens, hunting, or idleness, as they choose; and in the evening they often assemble in the verandah to dance, and sometimes keep it up all night.
While I was on the island a child of a few weeks old was to be baptized. This they consider a most important ceremony; so the father and mother, with godfathers and godmothers, set out in a canoe for Chaves, on the island of Marajó, the nearest place where there is a priest. They were absent three days, and then returned with the news that the Padre was ill, and could not perform the ceremony; so they were obliged to bring back the poor little unsanctified creature, liable, according to their ideas, should it die, to eternal perdition. The same evening they sang for three hours to their usual music the whole history of their journey, judging from the portions which were here and there intelligible. They made every fact into a verse, which was several times repeated. Thus one would suddenly burst out,—
"The Padre was ill, and could not come,
The Padre was ill, and could not come."
"The Padre was ill, and could not come."
Then for a time the music continued without the voices, while they were trying to find another fact to found a verse upon. At length some one continued the subject:—
"He told us to come the next day,
To see if he was better."
"He told us to come the next day,
To see if he was better."
And so on to the end of the history, which struck me as being probably very similar to the unwritten lays of the ancient bards, who could thus make well-known facts interesting by being sung to music in an appropriate and enthusiastic manner. In a warlike nation, what more would at first be necessary than to relate the bold deeds of the warriors, the discomfiture of the enemy, and the trophies of victory, in order to raise the enthusiasm of the audience to the highest pitch? Some of these would be handed down from generation to generation, the language improved, and when they came to be reduced to writing, rhyme would be added, and a regular poem constructed.
Having now arrived at the height of the dry season, and the waters of the lake before mentioned being sufficiently low, the German steward informed me that he should make an excursion there to kill alligators, and I determined to accompany him. There are two ways to reach the place—overland in nearly a direct line, or round to the other side of the island in a boat and up a stream, which can be ascended to within a few miles of the lake, with which indeed in the wet season it communicates. The tide served for the boat to start about midnight, and I decided on going in it, as I thought I should thus see more of the island. The overseer was to go by land in the morning. Being roused up at midnight, I got into the canoe with three Negroes, and tried to compose myself for a nap as well as I could upon the baskets of farinha and salt with which it was loaded. It was a large clumsy canoe, and with a sail and the tide we went on pretty well; but as morning dawned we got out rather far from land into the ocean-like river, and the swell beginning to be disagreeable, I arose from my uneven couch very qualmish and uncomfortable.
However, about ten o'clock we reached the mouth of the igaripé, or small stream we were to ascend, and I was very glad to get into still water. We stayed for breakfast in a little clear space under a fine tree, and I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a little biscuit, while the men luxuriated on fish and farinha. We then proceeded up the stream, which was at its commencement about two hundred yards wide, but soon narrowed to fifty or eighty. I was much delighted with the beauty of the vegetation, which surpassed anything I had seen before: at every bend of the stream some new object presented itself,—now a huge cedar hanging over the water, or a great silk-cotton-tree standing like a giant above the rest of the forest. The graceful assaí palms occurred continually, in clumps of various sizes, sometimes raising their stems a hundred feet into the air, or bending in graceful curves till they almost met from the opposite banks. The majestic murutí palm was also abundant, its straight and cylindrical stems like Grecian columns, and with its immense fan-shaped leaves and gigantic bunches of fruit, produced an imposing spectacle. Some of these bunches were larger than any I had before seen, being eight or ten feet in length, weighing probably two or three hundredweight: each consisted of several bushels of a large reticulated fruit. These palms were often clothed with creepers, which ran up to the summits, and there put forth their blossoms. Lower down, on the water's edge, were numerous flowering shrubs, often completely covered with convolvuluses, passion-flowers, or bignonias. Every dead or half-rotten tree was clothed with parasites of singular forms or bearing beautiful flowers, while smaller palms, curiously-shaped stems, and twisting climbers, formed a background in the interior of the forest.
Nor were there wanting animated figures to complete the picture. Brilliant scarlet and yellow macaws flew continually overhead, while screaming parrots and paroquets were passing from tree to tree in search of food. Sometimes from a branch over the water were suspended the hanging nests of the black and yellow troupial (Cassicus icteronotus), into which those handsome birds were continually entering. The effect of the scene was much heightened by the river often curving to one side or the other, so as to bring to view a constant variety of objects. At every bend we would see before us a flock of the elegant white heron, seated on some dead tree overhanging the water; but as soon as we came in sight of them, they would take flight, and on passing another bend we would find them again perched in front of us, and so on for a considerable distance. On many of the flowering shrubs gay butterflies were settled, and sometimes on a muddy bank a young alligator would be seen comfortably reposing in the sun.
We continued our journey thus for several hours, the men rowing vigorously for fear of the tide turning against us before we reached our destination: this, however, happened just as we entered a narrower part of the stream. The scenery was now much more gloomy; the tall trees closed overhead so as to keep out every sunbeam. The palms twisted and bent in various contortions, so that we sometimes could hardly pass beneath, and sunken logs often lay across from bank to bank, compelling us to get out of the canoe, and use all our exertions to force it over. Our progress was therefore very slow, and the stream was every
