The Naturalist on the River Amazons [59]
passing in a heavily- laden montaria to his large canoe. Remembering their fate, I was rather alarmed to see that I should be obliged to take all my luggage ashore in one trip in a leaky little boat. The pile of chests with two Indians and myself sank the montaria almost to the level of the water. I was kept busy bailing all the way. The Indians manage canoes in this condition with admirable skill. They preserve the nicest equilibrium, and paddle so gently that not the slightest oscillation is perceptible. On landing, an old negress named Florinda, the feitora or manageress of the establishment (which was kept only as a poultry-farm and hospital for sick slaves), gave me the keys, and I forthwith took possession of the rooms I required.
I remained here nine weeks, or until the 12th of February, 1849. The house was very large and most substantially built, but consisted of only one story. I was told it was built by the Jesuits more than a century ago. The front had no veranda, the doors opening upon a slightly elevated terrace about a hundred yards distant from the broad sandy beach. Around the residence the ground had been cleared to the extent of two or three acres, and was planted with fruit trees. Well-trodden pathways through the forest led to little colonies of the natives on the banks of retired creeks and rivulets in the interior. I led here a solitary but not unpleasant life; for there was a great charm in the loneliness of the place. The swell of the river beating on the sloping beach caused an unceasing murmur, which lulled me to sleep at night, and seemed appropriate music in those midday hours when all nature was pausing breathless under the rays of a vertical sun. Here I spent my first Christmas Day in a foreign land. The festival was celebrated by the negroes of their own free will and in a very pleasing manner. The room next to the one I had chosen was the capella, or chapel. It had a little altar which was neatly arranged, and the room was furnished with a magnificent brass chandelier. Men, women, and children were busy in the chapel all day on the 24th of December decorating the altar with flowers and strewing the floor with orange-leaves. They invited some of their neighbours to the evening prayers, and when the simple ceremony began an hour before midnight, the chapel was crowded. They were obliged to dispense with the mass, for they had no priest; the service therefore consisted merely of a long litany and a few hymns. There was placed on the altar a small image of the infant Christ, the "Menino Deos" as they called it, or the child-god, which had a long ribbon depending from its waist. An old white-haired negro led off the litany, and the rest of the people joined in the responses. After the service was over they all went up to the altar, one by one, and kissed the end of the ribbon. The gravity and earnestness shown throughout the proceedings were remarkable. Some of the hymns were very simple and beautiful, especially one beginning "Virgensoberana," a trace of whose melody springs to my recollection whenever I think on the dreamy solitude of Caripi.
The next day after I arrived, two blue-eyed and red-haired boys came up and spoke to me in English, and presently their father made his appearance. They proved to be a German family named Petzell, who were living in the woods, Indian fashion, about a mile from Caripi. Petzell explained to me how he came here. He said that thirteen years ago he came to Brazil with a number of other Germans under engagement to serve in the Brazilian army. When his time had expired he came to Para to see the country, but after a few months' rambling left the place to establish himself in the United States. There he married, went to Illinois, and settled as farmer near St. Louis. He remained on his farm seven or eight years, and had a family of five children. He could never forget, however, the free river-life and perpetual summer of the banks of the Amazons; so, he persuaded his wife to consent to break up their home in North America, and migrate to Para. No one can imagine
I remained here nine weeks, or until the 12th of February, 1849. The house was very large and most substantially built, but consisted of only one story. I was told it was built by the Jesuits more than a century ago. The front had no veranda, the doors opening upon a slightly elevated terrace about a hundred yards distant from the broad sandy beach. Around the residence the ground had been cleared to the extent of two or three acres, and was planted with fruit trees. Well-trodden pathways through the forest led to little colonies of the natives on the banks of retired creeks and rivulets in the interior. I led here a solitary but not unpleasant life; for there was a great charm in the loneliness of the place. The swell of the river beating on the sloping beach caused an unceasing murmur, which lulled me to sleep at night, and seemed appropriate music in those midday hours when all nature was pausing breathless under the rays of a vertical sun. Here I spent my first Christmas Day in a foreign land. The festival was celebrated by the negroes of their own free will and in a very pleasing manner. The room next to the one I had chosen was the capella, or chapel. It had a little altar which was neatly arranged, and the room was furnished with a magnificent brass chandelier. Men, women, and children were busy in the chapel all day on the 24th of December decorating the altar with flowers and strewing the floor with orange-leaves. They invited some of their neighbours to the evening prayers, and when the simple ceremony began an hour before midnight, the chapel was crowded. They were obliged to dispense with the mass, for they had no priest; the service therefore consisted merely of a long litany and a few hymns. There was placed on the altar a small image of the infant Christ, the "Menino Deos" as they called it, or the child-god, which had a long ribbon depending from its waist. An old white-haired negro led off the litany, and the rest of the people joined in the responses. After the service was over they all went up to the altar, one by one, and kissed the end of the ribbon. The gravity and earnestness shown throughout the proceedings were remarkable. Some of the hymns were very simple and beautiful, especially one beginning "Virgensoberana," a trace of whose melody springs to my recollection whenever I think on the dreamy solitude of Caripi.
The next day after I arrived, two blue-eyed and red-haired boys came up and spoke to me in English, and presently their father made his appearance. They proved to be a German family named Petzell, who were living in the woods, Indian fashion, about a mile from Caripi. Petzell explained to me how he came here. He said that thirteen years ago he came to Brazil with a number of other Germans under engagement to serve in the Brazilian army. When his time had expired he came to Para to see the country, but after a few months' rambling left the place to establish himself in the United States. There he married, went to Illinois, and settled as farmer near St. Louis. He remained on his farm seven or eight years, and had a family of five children. He could never forget, however, the free river-life and perpetual summer of the banks of the Amazons; so, he persuaded his wife to consent to break up their home in North America, and migrate to Para. No one can imagine