The next day, by noon, we reached the mouth of the Tapajoz, and went in the montaria to Santarem, to make some purchases and visit my friends. I found old Captain Hislop; but Mr. Bates, whom I most wished to see, had left a week before on an excursion up the Tapajoz. Having laid in a stock of sugar, vinegar, oil, biscuits, and fresh bread and meat, we proceeded on our journey, which we were anxious to complete as soon as possible.
On the 18th we passed Gurupá; and on the 19th, entered the narrow channels which form the communication with the Pará river,—bidding adieu to the turbid mighty flood of the never-to-be-forgotten Amazon.
We here met a vessel from Pará, fifty days out, having made a much shorter distance than we, descending the river, had come in five.
On the 22nd we reached Breves, a neat little village with well-supplied shops, where I bought half-a-dozen of the pretty painted basins, for the manufacture of which the place is celebrated; we here also got some oranges, at six for a halfpenny.
The next day we staid at a sitio built upon piles, for the whole country about here is covered at spring-tides. The master of the canoe had a lot of salsaparilha to put up properly for the Pará market, and staid a day to do it. The salsaparilha is the root of a prickly, climbing plant, allied to our common black bryony; the roots are dug by the Indians, and tied up in bundles of various lengths and sizes; but, as it is a very light cargo, it is necessary to form it into packages of a convenient and uniform size and length, for closer stowage;—these are cylindrical, generally of sixteen pounds each, and are about three and a half feet long and five or six inches in diameter, cut square and even at the ends, and wound round closely from end to end with, the long flexible roots of a species of Pothos, which, growing on the tops of lofty trees, hang down often a hundred feet or more, and, when the outer bark is scraped off, are universally used for this purpose. It was to do this binding we staid here, the salsa having been already done up in proper packages; and while the crew were busy about it, I occupied myself making some sketches of palms, which were yet wanting to complete my collection.
In two days more we reached the mouth of the Tocantíns, where there is a great bay,—so wide, that the further shore is not visible. As there are some dangerous sand-banks here, there is a pilot who takes canoes over, and we waited all day in order to start with the morning’s tide, which is considered the most favourable for the passage. While here I got a few shells, and amused myself by talking with the pilot, his wife, and two very lively daughters. Our conversation turned upon the shortness and uncertainty of life; which the old woman illustrated by a tale, which seemed to be another version of the “three warnings.”
“A man and his wife were conversing together, and remarking on the unpleasantness of being subject to death. ‘I should like to make friends with Death, some way,’ said the man; ‘then perhaps he will not trouble me.’ ‘That you can easily do,’ said his wife; ‘invite him to be padrinho (godfather) to our little boy, who is to be baptized next week; you will then be able to talk to him on the subject, and he will surely not be able to refuse a slight favour to his ‘compadre.’ So he was invited accordingly, and came; and after the ceremony and the feast were over, as he was going away, the man said to him, ‘Compadre Death, as there are plenty of people in the world for you to take, I hope you will never come for me.’ ‘Really, Compadre,’ replied Death, ‘I cannot promise you that, for when God sends me for anybody I must go. However, I will do all I can, and I will at all events promise you a week’s notice, that you may have time to prepare yourself.’ Several years passed on, and Death at last came to pay them a visit. ‘Good evening, Compadre,’says he, ‘I’m come on a disagreeable business: I have received orders to fetch you this day week, so I’m come to give you the notice I promised you.’ ‘Oh! Compadre,’ said the man, ‘you’re come very soon; it’s exceedingly inconvenient for me to go just now, I’m getting on very nicely, and shall be a rich man in a few years, if you will but let me alone: it’s very unkind of you, Compadre; I’m sure you can arrange it if you like, and take some one else instead of me.’ ‘Very sorry,’ said Death, ‘but it can’t be done, no-how: I’ve got my orders, and I must obey them. Nobody ever gets off when the order’s once given, and very few get so long a notice as I’ve been able to give you. However, I’ll try all I can, and if I succeed, you won’t see me this day week; but I don’t think there’s any hope,—so good bye.’
“When the day came, the man was in a great fright, for he did not expect to escape; his wife however hit upon a plan, which they resolved to try. They had an old Negro man in the house, who used to be generally employed in the kitchen. They made him exchange clothes with his master, and sent him away out of the house; the master then blacked his face, and made himself as much like the old nigger as he could. On the evening appointed Death came. ‘Good evening, Compadre,’ said he; ‘where is my compadre?—I’m obliged to take him with me.’ ‘Oh! Compadre,’ said she, ‘he didn’t at all expect you, and is gone on some business into the village, and won’t be back till late.’ ‘Now I’m in a pretty mess,’ said Death; ‘I did not expect my compadre would have treated me so; it’s very ungentlemanly of him to get me into this scrape after all I’ve done for him. However, I must take somebody;—who is there in the house?’ The woman was rather alarmed at this question, for she expected he would immediately have started off to the village in search of her husband: however, she considered it best to be civil, so replied, ‘There’s only our old nigger, that’s in the kitchen, getting supper ready. Sit down, Compadre, and take a bit, and then perhaps my husband will be in; I’m very sorry he should give you so much trouble.’ ‘No, I can’t stay,’ said Death; ‘I’ve got a long way to go, and must take somebody, so let’s see if the old nigger will do?’ and he walked into the kitchen, where the man was pretending to be busily engaged over the fire. ‘Well, if Compadre won’t come, I suppose I must take the old nigger,’ said Death; and before the wife could speak a word, he stretched out his hand, and down fell her husband a corpse.
“So you see,” said the old woman to me, “when a man’s time is come he must go: neither doctors nor anything else can stop him, and you can’t cheat Death no-how.” To which sentiment I did not think it worth while to make any objection.
About two days before, had been St. John’s day, when it is the custom to make bonfires and jump over and through them, which act is considered by the common people as an important religious ceremony. As we were talking about it, the old lady gravely asked if we knew that animals also passed through the fire? We replied that we were not aware of the fact; upon which she informed us that we might hereafter believe it, for that she had had ocular demonstration of it. “It was last year,” said she, “on the day after St. John’s, my son went out to hunt, and brought home a cotía and a pacá, and both of them were completely scorched all along the belly: they had evidently passed through the fire the night before.” “But where do they get the fire from?” I asked. “Oh! God prepares it for them,” said she; and on my hinting that fires were not often found in the forest unless lit by human hands, she at once silenced my objections by triumphantly asking me, “if anything was impossible with God?” at the same time observing that perhaps I was a Protestant, and did not believe in God or the Virgin. So I was obliged to give up the point; and though I assured her that Protestants did generally believe in God and went to church, she replied that she did not know, but had always heard to the contrary.