Proceeding on our journey, we entered on a labyrinth of small islands, so flooded that they appeared like masses of bushes growing out of the water. Though Senhor L. is well acquainted with the river, we here almost lost our way, and met another canoe which had quite done so. As it was late, we stayed at a point of dry land for the night, and hung our hammocks under the trees. The next day we called at the house of a man who owed Senhor L. some money, and who paid him in turtles, eight or nine of which we embarked.
The two shores of the river had only been seen for a moment. Again we plunged into a sea of islands, and channels opening among them often stretched out to the horizon. Sometimes a distant shore continued for days unbroken, but was at last found to be but a far-stretching island. All was now again alluvial soil, and we sometimes had a difficulty in finding dry land to cook our meals on. In a few days more we reached Barcellos, once the capital of the Rio Negro, but now depopulated and almost deserted. On the shore lie several blocks of marble, brought from Portugal for some public buildings which were never erected. The lines of the old streets are now paths through a jungle, where orange and other fruit-trees are mingled with cassias and tall tropical weeds. The houses that remain are mostly ruinous mud-huts, with here and there one more neatly finished and white-washed.
We called on an old Italian, who has the reputation of being rich, but a great miser. He was, however, merry enough. He gave us coffee sweetened with molasses, and pressed us to stay breakfast with him,—which meal was served in an old storehouse filled with cables, anchors, cordage, casks, and demijohns. We had silver forks and spoons, and a dirty towel for a tablecloth, and raw spirits and tough curassow-bird was the fare placed upon it. He, however, gave us a basket of oranges to take to the canoe.
In a day or two more we passed another decayed village, called Cabuqueno. About Barcellos had first appeared a very pretty little palm growing at the water's edge, a new species of Mauritia, which was afterwards abundant all the way up. Fish were now more plentiful than in the lower part of the river, and several species occurred not found below. Senhor L. often sent two men in a small canoe to fish early in the morning, and they would by ten o'clock generally come up with sufficient for our breakfast and supper. I began now to take a great interest in the beauty and variety of the species, and, whenever I could, made accurate drawings and descriptions of them. Many are of a most excellent flavour, surpassing anything I have tasted in England, either from the fresh or the salt waters; and many species have real fat, which renders the water they are boiled in a rich and agreeable broth. Not a drop of this is wasted, but, with a little pepper and farinha, is all consumed, with as much relish as if it were the most delicate soup. Our tolda was pretty hot during the day, generally being from 95°to 100° inside. Early in the morning the temperature was about 75°, the water at the same time being 85° and feeling quite warm; at noon or in the afternoon the water would be about 86°, and then feel delightfully cool from its contrast with the heated air.
We had altogether very fine weather; but every afternoon, or at least four or five times in a week, we had a "trovoádo," or storm, which came on suddenly, with violent gusts of wind, and often thunder and rain, but passed over in about an hour or two, leaving the atmosphere beautifully mild and clear. A great luxury of this river is the absence of mosquitoes. Sunset, instead of being the signal for discomfort and annoyance, brought us the pleasantest part of the day. We could sit on the top of the tolda, enjoying the cool evening breeze, and sipping a cup of coffee—our greatest luxury—till the glories of sunset faded rapidly away and the stars shone brightly out above us. At this quiet hour the goat-suckers came out to hunt their insect prey over the stream, and amused us with their rapid evolutions; the tree-frogs commenced their mournful chants, a few lingering parrots would cross the river to their nests, and the guarhibas fill the air with their howling voices. When at length the dews of evening fell thick upon us, I would turn in beneath the tolda, while Senhor L., wrapping himself in a sheet, preferred taking his repose outside.
On September 30th, just a month after we had left Barra, we again saw the opposite side of the river, and crossed over where it is about four miles wide. The next day we reached a part where the granitic rocks commence, and I was delighted to step out of the canoe on to a fine sloping table of granite, with quartz-veins running across it in various directions. From this point the river became more picturesque. Small rocky islands abounded, and fine granite beaches were frequent, offering delightful places to take our picnic meals. Fish too became yet more abundant, and we were seldom without this luxury.
On the 3rd of October we reached a sitio, where resided a half-breed Brazilian named João Cordeiro (John Lamb), who was a friend of Senhor L. as well as a customer. We stayed here two days, while a good part of the cargo of the canoe was taken out for Senhor João to choose what he liked best. Here, for the second time since we left Barra, we saw a few cows, and had milk to our coffee. I amused myself by walking in the forest and catching some insects, of which I found many new species. At length, the gay cottons and gauzes, the beads and cutlery, wines and spirits, sugar and butter, having been selected, we went on our way, Senhor João promising to get plenty of piassaba, salsa, and other products, ready to pay Senhor L. by the time he next sent to the city.
The following day we reached St. Isabel, a miserable village overgrown with weeds and thickets, and having at this time but a single inhabitant, a Portuguese, with whom we took a cup of coffee, sweetening it, however, with our own sugar, as he had no such luxury. He was one of the many decent sort of men who drag on a miserable existence here, putting up with hardships and deprivations which in a civilised community would be only the result of the most utter poverty.
On the 8th we reached Castanheiro, and stayed a day with another Portuguese, one of the richest traders on the river. He owed his wealth principally to having steadily refused to take goods on credit, which is the curse of this country: he thus was always his own master, instead of being the slave of the Barra and Pará merchants, and could buy in the cheapest and sell in the dearest market. With economy and a character for closeness, he had accumulated some five or six thousand pounds, which went on rapidly increasing, as in this country living costs a man nothing, unless he drinks or gambles. He trades with the Indians, takes the product in his own canoe to Pará, buys the articles he knows are most saleable, and gets a profit of about a hundred per cent. on all the business he does. It may give some insight into the state of this country to know that, though this man is distinguished from almost all other traders by his strict integrity and fairness, which all allow, yet he is seldom spoken well of, because he does not enter into the extravagance and debauchery which it is thought he can well afford.
A little further on we passed some more curious Indian picture-writings on a granite rock, of which I took a sketch. On the 11th we reached Wanawacá, the seat of a Brazilian from Pernambuco, banished to the Rio Negro for joining in some insurrection. I had heard the most horrible stories of this man's crimes. He had murdered the Indians, carried away their wives and daughters, and committed barbarities that are too disgusting to mention. Yet, as I had a letter of introduction to him, and he was a friend of Senhor L., we went to call upon him. I found him a mild, quiet, polite, white-haired old gentleman, who received us with great civility, gave us a very good breakfast, and conversed in an unusually rational manner. When we had gone, Senhor L. asked me if I was not surprised to see such a mild-looking man. "But," said he, "these soft-spoken ones are always the worst. He is a regular hypocrite, and he will stick at nothing. Among his friends he will boast of his crimes, and he declares there is nothing that he will not do for his own pleasure or profit."