CHAPTER I.
RIO DE JANEIRO.
Motives for visiting Brazil—Voyage from England—Arrival at Rio de Janeiro—Description of the City—Its Environs—Geological Character of its Neighbourhood—Its Climate—Its Inhabitants—State of Slavery in Brazil—General good treatment of Slaves—Different Mixed Races—Excursion to the Mountains surrounding the Capital—Its Botanical Garden—Museum of Natural History.
Having devoted much of my leisure time, during the course of a medical education, to the study of Natural History generally, but more particularly to Botany; and my mind being excited by the glowing descriptions which Humboldt and other travellers have given of the beauty and variety of the natural productions of tropical countries, the magnificence of their mountain scenery, and the splendour of their skies, an ardent desire seized me to travel in such regions.
My early patron and teacher in Botany, Sir William J. Hooker, then professor of that science in the University of Glasgow, aware of my wishes, strongly recommended a voyage to some part of South America; and Brazil was fixed on as the best field for my researches, as the vegetable productions of that immense empire were then less known to the English botanist than those perhaps of any other country of equal size in the world. It was true that it had been visited both by German and French naturalists, but no Englishmen, with the exception of Cunningham and Bowie, and the intrepid Burchell, had penetrated into the interior; whole provinces, particularly in the north, still lay open as virgin fields for the investigations of some future traveller; and these I was desirous to explore.
The preparations necessary for such an undertaking having been completed, I left Glasgow on the 14th of May, 1836, and on the 20th of the same month embarked at Liverpool, on board the barque Memnon, bound for Rio de Janeiro, the capital of Brazil. The voyage across the Atlantic to South America has been too often described for me to say more than that we had a fair share of calms and squalls, of bright skies and brilliant sunsets, of sharks and whales, flying fishes, and phosphorescent waves. A tedious, but not unpleasant voyage, brought us in sight of land on the 22nd of July. When day broke, Cape Frio, as had been predicted by the captain, was seen, bearing N.N.E., about twenty-five miles distant. This Cape is about seventy miles to the eastward of Rio de Janeiro, and a range of high undulating hills stretches between them, covered to their topmost ridge with trees. On their summits, numerous Palms, with their slender shafts surmounted by a ball-like mass of leaves, rising far above the other denizens of the forest, and standing boldly out in relief against a beautiful blue sky, give a marked character to the scene, and silently proclaim to the European his approach to a world the vegetation of which is very different from that of the one he has so recently left. The winds were light all day, and as we sailed close along the coast, my eye, through the medium of the ship’s telescope, was constantly surveying the wild but beautiful scene, and in imagination I was already revelling amid its multiform natural productions.
It was long past noon before we reached the entrance to the Bay of Rio, which is very remarkable for the number of conical hills and islands which are to be seen on both sides of it. One of these hills is the well-known Pão d’Açucar, so called from its resemblance to a sugar-loaf. It is a solid mass of granite, rising to the height of about one thousand feet, and destitute of vegetation, with the exception of a few stunted shrubs on its eastern declivity. Seen from a great distance at sea, it is an admirable land-mark for ships making the port. Passing through the magnificent portal, we came to an anchor a few miles below the city, not being allowed to proceed further till we were visited by the authorities. It is quite impossible to express the feelings which arise in the mind while the eye surveys the beautifully varied scenery which is disclosed on entering the harbour—scenery which is perhaps unequalled on the face of the earth, and on the production of which nature seems to have exerted all her energies. Since then I have visited many places celebrated for their beauty and their grandeur, but none of them have left a like impression upon my mind. As far up the Bay as the eye could reach, lovely little verdant and palm-clad islands were to be seen rising out of its dark bosom, while the hills and lofty mountains which surround it on all sides, gilded by the rays of the setting sun, formed a befitting frame for such a picture. At night the lights of the city had a fine effect; and when the land-breeze began to blow, the rich odour of the orange and other perfumed flowers was borne seaward along with it, and, by me, at least, enjoyed the more from having been so long shut out from the companionship of flowers. Ceylon has been celebrated by voyagers for its spicy odours, but I have twice made its shores with a land breeze blowing, without experiencing anything half so sweet as those which greeted my arrival at Rio.
On the following morning, the 23rd of July, I first put foot on the shores of the great continent of the new world. If the aspect of the country, and the nature of the vegetation were so different from those of the old country, how much more strange were the human beings which first met my sight on landing. The numerous small boats and canoes which ply about in the harbour, are all manned with African blacks; the long narrow streets through which we passed were crowded with the same race, nearly naked, many of them sweating under their loads, and smelling so strongly as to be almost intolerable. Scarcely a white face was to be seen. The shops, in the most of which both the doors and windows are thrown open during the day, seemed to be attended to by mulattos, or by Portuguese of nearly as dark a hue. Seen from the ship in the morning, the city had a most imposing appearance, from its position, and the number of its white-washed churches and houses; but nearer contact with it dispelled the illusion. The streets are narrow and dirty, and what with the stench from the thousands of negroes which throng them, and the effluvia from the numerous provision shops, the first impressions are anything but agreeable. I could not help recalling to mind the lines in ‘Childe Harold,’ which Byron has applied to the capital of the mother country:—
“But whoso entereth within this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down,