This year the drought threatened to be as bad as the fearful one of 1877; worse, in fact, for then at least there was good old Emperor Peter, whose statue in the praça just outside our window testified to Ceará’s gratitude for his timely assistance; then money was plentiful instead of all Brazil being wrung dry by a financial crisis, and there was the final resort of the rubber-fields, which now returning paroaras were reporting useless because of the low price of that commodity. Already tales of wholesale starvation were coming from the vicinity of Cratheus, and cattle were dying by hundreds throughout the interior, leaving nothing but their hides to recoup the owners for their labor and investment. True, there was an imposing government department in Fortaleza known as the “Inspectory of Works against the Droughts,” but the country people knew only too well that this was mainly a means for political rascals to make hay out of their sufferings.
The houses of northeastern Brazil are often made entirely of palm leaves
Transportation in the interior of Brazil is primitive—and noisy
Our advertising matter parading the streets of a Brazilian town off the main trail of world travel
The carnauba palm of Ceará, celebrated for its utility as well as its beauty
From Fortaleza what was originally called the “Estrada de Ferro de Baturité,” but which had recently changed its nationality and become the “Brazil North Eastern Railways, Ltd.,” runs far into the interior of the state. A journey to the end of the line and return, however, takes from Thursday morning to Sunday night, and I did not dream I could absent myself so long until I discovered the unimportance of Maranguape. This nearest important town of the interior was a mere eighteen miles away, and as ten days must be passed between steamers, it seemed the best place to spend our evenings after Fortaleza had had its fill of the Kinetophone. There was more green along the way than the constant cry of “secca medonha” (horrible drought) had led us to expect, but it was largely in trees and bushes, with grass almost wholly lacking. Beside the track lay scattered expensive iron pipes from abroad that were some day to bring sufficient water to the capital, if they did not rust away first. These, we learned, represented another of Brazil’s government scandals. State officials had been given a hundred and fifty thousand contos ($50,000,000) by recent legislation with which to bring Fortaleza a suitable water supply. They found it necessary to spend a year or more in Europe before finally ordering pipe specially cast, with the name “Ceará” embossed on each length of it. When thousands of these had been tossed upon the beach at the capital and scattered for fifty miles or more along the railroad, the politicians reported that the money had given out, and Fortaleza continues to drink such water as it can dig out of its own sand-holes by hand or by windmill.