Travels in Brazil

by Henry Koster

This was to me a new scene,—when I thought of the complete change of habits which this kind of life required, and how entirely different it was from any thing in England, I may almost say in Europe,—when I looked round, and saw our several fires, for the cold air had, by this time, obliged each person to have his own; the men all asleep, our pack-saddles, trunks, and other parts of our baggage scattered about, as it was taken from the horses,—when I heard the running of the water, and the rustling of the trees; and, when I considered, that I was entering among a people with whose habits I was little acquainted, whose feelings towards my countrymen I was ignorant of,—I felt a kind of damp; but this was soon removed, by thinking of the pleasure of return, and of the accomplishment of what I was deemed incapable of performing. I was cheered by my recollection of the knowledge I had of the language, and by the determination I felt within me of conforming to the customs of the people,—of submitting to their prejudices. I was not old enough to have contracted any habits, too deep to be laid aside when necessary. These thoughts were interrupted by the cry of “Jezus,” which was repeated every half minute in a dismal voice; I called to the guide, supposing it to proceed from some person in distress; he waked, and I told him what had made me call to him,—he said, it was only some person helping another “a bem morrer,” that is, that some dying person, which I found was the usual custom, had a friend to repeat the word “Jezus,” until the sufferer expired, that it might not be forgotten, and, perhaps, to keep the devil off.

I dined the following day at the village of Mamanguape, situated upon the banks of a dry river; it is a thriving place. These more modern villages have been built in one long street upon the road, the older ones in a square. It had then about three hundred inhabitants; but I have since heard, that the number is more than doubled, and that new houses are building. The river can scarcely be reckoned of any advantage to the village, but the place forms a convenient break between Goiana and Rio Grande for the travelling pedlars, a useful, industrious, and, generally, honest set of men, as their resting-place and head-quarters; from hence they make daily excursions to the plantations, at a little distance, and return here to sleep. I passed the night in the out-houses of some sugar-works; my guide was much astonished at my not asking for lodgings at the caza-grande, or owner’s house; but I preferred these kind of quarters to better ones, where I might run the risk of being obliged to remain half the night awake, for the purpose of giving news. The hospitality, however, of the planters, is very great; and no recommendation is necessary, though I had provided myself with a few letters.

The next day we proceeded to Cunhàû, the sugar-plantation of the Colonel Andre d’Albuquerque do Maranham, the chief of the Maranham branch of this numerous and distinguished family of the Albuquerques. He is a man of immense landed property. The plantation of Cunhàû extends along the road fourteen leagues, and the owner has since purchased another large estate adjoining; his lands likewise in the Sertam for breeding cattle are supposed not to be less than thirty to forty leagues in extent—of those kind of leagues that sometimes take a man three or four hours to get over one.

I had letters to him from some of his relations and friends at Pernambuco; he was sitting at his door, with his chaplain and several of his stewards and other persons employed by him, to have all the benefit of the fresh air. He is a man of about thirty years of age, handsome, and rather above the middle size, with genteel manners, rather courtly, as the Brazilians of education generally are. He lives quite in feudal state; his negroes and other dependants are numerous. He commands the regiment of militia cavalry of Rio Grande, and has them in good order, considering the state of the country. He came forwards on my dismounting, and I gave him the letters, which he put by to read at leisure, and then desiring me to sit down, asked me several questions of my wishes, intentions, &c. He took me to his guests’ apartments at a little distance from his own residence, where I found a good bed; hot water was brought to me in a large brass basin, and every necessary was supplied in a magnificent style—the towels were all fringed, &c. When I had dressed myself, I expected to be called to supper, but, to my amazement, I waited until near one o’clock, when a servant came to summon me. I found in the dining-room a long table laid out and covered with meat of several kinds, and in quantity sufficient for twenty persons; to this feast the colonel, his chaplain, another person, and myself sat down; when I had tasted until I was quite tired, to my utter dismay another course came on, equally profuse of fowls, pastry, &c. &c. and when this was removed, I had yet a third to go through of at least ten different kinds of sweetmeats. The supper could not have been better cooked or handsomer, if it had been prepared at Recife, and even an English epicure might have found much to please his palate. I was not able to retire to rest until near three o’clock; my bed was most excellent, and I enjoyed it still more from not expecting to find one. In the morning, the colonel would not allow me to leave his house, until I had breakfasted; tea, coffee, and cakes were brought in, all of which were very good. He then took me to see his horses, and pressed me much to leave my own, and take one of his for my journey, that mine might be in good condition on my return, and he also urged me to leave my pack-horses, and take some of his; but as mine were still all in working order, I declined accepting his offer. These circumstances are mentioned to show the frankness with which strangers are treated. I could not get away before ten o’clock, and therefore only advanced two leagues to dinner; I stopped by the side of a rivulet under some trees, upon a most beautiful spot.

At a short distance from the estate of Cunhàû, is a hamlet of the same name through which I passed in my way to the colonel’s plantation. This hamlet, or the estate itself, was the scene of a massacre, which was committed by the Pitagoares and Tapuyas from the Potengi in the year 1645. A battle was fought by Camaram, the Indian chieftain, to whose prowess the Portugueze are so much indebted, against the Dutch, in the following year, between Cunhàû and Fort Keulen which stands at the mouth of the Potengi.[34]

The captaincy of Rio Grande commences some leagues to the southward of Cunhàû, at a place called Os Marcos—a deep dell inhabited by runaway negroes and criminals; the paths of the dell are intricate, and when once a man has taken up his residence here, it is impossible to dislodge him.

This season the crop of cotton had failed; it was one of those years in which a great want of rain was felt. The colonel of Cunhàû had, for the first time, planted a piece of land, from which he expected to have gathered 10,000 arrobas, but in the end only gathered about 100; and he told me that he should keep to his sugar henceforwards. He is lenient to his slaves; they looked fat and well, and he has the character of not making as much of his plantation as he might, which is one proof of his kindness to them. The estate of Cunhàû is one of the largest, if not quite the most extensive, in these parts. There are upon it about 150 negroes, and the lands belonging to it would employ four or five times the number, but the colonel pays more attention to cattle, by which his father increased his fortune very largely.

As usual, on our arrival by the side of the rivulet the horses were unloaded, and my hammock was slung for me. I laid down in my cloaths, but soon I started up, finding myself uneasy. The guide saw me, and called out, “O sir, you are covered with carapatos.” I then perceived them, and felt still more their bites. Instantly throwing off part of my cloaths, but with the remainder upon me I ran into the water, and there began to take them off. The carapato or tick, is a small, flat insect, of a dark brown colour; about the size of four pins’ heads placed together, it fastens upon the skin, and will in time eat its way into it. It is dangerous to pull it out quickly, when already fixed, for if the head remains, inflammation is not unfrequently the consequence. The point of a heated fork or penknife applied to the insect, when it is too far advanced into the skin to be taken out with the hand, will succeed in loosening it. There is another species of tick of much larger size, and of a lead colour; this is principally troublesome to horses and horned cattle, that are allowed to run loose in lands which have been only partially cleared. I have, in some instances, seen horses that have had such vast numbers upon them, as to have been weakened by the loss of blood which they have occasioned. The insects of this species of carapato[35] fasten themselves to the skin, but do not force their way into it. The hammock had fallen to the ground accidentally when taken from the trunk to be slung, and had thus picked up these unpleasant visitors. I had some trouble in getting them all off, but was successful, as I had attacked the enemy in time.

We set off again about two o’clock; I had intended to have ridden until sunset, and then to have put up near to some cottage, but a young man overtook us, and we entered into conversation. He lived at Papari, a village about half a league out of the road, and he pressed me so much to accompany him to sleep at his place, that I agreed. Papari is a deep and narrow valley, a most delightful situation. The whole of the valley is cultivated, and principally this year, the lands were in great request, as the rains had failed, and the high sandy lands had proved barren. For, whilst every other part of the country appeared dry and burnt up, this spot was in full verdure—it appeared to laugh at all around it, aware of its own superiority. The inhabitants seemed by their countenances to partake of the joyful looks of the land they lived in. Papari yet enjoys another advantage; though it is at the distance of three or four leagues from the sea, a salt water lake reaches it, so that its inhabitants have the fish brought to their own doors. The tide enters the lake, which is never dry, for although the fresh springs which run into it might fail, still it would always preserve a certain portion of water from the sea. The fishermen come up upon their small river jangadas, which do not require more than twelve inches of water. Papari is about five leagues from Cunhàû. Senhor Dionisio introduced me to his lady; he is a native of Portugal, and she a Brazilian. They possessed a small piece of land in the valley, and appeared to be comfortably situated. Papari may contain about three hundred inhabitants very much scattered. In the course of this year, I afterwards heard, that many persons flocked to it from other parts, owing to the absolute want of provisions. I went down to the edge of the lake to see the fishermen arrive, the people of the valley had all assembled to receive them; it was quite a Billingsgate in miniature—save that the Portugueze language does not admit of swearing.