The river Maria Farinha is that which runs up to Jaguaribe; its mouth is wide, and the bar will admit of craft of some size; but the port cannot be considered as being worthy of attention. The horses swim across, but the passage is distressing to them, for the tide runs rapidly. In my way to Recife along the beach, I passed the fort of Pao Amarello, distant from that place four leagues. It is small and built of stone. The garrison is little more than nominal, but it affords a comfortable residence for a captain of the Olinda regiment. The port opposite to which the fort is situated, is nothing more than a slight curve which the coast makes at this spot, by which vessels at anchor can scarcely be said to receive any shelter; but the landing-place is good. Wardenburg, the commander of the Dutch forces which invaded Pernambuco in 1630, landed at Pao Amarello.[132]
I was in the habit of conversing with several of the people of colour who resided in my neighbourhood. One man particularly amused me much; he was a short and stout creole black, and a shoemaker by trade. I was greatly entertained with his pompous manner, exalting in terms of extravagant praise the advantages which Itamaraca enjoyed, and the excellencies of Conception which was his native spot, in particular. He lamented much the removal of the mayor and chamber to Goiana, giving me to understand that undue influence had been employed; forgetful of the insignificance of one place and the importance of the other. He also told me with much vehemence of voice and action, that the late vicar had wished to remove the image of our Lady of Conception from the parish church to Pillar; but that the inhabitants assembled, and prevented the accomplishment of the plan. “No,” he said, “if that image was to leave us, we should consider ourselves unprotected, and then indeed would our town be utterly destroyed.” The vicar of whom the man spoke, might have gone to reside at Pillar if he pleased, but he too had his prejudices in favour of the image, and did not like to say Mass before any other in his own parish. Thus images cease to be regarded as the representations of those to whom prayer is to be addressed; a value is placed upon the wood itself, and religion degenerates into unveiled idolatry.[133]
Another instance of the same description of feeling occurred at Pillar. Our Lady under that invocation was represented by a small image, which from age had become very dirty. A priest who used to officiate at the chapel of the village in question, preferred purchasing a larger image in the place of directing that the old one should be painted afresh; he did so, and quietly removing the old image to a house in the neighbourhood, placed the new Lady upon the altar in its stead; but lo! many of the inhabitants would not hear mass when they perceived the change that had been made; however the priest went through the service, and then returned to his own residence, which was at some distance. The people discovered that the image still remained in their neighbourhood, and presently the house in which it was concealed became known. The owner sent for the priest, being afraid that some disagreeable consequences to himself might ensue. The priest came, and without ceremony wrapped up Our Lady in a handkerchief, and rode off with her to his own house, from whence she was transferred to one of the side altars of the parish church. Even at the time of which I am treating, some of the inhabitants came to say their prayers before this image, unmindful of the inconvenience of the distance.[134]
The sexton of the parish church, who was a mulatto man, had much peculiarity of character. He had a great deal of penetration, but was extremely cautious in what he said; and when questions were asked relating to any affair in which he thought he might become implicated; he usually answered—“where white men are concerned, negroes must be silent[135].” This fellow was once holding a candle in the hand of a dying person, and repeating the word “Jesus,” as is customary; the patient began to move restlessly, but Gonsalo quietly went on with his dismal work, and added with perfect unconcern—“Come die, and have done with your nonsense.”[136]
The creole negro of whom I have above spoken, was fond of shooting the larger kinds of game, such as antelopes, which are called in the country veados, and pacas (cavia paca). This was done in the following manner. A platform of thick twigs was made among the branches of a tree, at the height of several feet from the ground, near to some one of those plants upon whose leaves or fruit these animals feed. At night two men placed themselves upon this platform, and when the footsteps of the animal were heard, one of the men would light a small taper prepared for the occasion, and the other, with his gun ready, looked round for the game. The animal was allowed to come as near as it seemed inclined to do unmolested, and was then fired at. The men immediately descended, and oftentimes did not attempt to find their prey until the morning; returning to the spot for the purpose. This is the usual manner of obtaining these animals. The tatu verdadeiro or legitimate armadillo, was also sometimes caught by him. I requested him to obtain for me a tamanduà, which is a small species of ant-eater; he brought me one of which the body was about six inches in length, and the tail about twelve; and the hair of its skin was extremely soft; the animal was clinging closely to the bough of a tree, and its tail also was entwining the branch. My black friend, the shoemaker, told me that he had been ordered to eat the flesh of the tamanduà after having had an eruptive complaint, and that it was very beneficial for persons who were recovering from the bobas or yaws. He said that it had “a taste which was like unto the smell of the ants.” The sloth was to be seen here occasionally; also the cotia (cavia caudata). The porco da India, the guinea-pig, I have only seen in a tame state. At Jaguaribe, the capivara (cavia capybara) was often seen among the mangroves; the Indians sometimes eat it, but few of the negroes will. There is also another mangrove animal, which is called in that country guachinim; it feeds on crabs, and from what I could hear, has much resemblance to a cat, but the tail is much longer; however I never saw it. Neither did I see the lontra or sea-otter, but the skins of this animal are much valued for saddle cloths, bearing a higher price even than the skin of the jaguar.
I heard accidentally, in conversing with persons of the lower ranks in life, of an instance in which the Indians continued their heathenish customs. A family resided at a plantation in this neighbourhood, which had much intimacy with many Indians, but none of the members of it were of that cast. When the heads of the families were from home, the young females were in the habit of meeting to amuse themselves. On one of these occasions, an Indian girl carried one of her companions into the hut in which she and her parents dwelt, and on this playmate questioning her, from girlish curiosity, about several gourds which were hanging up in the room, she appeared much alarmed and said, “You must not look that way, those are maracàs, which my father and mother generally put into their chest, but they have to-day forgotten them.” Notwithstanding her entreaties to the contrary, her companion took hold of one of the gourds, and moving it quickly discovered that there were pebbles within; they had handles to them, and tufts of hair upon the top, and they were cut and carved in divers unusual forms. Here this matter ended, but soon afterwards several of the mulatto women agreed to watch the Indians, for they knew that they often danced in their huts with closed doors; this was an uncommon practice and inconvenient too, for the open air is much pleasanter. They had soon an opportunity of witnessing one of these meetings. The huts are constructed of coco-leaves, and through these they managed to obtain a view of what was going forwards. There was a large earthen pot in the centre; and round this, both men and women were dancing. A pipe was handed occasionally from one to the other. Soon afterwards, one of the Indian girls told one of her companions of a different cast from her own, as a great secret, that she had been sent to sleep at a neighbour’s hut a few nights before, because her father and mother were going to drink jurema. This beverage is obtained from a common herb; but I never could persuade any of the Indians to point it out to me; though when they positively asserted that they were unacquainted with it, their countenances belied their words.
I had a visit in October from a strange old man, whose age was generally supposed to border upon ninety years. He was a creole black, and had been a slave upon the plantation of Santos Cosmo e Damiam in the Varzea to the southward of Recife; he had settled at Iguaraçu, after he obtained his manumission, having married when he was about seventy years of age, a young woman of his own colour; and he was now surrounded by a young family. This man did not reckon his age by years, but by the governors; and as each of these, with few exceptions, remained at the head of the province only three years, something near the truth could be collected. This mode of computation is very common. I have often, on asking the age of any person, received for answer, that the individual concerning whom the enquiry was made, had been born in the first, second, or third year of such a governor. The dreadful famine of 1793 is also an era from which the peasants date many circumstances.
Old Apollinario was staying at Conception with a friend, and I requested him to come down to my place every evening for the purpose of teaching some of the young persons their prayers, a task of which I knew him to be fond, as he considered this to be a meritorious action; one by which he would have still further services to plead in his favour with the Virgin and St. Peter, as he himself told me. When he came to give his report to me of the progress of each negro, I liked much to keep him, that I might converse with him. He often spoke of the Jesuits, under the name of the Padres da Companhia; he was fond of them, but he added, “I must not speak well of them, for our prince does not like them; and yet they did a great deal of good too.” He said that they were true and saint-like padres, very different to those of the present day. He was much surprised at my knowing any thing about them; he said, “You were not alive at the time they were here, and even if you had been alive, you could not have been in Pernambuco; therefore how is it that you know of their existence at the time of which I speak.” I never could make him perfectly comprehend how I obtained my knowledge of them. But he was not the only person whose comprehension, thus taken by surprise, could not contain the new ideas which were imparted, by the knowledge of the existence of books spread all over the world, and of men who wrote for the instruction of others. Some of these people with whom I conversed were much puzzled, when I spoke of the variety of languages and countries in the world; “then,” they would say, “how is it that people understand each other?” To this I answered, that these languages were to be acquired by study. “Yes, I understand you,” they would rejoin “you are all much cleverer than we are here[137]; we could not learn any language but our own.” These people were invariably humble, and always ready to receive instruction.
The peasantry of the sugar plantation districts near to the coast, and the fishermen are of characters nearly similar, but the former are more favourably spoken of than the latter, and I cannot avoid saying, that I should prefer as a servant a man who had been brought up as a planter of mandioc, to one whose life had been passed upon a jangada. These people are said to be less courageous, less sincere, and less hospitable than the Sertanejos; but they are likewise less vindictive, more obedient, more easily guided, and more religious; and though their knowledge is very confined, still their frequent communication with Recife and other towns renders them, of course, less unacquainted with what passes in the world, than the inhabitants of the interior. The free schools which are established in many places are of much service, and although reading for amusement is totally beyond the comprehension even of many persons of the secondary rank, still the acquirement of the rudiments of knowledge prepare them for improvement, when books begin to make their way. Some of my neighbours, both at Itamaraca and at Jaguaribe, chanced at times to come in whilst I was reading, and would be curious to know how it was that I could find amusement in being so employed. I remember one man saying to me, “You are not a priest, and therefore why do you read; is that a breviary in which you are reading?” On another occasion, I was told that I had got the character among the people of colour in the neighbourhood of being very holy[138], for that I was always reading. A person who can read, write, and keep accounts has attained the height of perfection, and is much respected; or rather of late years, one who does not know how to do these things is looked down upon. The women particularly, pride themselves upon the superiority which they enjoy by this means; by which they are brought to an equality with their husbands. In the above general character of the free people, I do not include the planters of large property, for their acquirements are oftentimes considerable; and the Indians too are quite separate, owing to their degraded state; however, I include the white persons of small property: it is surprising, though extremely pleasing, to see how little difference is made between a white man, a mulatto, and a creole negro, if all are equally poor and if all have been born free. I say surprising, because in the English, French, and Dutch colonies, the distinction is so decidedly marked; and among the Spaniards, lines are even struck between the several shades of colour.
I recollect Apollinario telling me of his distress on one occasion, when he resided in the Varzea. He met the vicar of that parish on horseback with the sacrament, which he had been taking to some sick person. The rain poured in torrents, and the mud in the road was half way up to the knees; but yet it was necessary to pay the usual respect, consequently the old creole went down upon one knee, and as the priest passed, he cried out, “Pardon me, Sir vicar, for this one knee, but if I was to put both to the ground, I could not again rise.” He told me this with perfect gravity, and I perceived that he thought this circumstance would be recorded against him as one of his heaviest sins.