A few days after my arrival, an American naturalist, thoroughly honest but of a rather short temper, was treated with outrageous discourtesy, and his personal effects strewn unceremoniously over the dirty floor of the warehouse by angry inspectors, simply because he was unwilling to bribe them. There was no question as to his having any dutiable goods.
The population of Rio is variously estimated at between seven and eight hundred thousand, but her enthusiastic citizens frequently exaggerate this and speak in an offhand way of her having a million people. They are naturally reluctant to admit that Rio has any fewer than Buenos Aires.
The suburbs of Rio are remarkably attractive. On the great bay, dotted with its beautiful islands, are various resorts that take advantage of the natural beauties of the place, and cater to the pleasure-loving Brazilians. From various ports on the bay, railroads radiate in all possible directions, going north into the heart of the mining region and west through the coffee country to Saõ Paulo. The terminus of a little scenic railway is the top of one of the highest and most remarkable of the near-by peaks, the Corcovado. The view from the summit can scarcely be surpassed in the whole world. The intensely blue waters of the bay, the bright white sunlight reflected from the fleecy cumulous clouds so typical of the tropics, the verdure-clad hills, and the white city spread out like a map on the edge of the bay, combine to make a marvellous picture.
No account of Rio, however brief, would be complete without some reference to the “Jornal do Comercio,” the leading newspaper of Brazil, whose owner and editor, Dr. J. C. Rodriguez, is one of the most influential men in the country. In addition to guiding public opinion through his powerful and ably edited newspaper, he has had the time to attend to numerous charities and to the collection of a most remarkable library of books relating to Brazil. He has recently taken high rank as a bibliographer by publishing a much sought after volume on early Braziliana, basing his information largely on his own matchless collection.
Another well-edited paper is “O Paiz,” which like the “Jornal do Comercio” has its own handsome edifice on the new Avenida Central. A subscription to it for one year costs “thirty thousand reis”—a trifle over nine dollars! As in the case of other South American newspapers, its offices are far more luxurious and elaborate than those of their contemporaries in North America. These southern dailies give considerable space to foreign cablegrams, so much more, in fact, than do our own papers, that it almost persuades one that we are more provincial than our neighbors.
Santos, the greatest coffee port in the world and the only city in Brazil having adequate docking facilities, is a day’s sail from Rio. It is separated from the ocean by winding sea-rivers or canals. The marshes and flats that surround it, and the bleaching skeletons of sailing vessels that one sees here, are sufficient reminders of the terrible epidemics that have been the scourge of Santos in the past. Stories are told of ships that came here for coffee, whose entire crews perished of yellow fever before the cargo could be taken aboard, leaving the vessel to rot at her moorings. All of this is changed now, and the port is as healthy as could be expected.
Yet the town is not attractive. It lacks the picturesque ox-drays of Pernambuco and the charming surroundings of Rio. The streets are badly paved and muddy; the clattering mule-teams that bring the bags of coffee from the great warehouses to the docks are just like thousands of others in our own western cities. The old-fashioned tram-cars, running on the same tracks that the ramshackle suburban trains use, are dirty but not interesting. Prices in the shops are enormously high. In fact, on all sides there is too much evidence of the upsetting influence of a great modern commerce.
A long line of steamers lying at the docks taking on coffee is the characteristic feature of the place, and a booklet that has recently been issued to advertise the resources of Brazil bears on its cover a branch of the coffee tree, loaded with red berries, behind which is the photograph of a great ocean liner, into whose steel sides marches an unending procession of stevedores carrying on their backs sacks of coffee. It not only emphasizes Brazil’s greatest industry, but it is also thoroughly typical of Santos.
Most of the coffee is grown in the mountains to the north, and comes to Santos from Saõ Paulo on a splendidly equipped British-built railway. The line is one of the finest in South America. It rises rapidly through a beautiful tropical valley by a gradient so steep as to necessitate the use of a cable and cogs for a large part of the distance. The powerhouses scattered at intervals along the line are models of cleanliness and mechanical perfection.
Notwithstanding the fact that America is by far the greatest consumer of Santos coffee, the greater part of the local enterprises are in British hands. The investment of British capital in Brazil is enormous. It has been computed that it amounts to over six hundred million dollars. Americans do not seem yet to have waked up to the possibilities of Brazilian commerce, or to the fact that the question of American trade with Brazil is an extremely important one.