Hunting a home in Brazil

by James McFadden Gaston

Every thing about the establishment is conducted with much neatness and good taste; and the dinner table, with its rich service of silver and variety of dishes, had an air of completeness that would do credit to any society. Our tea-table, also, was a type of the best order of things; and, though the ladies left before the retiring of the gentlemen, it must have been a great relief to get away when not partaking in the conversation. With this class of people tea is not served until half-past eight o’clock; and after the table is cleared the party sit around and chat until the hour of retiring for the night. When a social group are thrown with one another at tea, this is doubtless very pleasant; but not understanding much that was said on the part of others, and disliking to call upon Mr. Bennaton to interpret commonplace remarks either from myself or others, I found this tarrying around the tea-table quite a patience-trying ordeal.

I observe here, as elsewhere, that there is a long, slim pole erected in the front yard, with an emblem of some saint on a piece of cloth in a frame, attached to the top of the pole. They are called saint-poles, and the figure is changed in commemoration of each particular saint’s day.

At every house that has been passed or visited, without distinction of the class of people, where Roman Catholics reside, this emblem of their faith is to be seen. Though the figures are usually of the most uncouth aspect and clumsy execution, it is supposed that holy associations cling around them, and they are retained even when tattered and defaced by the elements.

In connection with this it is particularly becoming to refer to the habit among the negroes, which has attracted my attention at several of the fazendas, and which was observed here this evening. After the forming of all in a line, for the purpose of counting them at night, they repaired to the rear apartment of the building, occupied by the family, and all kneeling down they rehearsed a religious service, in which they were lead by one of their number. After this all retired to their respective lodgings for the night.

I observed that a similar proceeding was conducted in the yard where the negroes were mustered or formed into line, at the fazenda of Senor João Robiero de Santos Carmargo, and it is doubtless a part of the routine whenever any considerable number of negroes are collected.

Were it really a service of the heart, and not a mere outward ceremony, there would be an appropriateness and impressive solemnity in thus looking to God for his blessing at the close of the day’s labor.

But while a few of the number may have some sense of reverence for God associated with this daily observance, it is evident that the greater part join in it as a mere matter of routine.

The mustering and counting of the negroes at night is usually done in front of the residence of the owner, and he thus has the assurance that all are present. I learn that the habit of running away is not uncommon here, and at some places the sound of the shackles has been heard when the negroes were assembled, though nothing of the kind was brought to my attention in this establishment.

In some instances the shackles are put on their ankles only at night to keep them in their quarters, while in others they are kept on while at work as a matter of punishment, and I saw at one fazenda a very old woman with shackles on her ankles while she was employed in stirring the coffee that was drying. She had been guilty of poisoning other negroes, and was regarded as a very dangerous person to go at large.

My observation of slavery in this country leads me to the conclusion that the exactions from the negro are greater, and the provision for his subsistence and comfort less than was experienced formerly in the United States.