21st.—This morning looked at least as threatening as yesterday, but we determined to go as far as the Engenho dos Affonsos, for whose owner, Senhor Joam Marcus Vieira, we had letters from a friend in town. Accordingly we took leave of our kind hostess, who had made coffee early for us, and proceeded along a league of very pretty road to the Affonsos. Where that estate joins Campinha there is a large tiled shed where we found a party of travellers, apparently from the mines, drying their clothes and baggage after the last night's storm. A priest, and two or three men apparently above the common, appeared to be the masters of the party; the baggage was piled up on one side of the shed, and the arms were stuck into the cordage which bound it. There was a great fire in the middle, where a negro was boiling coffee, and several persons round drying clothes. Generally speaking, the men we met on their way from the mines are a fine, handsome race, lightly and actively made. Their dress is very picturesque. It consists of an oval cloak, lined and bordered with some bright colour such as rose or apple green, worn as the Spanish Americans wear the poncho. The sides are often turned up over the shoulders, and display a bright coloured jacket below. The breeches are loose, and reach to the knee, and loose boots of brown leather are frequently seen on the better sort, though it is very common to see the spurs upon the naked heel, and no boot or shoe of any kind. The higher classes have generally handsome pistols or great knives, the others content themselves with a good cudgel. A short league from the last house of Campinha, brought us to Affonsos, where we presented our letter, and were most kindly welcomed.—The estate belongs in fact to the grandmother of Senhor Joaŏ Marcus, who is a native of St. Catherine's, and a widow. His mother, and sister, and brother, and two dumb cousins also reside here, but he is only an occasional visitor, being married, and living near his wife's family. The dumb ladies, no longer young, are very interesting; they are extremely intelligent, understanding most things said in Portuguese by the motion of the lips, so that their cousin spoke in French, when he wished to say any thing of them; they make themselves understood by signs, many of which, I may say most, would be perfectly intelligible to the pupils of Sicard or Braidwood. They are part of a family of eight children, four of whom are dumb, the dumb and the speakers being born alternately. One of them made breakfast for us, which consisted of coffee, and various kinds of bread and butter.
After breakfast, as the day continued cold and showery, we were easily prevailed on by our host to remain all day at Affonsos. I was indeed glad of the opportunity of spending a whole day with a country family. The first place we visited after breakfast was the sugar-mill, which is worked by mules. The machinery is rather coarse, but seems to answer its purpose.
The estate employs 200 oxen and 180 slaves as labourers, besides those for the service of the family. The produce is somewhere about 3000 arobas of sugar, and 70 pipes of spirits. The lands extend from Tapera, the place where we met the travellers, and where 200 years ago there was an aldea of reclaimed Indians, about a league to Piraquara. There are about forty white tenants who keep vendas, and other useful shops on the borders of the estate near the roads, and exercise the more necessary handicrafts. But a small portion of the estate is in actual cultivation, the rest being covered with its native woods; but these are valuable as fuel for the sugar-furnaces, and timber for machinery, and occasionally for sale. The owners of estates prefer hiring either free blacks, or negroes let out by their masters[118], to send into the woods, on account of the numerous accidents that happen in felling the trees, particularly in steep situations. The death of an estate negro is the loss of his value, of a hired negro, only that of a small fine; and of a free black, it is often the saving even of his wages, if he has no son to claim them.
Wheat does not grow in this part of Brazil, though in the southern and inland mountainous districts it thrives admirably. The luxury of wheaten bread is introduced everywhere, North America furnishing the flour. Wherever one travels in this neighbourhood, one is sure of excellent rusk at every venda, though soft bread is rare.
The sugar-canes are planted here during the months of March, April, May, and even June and July. In the ridges between them maize and kidney-beans are planted, the cultivation of which is favourable to the sugar-cane: first the beans are gathered in, when the ground is weeded, and cleared, and loosened around the roots of the canes; then the maize is pulled, when a second weeding and clearing takes place; after which the sugar is tall enough to shade the ground, and prevent the growth of weeds. The first canes are ripe about May. The Cayenne cane yields best, and thrives in low grounds, the soil a mixture of sand and loam. The Creole cane takes the hill, and, though less productive, is supposed to yield sugar of a better quality. The cool months from May to September are the properest for boiling sugar. After October, the canes yield less juice by one-eighth, sometimes by one-fourth, and nearly as much more is lost in claying by the lightness of the sugar, the pots of three arobas not returning after the operation more than two and a half at most. The clay used in refining the sugar is dug close to the mill; it feels soft and fat in the fingers. It is placed in a wooden trough, with a quantity of lie made by steeping the twigs of a small shrub, which has a taste of soda[119], and worked up and down with a machine, something like a churn-staff, until it is of the consistence of thick cream, when it is ready for use. I suppose that the main business of expressing the juice, boiling it, and drying the sugars, as well as cleansing them, are carried on here as in every part of the world, though probably there may be some difference in every country, or even in every sugar-work; nor can the distilling the spirits be very different. Nothing is wasted in a sugar-house; the trash that remains after the canes are pressed, when dried, assists as fuel in heating the furnaces; the sweet refuse water that runs off from the still is eagerly drank by the oxen, who always seem to fatten on it.
By the time we had examined the sugar-work, and seen the garden, it was two o'clock, and we were summoned to dinner. Every thing was excellent in its kind, with only a little more garlic than is used in English cookery. On the side-table there was a large dish of dry farinha, which the elder part of the family called for and used instead of bread. I preferred the dish of farinha moistened with broth, not unlike brose, which was presented along with the bouillie and sliced saussage after the soup. The mutton was from the estate, small and very sweet. Every thing was served up on English blue and white ware. The table-cloths and napkins were of cotton diaper, and there was a good deal of plate used, but not displayed. After dinner some of the family retired to the siesta; others occupied themselves in embroidery, which is very beautiful, and the rest in the business of the house, and governing the female in-door slaves, who have been mostly born on the estate, and brought up in their mistress's house. I saw children of all ages and colours running about, who seemed to be as tenderly treated as if they had been of the family. Slavery under these circumstances is much alleviated, and more like that of the patriarchal times, where the purchased servant became to all intents one of the family. The great evil is, that though perhaps masters may not treat their slaves ill, they have the power of doing so; and the slave is subject to the worst of contingent evils, namely, the caprice of a half-educated, or it may be an ill-educated master. Were all slaves as well off as the house slaves of Affonsos, where the family is constantly resident, and nothing trusted to others, the state of the individuals might be compared with advantage to that of free servants. But the best is impossible, and the worst but too probable; since the unchecked power of a fallible being may exercise itself without censure on its slaves.
One of the dumb ladies made tea, and afterwards we passed a couple of hours at a round game of cards, where the sisters felt themselves quite on an equality with the speakers, and enjoyed themselves accordingly. I remember an account given by Bishop Burnet in his Travels, of a dumb lady who had invented a way of communicating with her sister, even in the dark, before the instruction of such unfortunate persons had become an object of public attention. Some such method these ladies possess of discoursing together, and of making themselves understood by their young cousin, an intelligent girl, who is always at hand to interpret for them. They have also invented arbitrary signs for the names of the flowers and plants in their garden, which signs all the family know; and I was delighted with the quickness and precision with which they conversed on every subject within their knowledge.
The cards made way for the supper, a meal almost as ceremonious, and quite as constant, as the dinner. After it, toasted cheese was introduced, with girdle cakes of farinha freshly toasted, and spread with a very little Irish butter; they are the same as the Casava bread of the West Indies, but prepared here are more like Scotch oat-cakes. On retiring to my room at night, a handsome young slave entered, with a large brass pan of tepid water, and a fringed towel over her arm, and offered to wash my feet. She seemed disappointed when I told her I never suffered any body to do that for me, or to assist me in undressing at any time. In the morning she returned, and removing the foot bath, brought fresh towels, and a large embossed silver basin and ewer, with plenty of tepid water; which she left without saying a word, and told her mistress I was a very quiet person, and, she supposed, liked nobody but my own people, so she would not disturb me.
Friday, August 22d.—The day as fine as possible; and after breakfast we pursued our journey to Santa Cruz, the road improving in beauty as we proceeded.
"Here lofty trees to ancient song unknown,
The noble sons of potent heat, and floods
Prone rushing from the clouds, rear'd high to heav'n
Their thorny stems, and broad around them threw
Meridian gloom."