CHAPTER III
Security of life in an Indian's bark canoe, even when going over river rapids, would seem assured, compared to the chances against one being able to keep his feet on a Brazilian catamaran sailing on the broad ocean. Men stand on two logs tied together, these about a foot each in diameter and from eight to ten feet in length, the upper side flat, with a small pole fastened in one of the logs, to which is secured a piece of canvas—as flimsy a sample of sea craft as one may see in a lifetime. No provision being made for a seat on the shaky and risky "boat"—no room for one, in fact—it seemed dangerous to sail it even on a small lake; yet a number of these were seen skimming over the sea several miles outside the harbor of Pernambuco, Brazil.
We had reached South America at the beginning of March, which is Northern August south of the equator. The winter season of the year in the northern is the summer in the southern division of the world.
Passengers leaving the vessel entered a large basket by a door. When six persons had got inside, the winches on the ship began to revolve, raising the basket high enough to clear the deck rail, and the passengers were slowly lowered to a lighter below. Chug! They had reached the bottom, and if any of the travelers had their tongue between their teeth at that moment it would be safe to infer that that member had suffered from the bump. This carrier was six feet deep, made of reed or wicker, and was kept in shape and supported by circular iron bands, like the hoops round a barrel, which, in this case, were inside the basket. Passengers embark by the same means. Crude and odd devices of this sort lend spice to travel.
Bahia, the oldest city in Brazil, was the next stop. At this port no basket was used for disembarking, passengers leaving the ship by a side ladder and being taken ashore in launches. An unusual number of men seemed to board the vessel, and later, when the gong sounded for visitors to go ashore, most of them left with their pockets bulging with goods bought aboard. Pertaining to this, an amusing feature came to light—the custom officers, who had been stationed at the gangway and other parts of the ship to prevent smuggling, seemingly not noticing the difference in the girth of a man on leaving the vessel to that when he boarded her.
Sailing on the same smooth sea on which we had started from Madeira Island ten days before, Rio de Janeiro, the capital and metropolis of Brazil, was reached later.
The harbor of this city is considered the finest in the world. The noted haven is entered by a deep channel, three-quarters of a mile wide, flanked by two imposing stone mountains, rising nearly 1,300 and 1,100 feet, respectively. Tropical vegetation grows luxuriantly on the shores, and beyond a circle of high, evergreen mountains offer an unusually fascinating foreground. The harbor is sixteen miles long and from two to seven miles wide, this area being dotted with over a hundred islands, also heavily verdured with a tropical growth. One feature, however, robs Rio de Janeiro and her harbor of a scenic climax. To the left, on which side of the bay the city stands, rise low hills, which shut from view, until opposite the wharves, what otherwise would reveal a panorama of the metropolis in keeping with that of the fame of the harbor. One is at a loss to account for the absence of docks here, considering this city has a population of nearly a million inhabitants and is the commercial center of Brazil.
Before, and also after, the ship anchored in the bay, where a large number of passengers left, the deafening noise made by hack barkers and hotel runners, shouting from boats below, exceeded anything of this nature heard elsewhere. Here it was a medley of whistles on yachts, launches and similar craft, together with blasts from horns, a racket from other noise-making devices, and the raucous voices of fruit vendors, crying their wares from rowboats. For a quarter of a mile about the vessel hundreds of small craft were bumping into each other, their owners cursing and shouting at those in approaching boats who sought a more advantageous place where a fare might come their way; in no place in the world, one would feel safe in saying, could there be more turmoil and confusion under similar circumstances. No one seemed to be in charge; every one was bending his every effort for a fare. Evidently a great deal of revenue would be cut off from a considerable number of the population of Rio were the government to build docks.
Having read of cholera in Rio years before would lead one to entertain a belief that he is entering an unclean city, and the great number of blacks and half-castes one sees before he gets off the ship suggests nothing to the contrary. But, when in the city proper, what a surprise one meets with. No place is better supplied with small parks than this metropolis, and public conveniences and sanitation in general, which are so essential to the physical welfare of a people, are creditable features. To be sure, the old part is of Spanish style—brick and cement houses, with narrow streets. The object in building narrow streets is to foil the sun—to keep cool—as the narrower they are the more shade is cast. One will soon notice the difference in comfort when walking between narrow or wide streets in hot climates—the narrow, shady ones will be given the preference. Only one vehicle can travel in a street, and for this reason traffic passes through one and returns by another. They are one-way streets. Two persons moving in opposite directions can just manage to pass without one of them stepping off the walk. Rio de Janeiro is the second largest city in South America, and good management of this tropical center was in evidence.