Candle burning, the usual test, detected nothing abnormal in the atmosphere; the ventilation was excellent. Of course, our feet were wiped, and, physically speaking, they wanted wiping; the floor was wet, the mud was slippery, and locomotion somewhat like an ascent of the Pyramids, although the ground was pretty level.
It was a huge palace of darkness; the walls were either black as the grave, or reflected in the slender rays of light a watery surface, or were broken into monstrous projections, half revealing and half concealing cavernous recesses. Despite the lamps, the night pressed upon us, as it were, with a weight, and the only measure of distance was a spark here and there, glimmering like a single star. Distinctly nerve-testing was the gulf between the huge mountain sides, apparently threatening every moment to fall. Through this Inferno gnomes glided about in a ghostly fashion, half-naked figures enveloped by the mist. Here dark bodies hung by chains in what seemed frightful positions; there they swung like
leopards from place to place; there they swarmed up loose ropes like troglodytes; there they moved over scaffolding, which even to look up at would make a nervous temperament dizzy.
Our visit to the mine amply repaid us; it was a place
Where thoughts were many, and words were few.
But the fact will remain on our mental retina as long as our brains will do their duty.
After a fortnight at Morro Velho I prepared to go to Sabará, there to embark en route to the coast. With a peculiar cat-like feeling I bade adieu to the Gordons, with whom we had found an English home in the Highlands of Brazil. My excellent compatriots, however, accompanied me to break the shock of departure; my wife also, though, as she had sprained her ankle badly, she was to return to Rio.
It was a long ride from Morro Velho and a tiring one, and we were glad to enter the picturesque city of Sabará, where we found tolerable lodgings. Here I completed my preparations for descending the Rio das Velhas, and had to seek the aid of a store-keeper, who turned out to be an extortioner. That, perhaps, was only to be expected; but I may justly complain when, in addition to his extortionate charges, he sent me down the river, a river like the Mississippi, in a raft whose starboard canoe had a leak scarcely stopped up with Sabará clay.
The next day we all walked down to the upper landing-place, where the ajojo, or raft, lay. I never
saw such an old Noah’s ark, with its standing awning, a floating gipsy “pal,” some seven feet high and twenty-two long, and pitched like a tent upon two hollowed logs. The river, I thought, must indeed be safe if this article can get down without an accident.